#like i need a second look on things all the damn time even now and i dont

[sheepispink]

A TICKING TIME BOMB

pairings: simon ghost riley/sergeant!reader

tags: platonic/romantic (up to u), angst, hurt/comfort, dissociation, scars (his and yours), injuries, temporary blindness, cuddling, fluff

Summary: Assigned on your first proper mission with the task force, things go wrong leaving you a.. little bit injured. Well, maybe a bit. It's bad enough the task force have to take turns looking after you like you're the team's hamster or something. It makes you uncomfortable somewhat, and you’re exhausted already, so when it gets around to Ghost’s turn, you break.

WC: 6.8k

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As always, the simplest of missions always ended up going haywire, though that seemed to follow you wherever you went. This time, you were tasked with a simple job: get in under Ghost and Soap’s cover, plant the bomb and get out again. Straightforward, plenty of preparation beforehand and no room for mistakes— after all, the team consisted of only the most specialised operatives. Well, you liked to describe it that way, but the rest of the team were far more experienced than you. It’s not like you were one to typically put yourself down or the like, but it was your first time working without your usual team. Usually, you had them right beside you whenever you helped the taskforce, always backup and nothing more. That was until you were spending your Friday night with Gaz in his task force common room, chilling out before Price suddenly walks in and addresses Kyle about the next mission. You took the moment to let your mind wander a bit, already feeling the tiredness seeping in. An absent-minded yawn led you to unintentionally make yourself known, Price’s eyes suddenly narrowing at you.

“S-sorry.. Didn't mean to interrupt..” You say sheepishly, sitting up straight from your slouched position against the arm rest. Surprisingly, Price just shakes his head and rubs his beard curiously. “Didn’t you take the same year-long course Soap did?” He asks, and you slowly nod, remembering the hell you went through, but it was damn worth it for the skills you earned.

“Perfect, Gaz, bring them to the meeting tomorrow.”

Okay, so maybe there was a lot more to it than that, but you really had been half awake and, before you knew it, you were in that meeting with room layouts being thrown at you like bricks. You were slightly terrified to say the least; though, you were a sergeant now, so you had already expected that your usual work would change more than you had thought.

Now here you were, clearing the next corridor with ease as adrenaline pumped through your veins. Most are outside trying to take out the others, but there were always going to be a few strays that passed under the radar. Ducking into the next hall, you finally find where you were supposed to set down the bomb. If everything had gone right, Price and Gaz would be in the hallways not too far ahead of you and Soap and Ghost a bit behind. That meant all hallways had successfully been cleared from strays, allowing you to easily crouch down and begin to set up the explosives by the pillar. You’ve done this a million times, both in training and missions, and yet your heart is racing all the same. Something just feels wrong, even if the Captain had just radioed in and confirmed success in clearing the path ahead. You stick the last wire in, watching the timer begin to slowly tick.

“This is Bravo 7-2 speaking, the explosives are secured at the pillar and timer has begun.” Forcing the tremble out of your voice is near impossible especially when your stomach churns with uncertainty; that’s not the point though, you need to get out–right now. The clack of your boots against the tiling is loud and heavy, picking up with each second that passes. “I repeat, this is Bravo 7-2, the explosives have been set. Get out of range now.”

Before you can turn the corridor, your heart stops in your chest, and you feel yourself slamming to a stop. Footsteps drawing closer. More than one, maybe even three sets. With gritted teeth, you steady your gun and peek around the hall.

Thirty seconds

Another falls down, crumpling to the floor whilst his friend curses in Russian, now running towards you. Where the hell had he come from? His hands drop his gun, the empty barrel evident in the lighter noise it makes as it clatters to the floor, before landing them on your shoulders.

Twenty seconds.

You shoot at him quickly, throwing his slumped body off of you with a heavy thump. There's no time to catch your breath— you need to be out of here.

Ten seconds.

Your feet are moving and yet it seems like you’re not getting anywhere.

Five seconds.

“Bravo 7-2? This is Bravo 0-6, everyone is out.”

The soldiers had only taken up ten seconds of your time which would be nothing to anyone else in life—unfortunately, those seconds mattered the most in this line of work. Your thumb can barely even touch the cold metal of the radio before the bright light goes off behind you, debris showering over you as the building echoes the loud noise between its walls. The ringing in your ears is practically deafening, not to mention the flames that lick at your uniform as you’re thrown forward into the wall. The ceiling above makes a sickening crunch before promptly falling down and giving you mere seconds to roll out the way. It’s still for a minute as you sit there slumped against the rickety foundations that once held the building, every thought of yours at a standstill in your head.

“This is Bravo 6-2 to Bravo 7-2, what is your status?” The crackle of the walkie-talkie could easily be mistaken for the relentless ringing in your ears, only serving to make you groan and slump your head a little more. “I repeat, this is Bravo 6-2 to Bravo 7-2. Sergeant..? Are you alright?”

Gaz’s voice is still jingling through your head long before his concerns pass through your ears; the explosion had rewired your brain and changed the connections of your nerves, jumbling everything inside you into a giant heap that could be comparable to the disorganised look of Frankenstein’s creation.

“Gaz.. I’m alright, I think.” You mumble out, slowly pushing the rubble off of you, well you think it’s rubble— who knows. There's smoke all throughout the air, toxic fumes reaping through the hallways you roamed moments before. One arm reaches up to cover your mouth and face, coughing harshly into your sooted uniform. “I’m comin’, give me a sec..” Why did your chest feel so tight? Something was definitely wrong, but then again everything has seemed to go wrong in the last thirty seconds. You could sit here and complain about the burns on your leg, the clench of your lungs or the sting that forces your eyes closed. But that wouldn't be quite useful, would it?

You manage to stumble your way into fresh air, allowing you to finally deeply inhale the cold air that seems to shiver every nerve you thought you lost. It’s not long before Soap has rushed up beside you, giving you a small pat on your back as he lifts your arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, there’s no way you’re out cold by a little boom, eh?” You force a dry chuckle out as his words, even more so at his scouse accent, allowing him to aid you into the back of the exfil truck where you suppose the others are sitting— your visor is completely covered in dust right now, you can barely make out Soap’s stupid haircut as he sits you down.

“What the hell happened back there?” The rough voice fills your ears, clearer than Ghost’s and holds far more authority as well. That's only how you can tell them apart right now since squinting isn't helping much. You suppose Gaz is on his left, and maybe Ghost is beside you? Soap is patting you down for injuries whilst you cower under Price’s harsh tone. “Some slipped through, tried to stop me when I left.” You fumble to explain yourself, coughing harshly from the fumes you had accidentally inhaled back there. “Didn’t you clear all the hallways first? You shouldn't have acted without being sure.”

“I’m not badly hurt, I swear.” Those feelings from earlier fill your head, the doubt whilst you were wiring the explosives— you shouldn’t have ignored that gut feeling, but how would you have known?

With a soft sigh, you look up to meet his gaze properly. “I didn't mean to rush; you were all in position. I just didn't want to cause an unnecessary delay, sorry..”

He lets out a low scoff and Soap snorts beside you, still holding your arm over his shoulders and the truck starts to rumble and move over the unsteady ground. “Hey— w-what's so funny?” Now you’re confused, wondering if you’re about to get the death sentence or the like. “You could at least look at yer captain when yer apologising, you idiot.”

Now you’re very confused, turning your head to face your captain again or well face what you assume to be him considering your visor was still blurry. You were sure Price was right there, you could just make out his signature hat atop his head but then again this visor was really blurry. Now that the adrenaline has finally settled down, you lift your sleeve to rub the dirt on your visor away. What you hadn't realised is that you didn't have one, well anymore; it must’ve fallen off during the explosion. You don't think much and just rub at your eyes instead, trying to rid the blurriness.

Until it doesn't go.

You’ve opened your eyes wide, rubbed at every crevice in them and blinked multiple times to no avail. The three of them watched your flailing about, curious as to why you were so intent on rubbing your eyes like a fly was buzzing in them.

“I am looking at my captain—” You continue to argue, sure that some dirt must’ve gotten into your eye, but they know something’s wrong the minute you point straight ahead at Gaz, convinced it’s him as you ramble on about his hat. You’re silenced quickly by Ghost who firmly, but not harshly, grabs your chin to allow him and Soap to stare at the hazy look in your eyes. “What can you see Sergeant?”

He says, rough voice rumbling out right beside your ear which you most certainly would’ve jumped at if not for his touch that reminded you of his presence.

“Well it’s a bit blurry but-” A curse escaped from Price and you assume he’s the one who stands in front of you now, holding his arm up though you can't really make out anything but the blur of the colours of his uniform. “How many fingers am I holdin’ up, kid?”

The truck goes silent when you guess five, only his fist remaining in the air.

Your foot taps the floor anxiously as you sit in the infirmary, waiting for a medic to attend to you. Soap had escorted you here, trying to cheer you up with empty hopes, but he had left you whilst he attended the debriefing. In truth, you were even more terrified than before. You’d been shot at, had bones broken multiple times, but now you were visually impaired for who knows how long— if it was even temporary that is. Soon enough you’re speaking to the medic, failing to hide the shake in your breath as they examine your eyes one by one before eventually concluding that it’ll take two weeks to fully recover from. Somehow you had forgotten about the bullet that sliced into your leg which they were now preparing to stitch, having been too disoriented earlier to even notice Soap wrapping up the blood around your shin. The pain had been excruciating everywhere when you first stumbled out, especially those burns you hadn't yet showed them.

This sucks, not only had you made a fool of yourself earlier by absolutely not looking at Price when apologising, but you’re also about a nerve away from crying on this infirmary bed. You never realised how terrifying it’d be to live totally unaware of your surroundings, considering you managed to always be alert for everything, so this is practically hell for you. You can only hear the recruits on the bed beside you, chattering non-stop, and it’s only more overwhelming when you can’t even see directly where they are. Not to mention you can't even fend for yourself anymore— hell you’d describe yourself as useless and you are. The pain still ripples up your legs, burns from the explosion, and your head aches from the override of thoughts running through it. It just hurts so much.

A tear begins to well in your eyes before you suddenly hear the door open, familiar footsteps approaching. “7-2.” It calls out gruffly, the blurred figure crouching before your bed to look up at your dazed face as you sit there pitifully. There’s no one else that voice can belong to, so you just pitifully reply with your small voice.

“Ghost.” It’s hard not to miss the long sigh he lets out, likely looking over your current pathetic display.

Of course, you had heard the news already—since the holidays were coming around, most soldiers would be off base including any medics that usually would’ve looked after you whilst you were out of action. Somehow, a unanimous decision had been chosen that the task force members would take shifts looking after you for the duration of your recovery. Price would take the earliest days, Soap for two days, same with Gaz and then a week and a bit with Ghost, considering he never celebrated the holidays anyway. Ghost already had a feeling you weren't up to that mission, even if you often excelled with everything else— new people weren't exactly your forte. Especially working under Price like that— he could be quite the intimidating man when he wanted to be. So to say the least, you were feeling terrible about this new arrangement, even if you were friends with Soap and Gaz quite closely— you couldn't just make them look after you.

“Don’t make me drag you now. You need to rest, in your room. Johnny will bring you food later.” You soon manage to find a steady pace, hand holding his sleeve tightly, but it’s not as worrisome considering it’s only the pair of you walking through the corridors. You had guessed so by the lack of footsteps and the fact it was supposedly very late. It’s weird how you two always manage to be brought together in these early hours, only for him to disappear again when the light comes. Like a Ghost you suppose. “What's that stupid smirk on your face for?” He scoffs, and you’re positive he barely gave you a glance as he spoke. Instead of answering, you shrug, deciding not to tell him about the sudden nostalgia you had just felt.

“D’ya think the Captain is actually mad at me?” You say, switching the topic entirely to the topic you’ve been mulling over for a while now. It nags at the back of your head, like an annoying fly buzzing around your ears. Thankfully not a hornet.

“No.”

You stare blankly at him, trying not to snicker at his blunt answer as you attempt to press him for more. “Just no?” When you receive a silent nod, a low sigh escapes you and your free hand absentmindedly starts to fiddle with the ends of your uniform as you navigate the halls with his help. “I knew I shouldn't have joined that mission; it’s not the same as working with my team as I originally thought.” You ramble, spilling your thoughts into the silence that he left between you too. He lets out a grunt, urging you on and so you continue. “I really did do as best as I could though. I still don't quite understand how those two soldiers slipped through my radar.”

“Are you sure you weren’t blind before then?”

At his insult, your eyes widen, and you go through a series of annoyed expressions before grumbling some insult beneath your breath.

He’s left you at your bedroom soon enough, making sure you’re settled in bed before he switches the light off and leaves you alone for the night. Despite the exhaustion wracking through your body, you can't quite manage to fall asleep straight away, still tossing and turning with worries. The main one seemed to be the fact they’d be looking after you for the remainder of your state– you were half considering calling your parents in London to come and pick you up. But… you suppose that would be a burden on them, especially since this is so far, and they were never quite supportive of the whole army thing. You really didn't want to deal with yet another lecture and an ‘I told you so’. It’s not like you want to laze around for the entirety of your recovery period, but there's not much you can do whilst temporarily blind, and you really don’t want the others hanging around your every move. Either way it seemed like you were stuck in this situation for now.

Thankfully, your bags had already been packed considering that the mission had been done right before holidays began so you had preparations ahead. You wake up lazily the next morning, a throb in your head as you hear heavy footsteps enter. For a moment, you panic and try to clear the blur in your eyes before your exhausted mind catches up with the current situation, and you sigh, turning your head in hopes of hearing the footsteps’ owner’s voice.

“We’re leaving in ten, kid.” Price’s voice rings out as the sound of rummaging in drawers rings out. “Second draw down.” You mumble, and he gives you a mumbled thanks before handing you your army shirt and trousers. “Leave the door open when you’re finished, alright?” You give him a nod in response, the heavy thumps of his boots disappearing as the door creaks shut.

Being looked after by Price initially served to be pretty uncomfortable on your part, always feeling that you had to be acting right since he was your captain and all. You still felt guilty of what happened in the mission, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was annoyed at you or not, unable to see his body language which would’ve given it all away. Too stubborn to actually ask him for help like anyone would do, you decided to persevere and try to figure it out on your own. That meant whenever he’d leave you alone in favour of going grocery shopping or the like, you’d walk laps around this new room in an attempt to learn the layout so you could do things by yourself. He only found out when he heard a short cry of pain in the early morning, coming to check on you in bed only to find you had somehow fallen into the bathtub in search of the sink.

This led you to be passed over to Soap with new instructions to be supervised at all times. It wasn't like you’d make it much easier for him though, considering you could persuade him pretty quickly to let you off, but before you know it Soap has dropped you off at Gaz’s door. You weren't particularly good at keeping him happy and soon enough he has dropped you off at Ghost’s flat. Oops.

“I heard you’ve been causing trouble with the others?” You can almost hear a gruff amusement in his tone, his hand on the small of your back as he helps you inside. You hear the soft thump of your small duffel bag on the floor along with the shuffle of him taking off his shoes. “I didn’t cause trouble, they just want to coddle me too much.” You can almost feel the raised eyebrow he gives you at that, and he gives you a rough pat on the shoulder as if to confirm it.

“So they just gave me a list for nothing, huh?”

Before you can respond, he’s listing off all the instructions the others had come up with, a sheepish look on your face as he calls you out.

“Don’t let her walk around unsupervised.”

“I was stretching my legs!”

“Hide any electrical appliances in the kitchen.”

“I wanted some water; I didn't know he had something on the stove!”

“You almost fell out a window?”

“I wanted fresh air!”

He lets out a sigh, gently pushing you to sit on a stool as he helps you undo your shoes despite the protests you’re currently giving. “Seems like you’re quite the handful even with no eyesight. Lucky for you, I’ll be watching you at all times.” That makes you blink in surprise, despite the fact you can't even see. “That's not possible, you’d have to go out once a while.” You push yourself up to a stand when he’s done, fuzzy socks still on from when you dressed yourself this morning. “Trust me, you won't get a chance.”

Over the next few days, Ghost doesn't leave you alone for a second. When he’s cooking, he’s in the kitchen barely a few steps away and the rare chance he goes out to grab something from the shops, he locks you in the car with the radio low. You even tried to pretend to sleep once only for him to pat your cheek until you swatted at his hand, dragging you to the car to wait for him.

You’re sitting in the car, bored out of your mind when you hear the door handle get pulled at. For a second you flinch, unsure why he hasn't opened the door yet if it was really him who was opening it. What if it was still locked and someone was trying to get into the car? What if— “Dammit, got too many things in my hands.” He mumbles as he finally opens the door, reaching behind the seats to place the shopping bags there. You look over to him, slightly tired from being woken up early but curious as to what he has in his hand, after all you can only make out a faint shape of what seems to be a bottle.. Maybe?

“Here, got you something.” It’s far more cream than your typical coffee, but it tastes good anyway as he gently holds the cup for you, helping you hold it with your hands before letting go. “Thanks Lt..” You sip it down, enjoying the sweetness that comes with it, though somehow makes you feel even sleeper than what it’s supposed to do, keep you awake. He chuckled when your eyes only grow droopier, resting the weight of his palm on your head for a moment before letting go. “Alright, let’s get you back to sleep then.” He hums, kicking the car into drive before he’s making his way through the streets once again. It’s not like you do much but sleep anymore, especially since your eyes are a little sensitive at the moment due to some eye drops the doctors gave you. He only really wakes you for meals or something he has to really tell you.

This also means you and Ghost don't actually talk all that much. He’s always up to something, and you’re passed out on your air mattress to even notice, snoring quietly with your lips parted. To an outsider, it’d seem like you’re actively avoiding him from the silence in your relationship, however, for Ghost it’s quite the opposite.

Every time you drift off, he’s grateful, knowing you’ve missed out on at least a month's worth of sleep because of all the back to back missions. The higher the rank you grew, the less sleep you seemed to get, especially as people started to demand more out of you— that’s just how the military worked. Hell, the whole team was lacking sleep, though he knew something about you the others didn't. The reason you were kicking up so much trouble when you stayed with them is because you were restless— you couldn't quite feel comfortable around them. No, it wasn't because you didn't feel safe around them, he’s seen you collapse against Gaz’s shoulder in the heli far too many times to count. It wasn't because of Price’s status as a Captain either, no, it was something else entirely. Ghost was elusive compared to the others, seemingly not paying attention to anyone that wasn't of the mission’s interest, and thus made him a silent creature than the worry warts the others turned into. This is exactly how you always passed out in his presence; finally letting down your constant worries about being perceived by others, you figured he wouldn't glance at you for a second. And so, he’d watch from behind his mask as your shoulders quietly slumped, giving into the rest you had craved for weeks. You had received quite the scolding after the mission, and he had seen the way your eyebrows furrowed each time you were around the others, afraid of being some kind of burden.

He walks over to you as you doze off early, only eight pm, and you have drool spilling past your lips and staining your cheek. It’s a cute sight, really, especially since he’s completely aware that you think he doesn't know about all these little parts of you. He figured you’ll be okay now, the tissue in his hand wiping your mouth carefully before he grips the blankets a little too tightly, yet slowly pulls them up to your neck. He’d barely even needed to keep you entertained like the others, not when your body has subconsciously accepted his presence, constantly calm and quiet as you recover. A little part of him wishes you don't recover so soon, quite enjoying your confusion when you try to figure out where his voice is coming from in your sleep induced haze. Eventually he leaves you be, the little alarm clock flashing the late time on his desk, his past office now your make do bedroom.

Your head’s been swirling for a while now, thoughts muddling together from your half awake state and the small nightmare that had jolted you awake. It’s hard to stay calm when all you see when you wake is another blur, the room around you pitch black and full of terror. You haven't felt this since you were at Soap's place, but thankfully he had stayed up late binging some series he missed, the faint chuckles able to snap you out of the fear creeping into your throat. Though now, it was quiet, all the sleep you had caught up on making it nearly impossible for you to force yourself back to sleep if you tried. You were too awake, too aware, and alert as you carried on frantically looking around, each slam of wind against the windows making your head snap. British weather never helped you, always raining instead of the pure white you hoped to see when you opened the curtains, and always too hot yet too cold, a medium you could never seem to find.

With your heart thumping in your ears, you push yourself up to a stand, hands grasping his desk and accidentally splaying his papers across the floor. Your breath chokes, realising what you had just done, the loud rustle of the fall echoing in your ears as a pit of shame surrounds the current fear—the ball growing larger by the second. Panicked, you support yourself on any item you can, each soft knock of your hands against an object tugging at your heart muscle even more. Eventually you find the bathroom light, grasping at the air until you find the dangling string, and you pull, the blinding spotlights making you wince. The bathroom was slightly clearer, and you quickly closed the door behind you, not bothering to turn the lock in case for some weird reason you had to run out again. You could never trust your brain anyway.

Stepping forward, your hands grasp around the porcelain of the sink, your body shaking as you slump slightly, breathing heavier. It’s so silent, the fan the only sound echoing off of the surrounding tiles—the lack of noise driving you to the brink of despair. The way your hands grabbed the tap was nothing short of brutal, lifting the metal upwards as water gushed out, drowning the contaminating paranoia out of your brain through the little crevices. Your breathing slows a little, but it feels like a weight off your chest from how hard your heart had thumped against your ribcage, and you find your head wanting to tilt back, breathing in the cold air. However, this causes you to make a brutal mistake.

Your eyes open again, the mirror right in front of you. It’s been weeks since you’ve looked directly into one, and you can't help but be stilled into shock from what you see. As expected, your hair is a mess, falling over your shoulders in a way that’s never happened before, always in a tight bun for training. Not to mention, your eyebrows are furrowed together so tightly, instinctively forcing you to relax them, and your lips are cracked all over, chapped and broken. It’s not like you can see all of that, no, only faint blurs of what’s before you, a hovering blend of colours that make up your face, smoothing out into a strange shape—you don't even remember your chin looking like that.

The longer you stare, the more you lose track of yourself, blinking in confusion as you suddenly become aware of all your little nicks of your skin, not by sight but feel. Your hands trace over the bumps on your face, up the side of your cheek and just up to your eye. A fresh burn scar, not the worst definitely— but clearly noticeable. You hadn't known you had been burnt on your face too, perhaps refusing to acknowledge that. Instead, your other hand moves to graze your eyebrow, feeling the hairs out of place, and the rough texture of dry skin.

This isn't you— but it is, and yet it isn't altogether.

You know it’s you because when you widen your eyes you can faintly see the whites of your eyes become more visible. You know it’s you because when you lick your lips you feel the stab of the cracks, see the paled colour in the mirror. Likewise, you know it’s you because you feel connected to it yet so far away at the same time.

“Why’re you up?”

You don't hear his gruff voice behind you, even as his unmasked face approaches in the mirror behind your own. He’s tired, that’s obvious by his voice but no matter how hard you squinted you could barely make out a feature of his. His eyes roam over your form in confusion, wondering what had caused you to be up at this time, and he reaches around you to finally close the tap. It was quiet in the flat, and he’s sure he would’ve woken if there was a storm or any other loud noise. Besides, he doubts you’d brave the darkness without seeking him out if the nightmare was that bad.

He follows where your eyes are stuck on, the mirror and the scars that now litter your face. He knew that feeling, the detachment that came with a new scar, especially on something you see so often. After all, he wore a mask for a reason, to hide identity from others, and from himself. For him, it was less to do with the gruesome shapes of the marks, more struggling to place himself with that. He didn't feel as if he was that face, even if he remembers where everything came from like the back of his hand. Sometimes, he still remembers when his face was smoother, rounder, and his eyes were a little wider.

Your hands have a death grip on that porcelain, and he can tell now that you’re experiencing that similar emptiness he feels too. Gently, he places his large hand over your eyes, the warmth seeping your skin as his voice grows a little quieter yet no less thick. “That’s enough. You don't need to suffer any longer like this.” He tugs you away from the sink, gently turning you around to face him instead, calloused fingertips scratching your eyelids as he lowers his hand. “Look at me.” You do, seeing nothing but a blur of blonde on his head, a fuzz of his carved jaw and crooked nose. He holds your hand, fingers rubbing little circles into your palm. “Who is it?”

“I.. It’s you.” He nods at you, rolls up his sleeve, and brings it up to your line of vision, marks littering the skin in angry reds and pale pinks. “Who is it?”

“T-those marks—”

“Who is it?” He insists and you comply quickly.

“You..”

Gently he pulls up his shirt, even in the fuzziness you can make out the shape of the scarred tissue, spanning across the side of his waist. “Whose is it?”

“Y-yours..” You’re starting to understand now, as your breaths grow slower and your mind begins to focus on deciphering the meaning behind his words. He wants to show you something that reflects onto you yet comforts you because he shares that pain too. He pulls your hand to touch the scarred tissue, letting your fingers dance over the ridges and bumps and the uneasy feeling that comes with it. “I hide behind a mask,” He murmurs, pulling his shirt gently down again as your fingers retract. “Yet I’m still Simon. No matter how hard I try.”

He lets the silence hang in the air, allowing the reassurance behind his words to envelop you. His hands rest on your shoulders now, before slipping behind you into the cabinet above the sink, pulling out the first aid kit and medical plasters. You can see the white in his hands, how he places the soft material into yours. It’s an option, a chance, to hide away the bad and deal with it later. No, it’s not a trick question nor will he judge your answer. You had heard the bandage he had peeled back just to show you the scar tissue. He had said himself about his mask. If you want, he’ll help you cover them up, so you can feel comfortable in yourself again. But the choice is up to you.

You nod quietly, and he takes the plaster, holding your chin with one hand whilst he presses it along the burn scar that reaches up the curve of your cheek. “There, all gone.” It’s nothing, and yet you let out a sigh of relief, to be rid of that finally was a burden off your chest. You can feel his gaze roaming you, or maybe that’s just his hands lingering down your arms, across your sides and patting down your legs. “Did you hurt yourself when you got up?” You shake your head quickly, and he tucks a hand behind your back, leading you out the bathroom before he clicks the light off.

You’re just about to murmur a thanks, or something quiet when sound breaches the air down the entire street. It’s threatening and so damn loud, shaking your brain chemistry back to the bombs you hear on the daily.. It makes your entire body prickle, the shattering sizzle something you only hear in warfare, but to cross over into real life is like a fever dream you never wanted to become true. Your legs scramble on the cold tiles, trying to get out and see what’s happening as quickly as possible. The sound in the air grows heavier as Ghost follows, likely trying to see the commotion too. You’ll need your gear, your boots, and your belt and your helmet and vest and weapons and his too, he’ll need his mask if you’re going to go help.

“Hey-”

You’re still scrambling, unable to make it to the door until a strong arm forces you back against a warm chest. “It’s fireworks. Almost the new year.”You pause, instantly going silent, and he sighs, just giving your hair a small ruffle before he smooths down the mess of it. “You don't even know what day it is—Do you?” You shake your head again, and he’s half tempted to chuckle at how tired he is and how wild this night is going. He walks you into his room, burying himself under the covers after you tentatively sit on the bed, unsure if he expects you to follow even after the countless times you’ve slept this close before. That is until greedy hands plant on your waist, pulling you down onto the bed as you let out a small gasp. Both arms wrap around your middle, pressing your chest to his as he slowly rubs up and down. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake if you have a nightmare.”

It’s a firm promise that he’ll help you, even as one of his large legs tuck between yours, keeping you impossibly close. Your breathing is still quiet, voice still silent, and he peeks an eye open at you before scanning your struck face up and down. “What’s wrong?” He’s caught a little off guard when you tuck your face into his neck; you’re just pleasantly surprised when no smell of burning copper goes to your brain this time. A sniffle is heard as your arms wrap around him too, and it just feels so, so strange.

For once, you are not grasping at cold fabric, desperately begging for an ounce of soft comfort. No, his neck is bare, and his skin is warm against you, an actual living breathing person existing beside you. It’s not rotting flesh, nor a lifeless form you’ve dreamt about clutching as you cried, mourning a lost teammate.

Still, what baffles you more is that never in your life have you felt him near you, never like this, never so bare like your minds are telepathically linked. Usually it’s his arm around your shoulders, simple yet not too touchy. Or perhaps a soft pat on the shoulder, a guiding palm on the lower back or even you taking advantage of the few times he swaps his balaclava for a surgical mask, opting to ruffle his hair while it’s present.

“Why’re you up Ghost? I wasn't the one who woke you.” . His chest sinks as you continue to sniffle, knowing he can't even be mad at you for seeing past him, and he sighs, the stubble of an unshaved jaw momentarily brushing against your forehead. “The fireworks.. set me off.” You stay quiet, sink into him a little longer as you both lay there, hearts beating against one another. There’s no point lying to you anymore, especially when he sees everything about himself in the way you act. Dealt entirely different hands in life and yet somehow led to the same conclusion, until you were here now, seeking comfort in one another. Slowly, your hand rubs up and down his back, making the stiff flesh slowly release the tension built between each cell. His body straights out a little, a shaky breath exhaling warmth onto the pillows.

“Thanks..love.” He murmurs quietly, and your nose nudges his neck, a silent response to his words in which he assumes is likely a ‘you’re welcome’ . His own nose buries into a few tufts of your hair, inhaling the clean scent of your shampoo. The both of you are here, still alive, still well. There are no explosions outside, no demands being asked of you and certainly no expectations to live up to. And you’d be damned if anyone even tried to ask you for anything right now, knowing well you weren't letting go of him until he did of you— which you both knew would never be anytime soon.

The week’s schedule shifts after that night, the interactions between you seem to have been planned according to a mutual understanding. Now you follow him everywhere, willingly too. Whether it was a grocery run in the early morning, the store was just empty enough to let you walk around with him without bumping into any customers. Or perhaps he’d drag you down to the park, let you sit on the benches and hear the soft sounds of nature. Your eyesight was becoming clearer much to your own relief, and you almost wanted to cry when you could read the time on the clock again. Still, he kept you close, letting you sit on the stool outside the shower or sit on the bed when he changed outfits. He felt comfortable, not entirely because you were still visually impaired but also because you made him feel comfortable, the shared vulnerability easing away at his hard walls. But the lack of sight really did help, and you knew because you felt his cheek brush against your ear when he shifted at movie nights. The way his bare nose would nudge your forehead to keep you awake whilst you indulged in a random crossword was nothing short of comfort either. It was most obvious when the sun began to set though, after he cooked you a hot dinner, and you’re allowed to let sleep come quickly with your head lolled lazily on his shoulder or if you’re extra lucky, even on his legs.

Like a loyal soldier, you followed his orders with glee. Like a good Lieutenant, he looked after you well, making sure that by the end of the night you were tucked safely beneath his blankets and shielded from the horrors of your own mind.

hope u enjoyed :)

[typicalopposite]

crop top tee and cut off jeans

(An idea I have had for a little while from @silversky9 where Tommy wears a crop top and Buck goes a little feral over it. We bounced the idea and it spiraled into what it is now 🫶 TW for the second half there will be mpreg. But you can stop after the first half — I’ll say when — and it’s just good ol fashion … not quite light smut!)

BuckTommy | M | 2803 words | ao3 link

It is so damn hot. 

The sun has been beating down on Tommy’s back for hours as he works in his yard, and he finally has reached the over it stage where he breaks out his special super secret outfit. 

Okay, okay… that’s a bit dramatic. It’s just— it’s not something he would typically wear. 

He slides the shirt over his head and it stops not quite halfway down his torso, then slides the loose and worn out pair of jeans up over his hips… they aren’t booty shorts… where’s the comfort in that? But… They are shorter than he anticipated when he cut the old jeans off a few summers ago. 

He steps out of the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. Not bad for an old man, Kinard… he teasingly thinks to himself. His body really is in possibly the best shape he’s been in, in a while. Thanks to his overly enthusiastic boyfriend making sure he sticks to his diet and pouts until he works out with him nearly every day… 

Not bad for an old man, at all… trying to keep up— trying to keep himself alive some days. Not that he cares too much. It makes Evan happy and keeps Tommy healthy so he can be around to keep Evan happy for a long long time. 

Plus… he has never filled out this outfit so nicely… if he does say (or well, think) so himself. 

His solidly built body, just barely, in the old faded cropped slipknot band tee worn mostly just so his shoulders aren’t so exposed to the sun— the shorts hug him a little more than they use to, but are broken in enough to still be breathable and comfy enough to spend the day outside in. 

His privacy fence keeps nosey neighbors eyes off the outfit. Not that he cares what they think— that’s a lie… he would love nothing more than to not have to see their judgemental expressions if they saw big tough guy, Tommy, dress… how he is dressed. But in the privacy of his back yard, he feels free to be a little less how he is expected to be— or act, or look. He can remove the metaphorical mask, that even after all this time… he still keeps snuggly on, and be completely just Tommy. 

And Tommy likes his cropped up top and cut off jeans. He ties a bandanna around his head to keep his curls pushed back… and his thumbs are painted sparkly purple instead of just clear— because it’s pretty and only he will see it. He smiles once more at himself, feeling the last thread of self doubt break loose and he walks out into his backyard. 

It’s still so hot, just more bearable. 

His body is drenched and the clothes are plastered to his body… but he’s almost done. The grass is cut; the weeds in his flowerbed taken care of; he pressure washed his back patio, and set up the new table and chairs he recently purchased— he has guests over pretty often now… which is still a new concept he’s wrapping his head around, but they need places to sit, he guesses. The last thing he is going to do for the day is set up a spice garden… for Evan. 

“Fresh basil is far superior to the dried flakes, babe…” he had pouted when Tommy didn’t want to pause dinner to run to the store… when he had the ingredient (just not the correct form). Did they go get the fresh basil, yes. Did Tommy begrudgingly admit Evan was correct for wanting to go get the fresh, basil… eventually. Did they take turns with each other’s punishment for being such a brat and a bitch about the situation after dinner… absolutely! 

Did Tommy go out the next day and buy everything to set up the little project, and gift, for his boyfriend…? Well… fresh is far superior to dried, so it’s a win win for everyone. 

He is so focused on assembling the wooden box he doesn’t hear the engine come to a stop just on the other side of the fence gate, he doesn’t hear the beep as the doors are locked, or Evan when he calls out once he enters the house. He is busy smoothing out the soil, poking holes down for the seeds, and is mid turn to grab said seeds when Evan gasps (pretty dramatically) after stepping out onto the patio. 

Tommy freezes. He stares and Evan; Evan stares at him. Then he smiles. 

He crosses the patio to where Tommy is standing, takes the seeds from him and sets them down out of the way, then takes Tommy’s face in his hands and pulls him into a deep, passionate kiss. “What… was that for,” Tommy asks, feeling drunk off of it when Evan finally pulls back for air. 

“What is this for?” Evan asks, equally winded, moving to mouth along Tommy’s jaw as he slides his hands up Tommy’s sweat slicked back, under the crop top, to his shoulders… then back down to the cut off of the jeans. His fingers slip under the cut and run along the curve of his ass… and he whines against Tommy’s skin. 

Tommy’s already heated skin is now on fire, for multiple reasons. He fidgets in Evan’s hold and pulls away to look at him, having to lean far back to escape Evan’s hungry lips as they move down his neck . “You’re ridiculous,” he laughs. 

“You’re delicious,” Evan counters and dives back in, walking Tommy back until Evan has him pressed— groin to groin; hardening erection to equally hardening erection — against the railing to his patio steps. Evan trails his tongues back up Tommy’s skin and only stops to nip at his ear causing Tommy to let out a whimpered yelp. “Alright, that’s it…” Evan exclaims, then he dips down and without warning Tommy is hoisted up and over Evan’s shoulder. 

“Evan!?” He is held firmly in place and carried up the few steps to the patio door. “But your spice garden…�� 

“It can wait— wait…my spice garden?” 

“Mhmm…” Tommy hums, a proud smile spreading across his face as Evan turns back to look at the little handmade garden box. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then tightens his hold on Tommy and pushes the patio door open. “Oh yeah, let’s go…” he mutters, and proceeds to carry him to the bedroom, dropping him onto the bed and wasting no time climbing up on top of him. “You… are amazing, sweetheart… Do you know that?” Tommy preens at that, then shies away. “No no… look at me beautiful. I need to know you understand how much I appreciate and adore you right now.” 

Evan sits back on his heels and lets his eyes roam over Tommy’s body, he bites . “It’s just some yard clothes…” Tommy says, knowing there’s a deep blush taking over his face. 

“It’s just hot, Tommy… you look so hot in this, and you have no idea do you?” 

“You really like it?” Tommy asks softly, and he knows that voice tends to do so much more to Evan than when he drops it down an octave, making it deep and scratchy. He bats his eyes even and Evan looks ready to pounce. 

“Oh I’m going to show you just how much I like it—” Evan practically growls. He grabs Tommy by the waist and flips him over, pulling him up onto his knees. “—and you—” He stops Tommy when he starts to pull the crop top off, taking both of Tommy’s wrists in one hand and pressing them into the mattress over his head, no command to leave them there needed, Tommy knows. “—and all the things you do for me, sweetheart.” Then Evan works at the jeans, until they are pushed down just enough to grant him access. 

Evan is quick and effective. First with his mouth then with his fingers. He works Tommy open until he is writhing and begging for more and then he gives him just that. Filling him up, while also dropping down to whisper his praises and gratitudes in Tommy’s ear while he pounds into him. Tommy gasps and moans and cries out for Evan to go faster and harder, arching his back against Evan’s chest with an exasperated cry as he reaches his climax. 

Needless to say, Tommy is left feeling very appreciated and adored. 

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

STAHP! there be mpreg beyond this point! Unless you’re cool with than then — GO!

🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢

(Forty TWO weeks later)

It is so fucking hot, and Tommy might actually lose his mind. 

He is huge and tired and sore… and now the AC won’t turn on. He wants to cry as he flips the switch to off then back on like Evan suggests when Tommy called to angrily panic scream about it. “The tech will be there in the morning to look at it,” Evan tells him at the end of the conversation, after nothing has worked, his voice heavily apologetic… and Tommy whines pitifully. He can’t help it. It’s Evan’s fault he is in this miserable position in the first place. He runs a hand over the large bump housing their baby girl and sighs. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I get home, okay?”

“Will you bring me some ice cream?” Tommy asks, and Evan quickly agrees without hesitation. “And give me a foot massage?” Another quick agree from Evan, and Tommy digs for more requests; because dammit, if he has to roast in this house because the doctor decided he needs to be put on bed rest while they wait for their daughter's arrival, so he can’t leave, then he is getting pampered for it. His ego and pride can be damned. Evan promises to do every single one, then he has to get off the phone; the sound of the alarm blares in the background and Tommy hopes it will be a quick last call so Evan can get home to him… even if the heat is sweltering and he will not be allowed to touch him beyond the foot massage. 

He goes around the house, opening all the windows and turning on all the ceiling fans; he goes into the garage and finds all their standing fans as well. He doesn’t even look at the thermostat to see how hot it is, the way his shirt is drenched and sticking to his body is enough to know it must be ridiculously high. 

No matter what he does it is just too hot. 

He finally can’t take it anymore and tugs his shirt up and over his bump, but hesitates pulling it over his head. It’s his nipples. They are so sensitive— so sensitive! Not exactly in a good way this far into the pregnancy… and the wind blowing from all the fans will be murderous on them! 

The problem is now the fabric is sitting bunched up on top of his stomach and that’s no less annoying than it being plastered to his belly. He huffs about a frustrated breath… then he gets an idea. 

Evan is going to murder him for using the kitchen shears but he was too desperate to get this done quickly to go hunt down his crafting scissors. He snatches the shirt off and lays it out flat on the table, eyes a line about midway up and starts cutting. He slides it back on and the edge hovers just above where his belly sticks out from his body, not rubbing annoyingly against it, but still covering his poor nipples from all the air. 

He breathes a sigh… and suddenly the idea blossoms. He thinks of his baggy pregnancy jeans… that he will have no use for once the baby is born, then hurries to their room to find them, tugging his gym shorts off and discarding them into the hamper in the corner of their room as he goes. 

One more modification later and he tries them on… definitely shorter than he intended but he’s not mad at it. He twists his body as best as he can to see his backside in the mirror and hums a pleased little hum at how he looks. Swollen, sure. But past that he fills the fit out nicely. 

And most importantly… he feels substantially better. He might even be able to get some cleaning done now…

Which is exactly what Evan finds him doing when he finally makes it home from work. “What are you—” he gasps, then trails off… Tommy stops mopping and blinks innocently at his soon to be husband. “Oh my god…” Evan sobs, dropping the bag of ice cream with his keys and his jacket and beelining straight into Tommy. His hands wander over the exposed bump and Tommy tilts his head back and softly chuckles as Evan wastes no time latching onto his throat. “Are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?” Evan whines against the mark he left behind. “I just got off work.” He presses a row of kisses around Tommy’s neck, and up to his ear. 

“Hmm…” Tommy hums smugly, letting his hands travel up Evan’s arms and wrap around his shoulders. “I had a feeling you might like it.” 

“Oh you did?” Evan asks into his ear before nipping at the lobe and sending a shiver through Tommy’s body. “So you purposefully chose to be a tease when I got home?”

“Maaaybe…” Tommy drags out, his lips twitching up into a smirk. He really hadn’t, it was just too damn hot… but he will play into this for some (hopefully labor inducing) sexy times. Evan hesitates— he has his reservations about sex so late in the pregnancy— but it’s very short lived with Tommy dipping his head and glancing up at Evan through his lashes. “What are you gonna do about it?” he asks softly… with just a bit of a needy desperation in his voice. 

That does it.

Evan growls and finally captures Tommy’s lips, letting his hands wander and roam over Tommy’s body. The bump is such a mood killer, stuck out and so in the way, but they are creative, and at two weeks over due if Tommy wants it… Tommy gets it. Evan leads him over to the kitchen island, leans him forward just a bit, and tells him to keep his hands flat on the counter top. Then he gets to work, kissing a trail over the back of Tommy’s neck, down his back and stopping at the hem of the pants. 

He eases them off of Tommy’s hips, over his extra caked up (Evan’s words of affirmation since he put on he baby weight) ass and down just enough he can easily part Tommy’s cheeks and dives in. 

It’s not long before Evan’s ministrations have Tommy’s legs trembling. “Baby…” he pleads, and Evan immediately stops, kissing back up Tommy’s back. They are nothing if not always prepared and Evan quickly finds a live packet in one of the drawers. He pushes his pants down and slicks himself up just as Tommy’s winces. 

Evan completely stops. “Are you okay?” 

Tommy nods and lets out a deep breath. “This is too much on my back,” he says, rubbing over the heavy bump. “Can we move to the bedroom?” 

“You don’t want to stop?” Evan asks, and receives a daring glare. “Okay, okay…” he laughs, and presses a kiss into Tommy’s cheek. Tommy tugs his shorts back up and takes Evan’s hand Very determined to finish what they started now, leading him to their bedroom. Evan eases him onto the bed and takes the sight before him in, groans before joining Tommy on the mattress. “How did I get so lucky?” he asks, running his hands up and over Tommy’s body, moving back to kiss him again. 

He gets back to work, this time slipping the shorts all the way off, but making a verbal note that the shirt stays put. Then he shifts Tommy onto his side, moves behind him, lines up, and slides in. Tommy arches back against Evan’s chest and his breathing picks up, as does Evan’s thrusts. “Baby… baby… baby…” Tommy chants, feeling around until he finds Evan's hand and lacing their fingers together. “Come on… come on… come on…” 

He can feel the heat pooling in his belly and he knows it isn’t going to take long at all. He bites his lips and starts to rock himself back into Evan’s thrusts, as Evan’s hand releases his and moves down to grip him. It only takes one stroke and Tommy’s vision whites out, his body goes rigid, he cries out Evan’s name…

Needless to say… the baby was born that night. 

[catchmewjsn]

.

[wingscreation]

hm this is a bit interesting to say the least. I'm not really iffy about time travel in general and parallel universes could be interesting if done right.. just a lot to think about

Link to article

https://www.eurogamer.net/naoki-yoshida-on-dawntrail-criticism-community-feedback-and-the-future-of-final-fantasy-14

[classyrbf]

IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.

“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.

“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”

“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.

“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.

Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”

“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.

“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.

“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.

“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”

“Yeah? Well all your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”

“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re my goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.

“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.

“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.

“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.

“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”

“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.

“Let me go, Satoru.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.

You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.

[our-lady-of-mcr]

.

[itsoutrageouss]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn���t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏✶𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

GETO SUGURU X FEM! READER

✶⋆.˚cw: smut, choking, pussy and face slapping, praise, degradation, recording, breeding, dumbfication, i love you’s

✶⋆.˚a/n: first one shot in a line set up for this whole concept ;) requested by anon.

Geto was a kinky man when he wanted to be. Loving the idea of recording each time he fucked you. Balls slapping noisily onto your wet clit as his hand curled in your hair. Lifting your face up into the camera with a degrading coo.

It was a fit of pure boredom that brought him to take it one step further. Convincing you that you two should share the videos. Make everyone see just how good he was destroying you in bed.

When you had agreed, you had never expected the millions of notifications you received within the first week. The comments on how hot you two were as a couple. How hot Geto looked fucking into you. How hot you looked getting fucked by Geto.

You even received some suggestions on videos your new “fans” wanted to see. Hundreds of thousands of people willing to watch, to get off to, anything that you two decided to post.

It was scary and amusing, but Geto was all for it. His chest swelled with pride knowing that so many men now wanted you but couldn’t have you. Knowing that he was the only one who could fuck you so damn good.

You never expected to find yourself agreeing, your lip between your teeth as you read through the comments. Some of the bold suggestions making your thighs clench at the thought of your boyfriend doing these things to you.

The account quickly rose to the top as the weeks went by. And you never got tired of the many positions Geto would flip you into, fucking into you meanly while praising you so degradingly. Showing the world how fast you turned to putty in his hold.

You attracted many different audiences. Your favorite were those girls who swooned not at him, but at you two on a whole. The way he held you, the way he checked up on you when he was done being rough. The aftercare. They thought your relationship was perfect, and would never fail to let you know.

It wasn’t long until people began demanding more of you two in a non porn setting, your other social medias blowing up with those who just couldn’t get enough of your lives. How much cuter Geto was with you out of bed. The many dates he took you on, the gifts he bought you. Everything.

It became something that your fans loved to see. Your relationship on a whole. Their little comments like ‘so cute!’ , ‘i love them so much’ , ‘you guys need to get married’ , ‘my favorite couple ever’ never failed to make your heart swell.

They respected your privacy of course. But would take anything that was put out for their consumption. Porn or otherwise.

—

“𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃’𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊”

Was what the title of your latest video read, your fans quick to click on the thumbnail the second it got posted. Many already positioning themselves on their beds. Others plugging in their headphones around coworkers or friends. They knew from a mere four seconds in that they already loved what they saw.

Your hands and knees were trembling as your back arched. Fat tears flowing down your cheeks as you begged your boyfriend to touch you. “Please Sugu— please touch me. Wanna feel your cock so bad.” You moaned, wiggling your ass towards him with a needy mewl.

“Does my greedy girl want me to fuck her dumb? Is that what you want pretty?”

“Mhm, need you.”

He was more than happy to comply, not taking long until he was fucking into you roughly from behind. Your body jerking forward each time his hips hammered against your ass.

“S-suguu. Feels so good,” You mewled, Geto’s hand snaking around your throat to pull you up against his chest, forcing you to make eye contact with the blinking red light in front of you.

His breath fanned your ear, lips ghosting over your skin as he groaned deeply. “If only you could see what they see baby. See yourself moan like a slut in heat while that pretty lil’ pussy sucks me in.”

You let out a loud hiccuped moan, Geto’s cock slamming meanly into your g spot before fucking deep inside you. The small outline of his tip barely visible to the device’s lens. “See how much of a mess you are f’me.”

He felt so good. And your head was spinning as he fucked into you with no mercy. Your shaky whimpers echoing throughout the room as Geto molded your pussy around his cock.

“Nngh— sugu ‘m so full. Love your cock s’ muchh.” Your words were slurred as his other hand reached around to rub small circles on your clit. Your sopping pussy leaking lewdly onto the sheets below as he continued to roll his hips up into you.

“Tell them who’s fucking you so good baby.” He grunted, hand on your throat landing two soft slaps onto each of your teary cheeks before settling right back into place on your neck. The light sting pulling a string of whiney moans past your drool filled lips as you pressed further into him.

“You are. You are Sugu. You’re f-fucking me so good ‘nd i love it— haah. Wan’ you to fuck me like this forever.” You babbled, words muffled by an incoherent cry as your hands gripped his muscular arm. Using him for support when your head grew fuzzy, blanking out everything but the feeling of him inside you.

Geto smirked, “That’s my girl.”

You yelped when you were shoved into the mattress. Your back arched deeply with your torso flat on the sheets. Geto’s hand on the back of your neck forcing you to stay cheek down as he switched up his pace.

The new position allowed him to hit so much deeper. Your needy cries going straight to his cock as you drooled messily. Eyes rolling back with a loud moan every time he gave you a harsh thrust forward, sensitive nipples rubbing on the bed till you were clenching down repeatedly. Loud squelches filling the air as your pussy coated his cock in its slick.

“Sugu, ‘m gonna cum.” A trembling cry. “‘M so close.” You could feel your stomach tightening, breathing getting heavier as you gripped the sheets tightly.

“Yeah? Gonna make a fucking mess for me. Show them how good i fucked you today?” He cooed, watching as you nodded dumbly before letting out a choked moan. “Mhm.”

Geto groaned, palm landing onto your clit so he could watch you jerk with a whimper. Your body quivering when he pulled back you up, arms hooking under your legs to lift you off the bed. Body being moved up and down as he used you as his personal fleshlight. Bouncing you on and off his cock till you were crying uncontrollably, his harsh kisses to your sweet spot shooting to every sensitive nerve in your pussy.

“Suguruu. I- nngh, you’re— ahh.” You didn’t know what you were trying to say, your body being manhandled however he liked for your tight pussy to stroke his length. Your toes curling as your head fell back onto his shoulder.

“Shhh baby, it’s okay. Just take it yeah? Doing so fucking well.” Your legs remained dangling over his arms as he used you to both your delights, feeling yourself ready to let go with another shrieked cry. “F-fuckk. ‘M gonna— oh god.”

“You know they love to see that pretty face when you cum baby, look up at the camera f’me.”

You did as you told, head spinning as you attempted to keep it up right. Focusing on the delicious stretch of your walls to accommodate your boyfriend’s girth.

“Go on baby. Let go. ‘M right there behind you.”

Your mouth hung open in what your fans liked to call an adorable scream as your legs shook. Glossy eyes making content with the camera as you squirted messily. The force of the clear liquid making Geto grunt when it threatened to push his cock out of you.

“There you go.. fuck— that’s my good girl. ‘M gonna fill you up so good now. Gonna stuff that tight pussy to the brim with my cum.” He husked, movements getting sloppy as his abs tensed. Lips parted in deep breaths as his eyes rolled back, something that your audience loved to see.

His cock twitching within your warmth with a string of cracked groans when he buried himself deep. Allowing himself to pump you full of the creamy liquid, painting your insides in sticky white.

He pulled out slowly, still holding you up so the camera could pick up the way your little gaped hole fluttered around nothing. His cum running down your puffy folds in thick spurts. “Look at that baby, sopping pussy’s making a big mess.”

Geto set you down with a smile before kissing you sweetly, taking you into his arms and rocking you back and forth in a hug while placing tiny pecks all over your face. “You did so fucking amazing. That was hot.” Leaning into your ear so that his next words wouldn’t be picked up. “If they don’t jerk off to this i promise you i will.”

You could only hum with flushed cheeks , falling into his chest with a small giggle. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, “Ya hear that? She can’t feel her legs.” He grinned at the camera making you both laugh, his attention turning back to you with another passionate kiss. “Don’t worry, i’m gonna get you all mice and cleaned up okay? Gonna take real good care of you.”

“M’kay, love you Sugu.”

“I love you more sweetheart.”

—

It was no surprise the amount of love you got for the video. It was hard to believe that your account could grow anymore than it already had. The comments seemed to be hooked on how Geto could go from fucking you relentlessly to being the sweetest boyfriend telling you that he loves you.

That amongst thousands of men making it known that they came to the sight of you squirting, that one made Geto a little angry. And the thousands of women begging your boyfriend to be next, like that would ever happen.

You refrained the urge to respond to all the demands for more with the fact that you had loads of others coming up. Some with your boyfriend alone and others with.. guests. But they would have to have the patience to see for themselves.

[soleilapproves]

Play fighting with Boxer!Sukuna

Note: Reader is referred to as girlfriend at one point.

Masterlist

“Babe.”

“Not right now.”

“Babe.”

“Sukuna, I promise I’ll be done with this book soon.”

He huffed and fell back onto the couch. He had been trying to get your attention for the past 30 minutes but you were adamant on finishing your book. This is all the fault of that damn community book club your coworker recommended you join. Now whenever, you’re off work and Sukuna doesn’t have to train, you’re reading. Usually the two of you spent almost all your spare time together but now you spent half of it reading your newest book for your weekly discussion. You always did your best to spoil him with kisses and cuddles but it was never enough.

Book club be damned, he needed you to be superglued to his side every single second.

“My girlfriend has a side man and he’s made of paper,” he huffed to himself as he watched you intently read. What was so great about your book anyway? Was it worth ignoring your gorgeous (and shirtless) boyfriend? He even had a tattoo of your name on his left pec and you were still choosing to smother a book with your attention.

Sukuna’s wallowing turned him creative- he stood in front of you, trying to make sure your guard was down. You didn’t look up which meant that you were still engrossed in your book. His hand swooped in and swiftly snatched the book from you. “Sukuna,” you groaned. “Give it back, I was at a good part.” You got up to grab it from him but he raised it above his head. “Kiss me.” You glared at him and gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Done, now give it.”

“No,” he nonchalantly replied. “But I kissed you.” You wondered why he was being particularly irritating today.

“That was me begging for a morsel of your attention. Now cuddle me if you want it,” he said and cheekily smirked.

You ignored him and hopped trying to get your book. Sukuna simply dodged your sad attempts and laughed every time you missed. “I don’t even know why you’re trying.” You gave him a pointed look at his comment.

“Okay, fine, you can have your book if you beat me in a fight.”

“What? That makes no sense.” You couldn’t believe this man. “It seems like a fair challenge to me,” he said as he walked to a particularly high shelf and placed your book on top of it. “You know I can just use my stepping stool for that, right?” you said before scoffing at him.

“Then it’s a good thing I hid it.” His sarcastic smile was now pissing you off. “But you literally fight for a living. You have the upper hand.”

“I’m in love with you. Use that as a distraction. Come on, let’s go to the ring.” You were speechless as he dragged you to the fighting “ring” (also known as your bedroom).

Since you had a smaller frame than him, he agreed to let you have the first hit. You sighed and braced yourself. You didn’t have much of a strategy except for charging at him with such a high speed that he’d fall on the bed and would accept defeat.

But as soon as you were in close distance, he caught both your arms, turned you around and threw you on the bed. He didn’t give you a second to get up before he straddled you. “Haha!” he exclaimed. Seeing you all riled up underneath him was a sight he was used to but it never failed to awe him.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he asked as he began to lower himself to face you. “This is so unfair! You’re like 200 pounds, I can’t even move you,” you said as you tried to push him off. Sukuna grabbed your hands that were fighting him and he playfully wrestled them. Who knows what would’ve happened if he used his real strength.

Thank goodness for your quick thinking because you remembered that Sukuna was extremely ticklish so you pulled your hand out of his grasp with all the strength you could muster up and started poking his sides. “Babe!” he yelled before toppling over to his side. It was your turn to straddle him and before you could pin his arms beside his head, he caught yours and pulled you down to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. Your cheeks were mushed against the very tattoo of your name.

You were literally stuck in one position. The more you tried to move the tighter he’d hold you. “Sukuna, you cheater. Why do I always do this to myself?” You sighed, accepting defeat.

Sukuna kissed your forehead and laid you both on your sides, still not letting you go. “Sweet, sweet victory,” he whispered to himself.

-•-

I need to be (lovingly) smothered by a beefy nerd. Someone like Clark Kent.

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[deathbxnny]

Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst 🫠

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.✨️

Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》VI

She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.

You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.

And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.

Why, why, why.

Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.

Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.

"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"

She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."

Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.

She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.

》CAITLYN

"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.

It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.

Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.

The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"

Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.

"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.

She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.

There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.

For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.

》JINX

Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.

The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.

"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?

"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.

Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.

Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.

Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.

》EKKO

To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.

Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.

Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.

And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.

"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.

"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."

He let you win.

》SEVIKA

She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.

You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.

And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.

She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.

Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.

"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.

"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.

"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."

[parkersbliss]

you lock the 141 outside your house (I know my rights tiktok)

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x american!female reader 

synopsis: you lock them out of your (their?) house, claiming you "know your rights." based on a tiktok trend with soldiers.

warnings: none just fluff and humor :)))

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour and I think it's the funniest thing EVER thanks

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Ghost: 

You watch as your boyfriend gets out of his truck in the driveway. He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door, a smile twitching under his mask at the sight of you waiting for him. 

Just as he steps to the porch, you close the door and lock it. “I know my third amendment rights!”

Ghost stops at the door, dropping his bag. Rights? What were you talking about? “Your what?” 

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner,” You reply, reading off your phone. 

Ghost sighs. Third amendment? Of course, the one American he dates is the one that has them all memorized. You could probably recite them in your sleep. Patriotism, or whatever. Which makes zero sense. You were living with him in Manchester. If all went well and you got married, he was making sure he changed your status to British. 

“You fucking Americans.” He grabs the key from his bag, going to unlock the door only to find you locking it. “Are you serious?”

You show your phone at him through the glass, the third amendment displayed on a Google search. He stares back at you from his mask, unamused. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters. 

You giggle from behind the door and give him a few more minutes before going to unlock it. You knew Simon’s limits. You only needed a few seconds of fun anyway, but by the time you unlock it, he’s gone. 

“Simon?” You call out, poking your head out the door and checking around the house. His truck was still there, so he didn’t turn back around. You don’t see any movements or even hear anything. Was he picked up by aliens? 

A thud sounds from behind you, and you yelp, shutting the door and turning around. 

Simon stands in front of you, arms crossed and his duffel bag on the floor.

“What the hell?” You said, looking him up and down. 

“I should be asking you that,” He retorts. “You should really lock your windows, love.” 

“Are you… did you climb through one?” 

“You locked me out.” 

“I went to unlock it!” 

“Third amendment rights, my arse.” He grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. “We’re in England.” 

You shrug, tracing up his arm. “Thought it was funny.” 

Simon just sighs. “Americans.” 

Gaz: 

“Oh, hell no!” You exclaim as Gaz approaches the door. “I know my third amendment rights.” The lock clicks. 

“No fucking way,” Gaz said, strolling up to the glass storm door. 

“No soldiers in this home.” 

He stares at you, his hands on his hips and that signature scowl on his face. There was no way he was coming home to this bullshit right now. “Open the door.” 

“No quartering soldiers without my permission,” You replied.��

Gaz rolls his eyes. Your home? He was pretty sure his name was on the mortgage, even if you were living in it 90% of the time. “I own the fucking property! I live here. You’re the guest.” 

You shrug, grinning. “Not anymore.” 

He runs a hand down his face. Sometimes just sometimes he regrets finding your stubbornness so damn attractive.  “I’m going to crash out, actually.” 

“Crash outside? Yeah.”

“Let me in!” He shouts, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it. 

“No!” You shout back, holding onto it and preventing him from entering without your permission. 

Gaz leans against the glass. “Remind me why I chose to date an American?” 

You smile at him. “Because we’re funny, and we have better Chinese food.” 

He glares at you, trying to unlock the door again. He groans when there’s no avail. “Babe!” 

You say nothing, finding his annoyance quite amusing and a change of pace for once. 

And then he actually crashes out, grabbing the handle and pulling, twisting, pounding at it. He yells a string of curse words and then starts banging on the doorframe. He gives up, frowning, and leans his forehead on the glass. “Please?” 

You unlock it. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He storms inside, throwing you over his shoulder. “You are so in for it.” 

“I like where this is going,” You giggle as he throws you on the couch. 

He raises a brow, hands coming to your waist. “Yeah?” He starts tickling you. You yelp, laughing under him and trying to push away. 

Gaz doesn’t relent and continues tickling you even after you’ve pleaded with him to stop. “You lock me out of my fucking claim it’s your right,” He mutters. “Consider this my very reasonable punishment.” 

Soap: 

“I know my rights!” You shout, watching Soap approach the door. 

He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. He had no idea what you said. The poor guy could barely hear from all the bombs going on around him, and you shout through a door? Good plan.  “What are you on about?” He asked. 

“There will be no soldiers in my home!” You close the glass door and lock it. 

He approaches the front door, staring at you through the glass. His expression is clueless, brows furrowed. “You mean our home?” He knocks on the glass. “Can I come in?” 

“Nope!” 

He frowns. “Why?” 

“Third amendment.” 

“Amendment?” He scoffs. What the hell are you talking about? Is this what he gets for dating an American? You start proclaiming your rights? What’s next, the pledge of allegiance? “Are you taking the piss? Does this look like the land of the free?” 

You giggle at him, his accent thickening with his frustration. “I’m still an American!” 

“Trust me, I know! Can I please come inside?” 

“No soldiers allowed.” You tape up a piece of paper displaying those words. 

Soap continues frowning at you and realizes he isn’t going to be let in anytime soon. It’s a good thing he knew how to easily change that. Americans and their rights. More like Americans and their feelings. He sits down on the porch steps, facing away from you, rests his chin in his hand, and sighs loudly. 

You don’t budge. 

He sighs again, kicking his boots on the porch, turning back at you with sad eyes. Still nothing. He concludes there was one last option to get you to let him in. He grabs his phone, and you watch with furrowed brows as he types something in. Suddenly, music is blasting from his phone as he looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Not just any music, but the sad hamster violin music. 

“Oh my god.” You unlock the door, opening it up to him. “You’re such a baby.” 

He practically skips inside, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your baby.”

Price: 

Your husband stands on the porch, rolling his eyes at you.

“I know my rights!” You shout at him through the window. 

“Do you, now?” He asked, playing along with your prank or whatever this was. If it brought you this much amusement to lock him out, he might as well indulge in it. That was the kind of man he was. Until he started freezing of course, then he would demand you let him in. 

You nod your head. “As an American, amendment 3 of the Bill of Rights says that I don’t have to house you if I don’t want to.” 

Price hums. At least they taught you something in American schools. “Does that extend when you’re in another country?” 

“It does to me.” 

He huffs, grabbing something from his pocket and displaying it to you. “You know I have a house key, yes?”

“I’ll just lock it again.” 

He tilts his head at you. You were really trying to sell whatever rights you thought you had. “Really?” 

“I’m taking this very seriously.” 

Price strokes his beard. “I can see that.” An idea pops into his head, and he steps away from the glass and in front of the door. You didn’t want to let him in? That’s fine. You wanted to lock the door? No problem. He’s got methods of entering from being in the military, after all. “Guess I’ll just have to kick down the door.” He raises his foot, fully intent on doing it. You were going to repaint the door anyway, might as well get a new one. 

You swing open the door. “Are you crazy?” 

He strolls past you. “Did I lock you outside our home? Besides, crazy would’ve been bombing the house.” 

Your lips parted, unsure if he was joking. You assume he is, but his expression says otherwise. “Are you being serious?” 

He laughs at your face, grabbing your hand. “Only if you start proclaiming your rights again.”

You put your hands up. “What rights? Suddenly, I’m feeling like this soldier can stay as long as he likes.” 

Price presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thought so.” 

[tojisun]

Okay, now I need something about bf!logan and his girl making a porno (bonus points if wade finds out after the show they put on for him and that man is willing to RISK IT ALL to see that sex tape😩🤣)

cw: porn link; f!reader; smut; consensual filming during sex; slight sexting at the end // divider by @/plutism!

this is definitely the porno they were making <3

logan has you on your knees, your ass dimpling with every one of his greedy caresses, his heavy hand kneading your flesh. you’re whining to be creampied—to be bred—and logan indulges you with a quiet chuckle because you’re so adorable like this, all needy and demanding, babbling nothing but nonsense because he’s fucked you to the point of incoherence.

you jut out your chin at his croon. he tells you to do it yourself if you really want his cum; says that you’ve got to show him how much you need it.

“an’ here i thought i was bein’ a gentleman,” logan says, sighing in that what-can-you-do? tone like he hadn’t been fucking you so hard, you were sure that the condom was on the brink of ripping.

you grumble, rolling your eyes even mid-tears, before reaching back to where he’s got his cock rutting along the cleft of your ass. you give it a stroke, giggling breathily to yourself at its sheer girth and weight, before sliding your hand down to the pinched tip and tugging.

logan moans, and it rumbles deep, sending tingles to rise from the tips of your toes to the base of your neck. he sounds just a little too excited, and you wonder how you must look as you reach for the rubber, tugging it off the expanse of his cock. do you look desperate, the camera capturing the way you’re shivering like you’re on cum-withdrawals? or do you look like the brat that you are, whining how sex is not enough until logan’s pumping you full of his sperm?

god, the thought that this moment is being immortalized makes you clench at nothing, your hole puckering as it waits to be filled.

the condom comes off with a pop, the rubber snapping off and into itself. it sounds so lewd and dirty, like the two of you are really starring in a corny porno, and it fills your cheeks with warmth as your need wanes in the face of your shyness.

you fling the condom to the side, before burrowing your face on the pillows, as though that alone can hide the palpable hunger rippling from you. logan laughs at your reaction like he’s not softly humping his cock between your thighs, rutting it along the wet mess he’s made out of your cunt.

“y’ready, bub?” logan asks, still giddy with his laugh. you grumble a reply, before jutting your head in a stilted nod.

he taps his weeping cock along your folds, testing, and you shuffle in your impatience. you feel the itch exploding, the need to be stuffed bloating, but logan continues to tease and god, pleasepleaseplease—

“i’ve got you, darl,” he grunts, then he’s pushing in, steady and filling, and, and—

the moan that’s ripped from your throat sounds foreign, like you’re a damn wounded animal. you don’t even get to adjust to his width—pussy lips going taut at his thickness—before logan’s drawing his cock out until all that’s left is the head. there’s a bated breath that you two share, leaving you suspended in anticipation, then he’s bullying it back in.

you flop on the bed, all useless now like you’ve got your strings cut loose. logan doesn’t seem to mind, not with the consistent ringing slaps of his pelvis meeting your ass echoing in your quaint room. god, your brain’s being scrambled right now, you’re sure, because you can’t even think of anything but logan—

loganloganlogan.

you’re already cross-eyed by the time he sprays his first load inside you.

.

wade gets a five second clip from logan’s number. the thumbnail is just a blur of colours and wade’s interest is piqued because logan rarely reaches out to him—a video is just unthinkable.

he was expecting many things—that the video is the one of deadpool being broadcasted on national television with the words “hero or criminal?” after he’s accidentally set the robber’s van on fire, or that the video is an accidental recording of logan’s butt because that wolverine suit was tight and wade can’t even think where logan must keep his phone with him.

but this—

wade wasn’t expecting this.

it was a video of you—wade’s not even embarrassed to admit that he’s memorized the way you look from all angles; what? one doesn’t get a show of wolverine fucking his girl without gaining a new hyperfixation—reaching for logan’s monster cock. wade breathes in sharply as he watches you reach for the condom before tugging it off with a filthy, filthy pop. the video cuts into a next scene of logan relentlessly fucking you hard; the audio is a mess of squeaks and slaps, but also the wet squelches of logan’s cock fucking in-and-out of your gaping cunt.

two things:

1. that’s fucking hot.

2. that video has clearly been tampered with; it was edited to show the barest of the highlights.

this was a conscious decision, with deliberate efforts. this was personal.

an invitation.

wade rubs one… okay, fine.

wade rubs three out before he’s running back to that apartment he’s daydreamed about. mid-parkour, another notifcation comes in. wade falls, because of course he does, but while he waits for his ankle to mend itself back into its socket, his eyes devour the new message.

> darl wants to know if you’re in.

wade sends a dick pic as a reply.

wade busting a fat nut behind tim hortons because he’s patriotic like that

(ext)

[buckyalpine]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

[monstersholygrail]

You, a cute Deer hybrid foolishly make another attempt to get away from your Tiger hybrid bf’s grip while his tongue ravishes you in the name of “grooming.” You huff, slumping against his paws that encircle your body.

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. You try as hard as you can to not appear as aroused that you are by it, but when you hear him inhale sharply you know he’s picked up on the scent of lust that seeps from your pores.

“It’s no use trying to get away from me, mate.” You can’t help but whimper, the jittering buzz of restlessness coursing through your pent up body.

“I wanna run,” you whine, looking longingly toward the grassy distance even as you arch into his embrace. A part of you resisting possibly because you know how wound up it makes him.

A second later the tiger’s prickly tongue resumes its course of lapping up and down your exposed throat and you shiver, resisting a pleased sigh that begs to be released. A rumble passes through his chest as he soaks up your warmth, his protective instincts roaring to life at your irritating insistence.

“If you run then you get dirty and then you will be right back here in my enduring embrace with no chance of escape,” he growls, not completely hating the idea for a moment. The idea of caring for his mate’s body as much as he wrecks it an intriguing one. So why not do both?

Even with his warning you don’t stop your wriggling. Of course you don’t. Not when the urge to run and burn off your energy is pumping through your veins. You don’t even notice how your endless squirming has you grinding into your bf’s dick, causing it to harden and stir to life. Bringing forth its need to hunt and make its prey submit. He rumbles huskily in your ear, jerking forward and pinning you down with his hips.

“Stop your moving this instant or I’ll make you,” he threatens with that deadly rasp in his tone that would’ve had you baring your neck for him in an instant if you were paying any attention.

Your damn squirming doesn’t stop and it’s even worse now that his aching cock is nestled right between your plump thighs. His red bulging tip dribbling pre-cum. The fact that you don’t even notice as it leaks down onto your exposed slit is his last straw.

“That’s fucking it. You’re done for.”

Chilling noises leave him as he leans back and yanks your ass up into the air. Flipping your dress up and fully exposing your glistening pussy to the cold air as you help in surprise. That yelp quickly growing into a full-blown cry as before you realize what’s going on, your bf slips his entire length inside your warm wet cunt in a single thrust.

He doesn’t bother waiting for you to adjust before he starts slamming his cock along your quivering walls. His claws digging into your fur to keep you perfectly still for his onslaught. You hadn’t given him a moment of relief and he plans on affording you the same courtesy. Growls tear from his throat at how tight you are, especially as your pretty pussy clenches down on him like the good Doe you are.

You moan wildly, your body buzzing as it finally gets the exercise it truly needed. You try and meet his thrusts but your bf roars in protest, his claws sinking deeper into your flesh. Snapping his cock inside you with brutal thrusts, using your body like a fleshlight. Fucking into you with no restraint and unleashing all his pent up frustrations on you. Just like him your climax sneaks up on you and completely overwhelms you with endless shocks of pleasure. Your body shakes as he doesn’t stop, prolonging the buzzing inside you and you have a feeling he’s not gonna stop for a long time…

With each orgasm that wracks through your form, your body grows weaker. The only thing keeping you upright anymore is your bf’s claws still sunk into your hips. Drool pools from your lips as he pumps inside your pussy just right. Clearly aiming for his own release as few thrusts later he’s spilling himself deep inside you, filling your spent cunt to the brim with his cum. A sweet little reward for how good you were for him.

“Look at you. So perfect like this,” he says in awe, his claws scraping up and down your back in a way that has you moaning weakly.

Your body is so perfectly still, your mind completely fucked out. He now has you exactly how he needs you. With you no longer able to move, your bf leans over you, cock still fully sheathed inside you, and resumes his grooming. This time with no interrupts besides the occasional whimper.

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)