#like we’d be so loud and we’d be used to the cold

[evansbby]

is it just me or the Philly crowd for wrestlemania night one was so shit?!?!?

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “MY BOYFRIEND IS GONNA KICK YOUR ASS !”

PT 2: WINDBREAKER BOYS PROTECTING YOU FROM PERVS. ft. yamato endo, chika takiishi, akihiko nirei, taiga tsugeura, & choji tomiyama x f!reader

PART 1: kaji, togame, umemiya, sakura, suo, hiragi, kiryu, & sugishita x f!reader

sfw. wc: 1.7K. ohh i had sm fun w endo’s hehe <3 individual warnings are below, but f!reader: referred to as she / her.

YAMATO ENDO. ‘my girl,’ ‘angel’ & ‘pretty thing’

“Hey,” Endo’s voice cuts through the thick air like a blade, heavy arm coming to rudely rest on one of their shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing scaring her into a corner like that? Tryna get at my girl?”

On a normal day, you’d roll your eyes at the teasing tone he always uses around you— but today, it brings you nothing but relief, fresh tears threatening to spill as you choke out his name.

His presence alone is enough to silence the group of guys who had just been talking over you moments prior, the three men in front stiffening at the sight of him alone. They can hardly believe this.

You really weren’t bluffing when you said Endo would kick their asses— he’s frightening.

They exchange knowing looks when they hear you sniffle, hands coming to wipe at the tears that had begun streaming down your cheeks. They were so fucked.

“N-no! Of course not.” One of them breaks the silence.

“We had no idea she was your girl— ” another one stammers, hands coming up defensively.

“Didn’t know? You serious?”

Endo’s voice comes out sharp, eyes narrowing as he puts more weight onto his arm, grinning at the way the man’s knees start to tremble at the pressure. “My angel here doesn’t usually look at me like that, y’know,” he whispers, jutting a thumb in your direction. “So what’d you do to put that terrified look on her face?”

“Sorry— we’re really sorry.” One of them starts to apologize profusely, but your boyfriend was clearly not in his usual good mood today, and he grabs his face roughly, ignoring the way his cries of pain come out muffled against his palm.

“Asked you a question, didn’t I?”

The veins along his forearm bulge when his grip tightens, and you hear a painful crack, the man’s hands coming to desperately scratch and claw at Endo’s arms. “She likes it when i’m nice, so I’ll give you a second chance to quit spewing some fucking nonsense and answer me, yeah?”

The two men behind him exchange glances before stumbling over their words, desperately coming up with any excuse that came to their minds. One of them accidentally slips out the truth. A “we told her we’d make a mess of that pretty face if she kept turning us down” and the group falls completely silent.

“I-it’s okay!” You stammer, hands come to tug at his the back of your boyfriend’s jacket.

Unfortunately for them, your words fall on deaf ears. He lets go of the one he’s holding by the face, not sparing him a second glance as he drops to the floor with a loud thud.

“Okay, i think i get it now,” Endo says through a genuine laugh, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s not facing you, but you think you can picture the expression on his face pretty well. “E-Endo-”

“Fifteen.” He speaks slowly. “I’ll meet you in front of that corner store in fifteen, pretty thing.”

CHIKA TAKIISHI.

Oh— so that’s why you’re late today.

Takiishi watches from a distance as you jut your thumb towards your phone screen, your usual chirpy voice laced with anger now as you repeat yourself with a frustrated huff. “I said have a boyfriend.. see? His contact is right here. Can you leave me alone now?”

“And I said I didn’t give a fuck about your little boyfriend.” The man laughs loudly when your lips wrinkle in disgust. “I prefer the ones with an attitude.”

“What do you think he’s gonna do if he finds out, huh?” He reaches out to get a feel of your hair. “Think he can touch me?”

“Takiishi’s gonna knock your lights out cold,” you spit, slapping his hand away when it comes too close to your face. That seemed to be enough to set him off, his eyebrow twitching in anger as he takes a step towards you, looming over your figure with quick breaths.

“Don’t piss me off— I was nice when I said you’d have a good time if you came with me.”

“I’d rather eat shit-” you seethe, angry expression contorting when he grabs firmly around your wrist— “That hurts!” It makes you wince, your phone hitting the concrete with a thud.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The coldness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ah- Takiishi—”

The man jerks his head around at the name, hand still gripping your wrist as he sizes him up. His first thought is that he’s alright. He notices the muscle definition right away, but he doesn’t look particularly heavy. There is, however, a sudden coldness in the air that he can’t quite grasp, and you look awfully relieved now that he’s here.

“So you’re the boyfriend she’s been talking about?” He says with a laugh. “You gonna let her come with me?”

“Move. Don’t waste our time.”

“Huh? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking t—”

“I said move.”

Your mind can hardly comprehend the speed, mind just barely able to register the second Takiishi’s foot connects with the man's chest, sending him crashing to the ground beside you in an instant.

He’s beside you the next second, fingers coming to fix the stray pieces of hair beside your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

“N-no! I’m okay.”

He’s monotone, as usual, but the hint of concern makes your heart flutter anyways. He lets you latch yourself onto his bicep, lets you tighten your grip around his arm as you fume about the audacity that guy had, and most importantly, he makes sure you call him every time you’re about to leave your home alone.

TAIGA TSUGEURA. someone touches around your lower back

“My bench has blown up since i switched to bulldog grip,” Tsugeura rambles, “and my squat too. The ‘tripod foot’ cue really helps with even foot pressure.”

You nod along, always interested when he tells you about things he loves, but your attention shifts when you feel a hand press against your lower back. It’s not Taiga’s touch. It’s too unfamiliar. Too invasive. Your eyes fill with panic when you feel the hand start to roam downwards, and you can barely stammer out Tsugeura’s name, voice trembling too much for him to hear.

“I should also get new knee sleeves eventually.” He continues, and you curse his obliviousness. “The cue helps, but I would get way more bounce if I had a pair of Inzers instead of the flimsy ones I’m using now.”

“I always get stuck at the bottom of my squat, so they would help. But i know pause squats help with that, so I could also implement those—”

Your grip tightens on Tsugeura’s shirt, knuckles turning white as you try your hardest to convey your situation. He pauses mid-sentence, finally picking up on the expression you’re giving him.

“Whoa— you okay?” His voice is filled with concern when he peers down at you.

His gaze trails down, and that’s when he notices it.

You gasp at the speed of it all. In an instant, the man is slammed into the wall behind you, loud thud echoing throughout the entire train. “No way.” His voice is loud, and you hear the bystanders gasping and whispering, their attention shifting to the scene.

“That’s messed up, man.” Tsugeura’s voice comes out low, a serious glare on his face that you’ve never seen on him. The vice grip he has around the man’s wrist tightens, enough to have him yelping in pain and stammer out an apology.

“Turn yourself in at the next stop, yeah?”

CHOJI TOMIYAMA.

“Tell me— who was that?” Choji asks, latching himself around your middle to wrap you in a tight embrace, and you glance at the unconscious man sprawled on the ground beside you.

“You knocked him out cold without knowing anything?” You ask incredulously, arms coming to return his embrace regardless, and your lips curl into a small smile when he melts into your touch.

“Mhm. He was bothering you, right?” His voice comes out cheerful, but there’s a small trace of worry in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

He hates to admit it, but his body had completely moved on his own. It’s a bad habit he’s developed since meeting you, because he finds himself worrying about you— desperately wanting to put his strength to use and protect you from everything he saw as ‘bad.’ It was only after he had jump kicked the man grabbing at your arm that he had considered the slim possibility that maybe he wasn’t bothering you in the first place.

“He was.”

He lets out an exhale he didn’t know he was holding. “Then….it was okay that I kicked him in the face, right?”

He relaxes a bit more when you nod, his usual smile returning to his lips. “Thank you for saving me, Choji.”your voice comes out soft and soothing, and he feels his heart skip a beat at the praise.

AKIHIKO NIREI.

“Ah— where are we going?!” You yelp as you stumble forward, barely able to keep up as Nirei pulls you by the wrist.

The two of you were at the mall, shopping for new summer clothes when he had suddenly called you to him by name— dragging you and your bags along with him in an instant. Before you could even realize what had happened, you’re in an elevator, watching in disbelief as he fumbles to frantically click the ‘close’ button, the doors finally sliding shut after the tenth click.

“You’re safe.” He sighs. “That’s a relief.”

“You scared the shit outta me.” you fold your arms across your chest and give him a glare. “What was that for?”

“Sorry,” Nirei chuckles lightly. “There was a guy who kept looking at you. He’s bad news.”

“How can you tell?”

You feel more at ease when his fingers come to interlace with yours again, and you feel him squeeze. “I guess um…” his other hand scratches the back of his head. “I have this sort of danger sense whenever it comes to you.”

“Something like that.”

[paddockletters]

tiny bubbles | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: Charles and Y/N give their newborn her first bath, leading to sweet and funny moments .

“Okay, we’ve got this. We’ve totally got this,” I muttered, pacing nervously around the bathroom.

Charles stood beside me, holding our tiny, week-old daughter in his arms, her little fists clenched and face scrunched up like she already knew something was about to go wrong. Despite all the parenting classes we’d taken, nothing really prepared you for the real deal.

“We’ve watched the videos,” Charles said, glancing nervously at me as we both stared at the small baby tub in front of us like it was some kind of complex machine. “We passed the parenting course… we’re basically experts, right?”

“Right,” I agreed, though my voice was far less confident than I wanted it to be. “How hard could it be? People have been bathing babies forever.”

Charles carefully lowered our daughter toward the water, and I hovered over him, watching every tiny movement. We were both on edge—her little legs kicking slightly as her toes brushed the warm water.

“Is the temperature okay? You checked it, right?” he finally said, testing the water one more time with his elbow. “It’s not too hot, right?”

“I checked it five times, Charles. It’s fine,” I reassured him, though I couldn’t help but dip my hand in the water one more time, just to be sure.

Gently, Charles settled her into the bath, and for a moment, everything seemed to be going perfectly. She looked peaceful, her tiny body just floating, and we both let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Are you ready, bébé?” he asked softly, glancing down at her, though it was more like he was asking himself that question.

“Charles, she can’t answer yet,” I teased, crossing my arms as I leaned against the counter, enjoying watching him take charge. “But if she could, I’m sure she’d tell you to just go for it.”

“I’m being cautious.” He shot me a mock glare.

“You’re being a dad,” I corrected, smiling as he finally eased her into the warm water. Her tiny body floated just enough, and for a second, everything seemed like it was going to go perfectly smooth.

Charles sighed, visibly relaxing as she cooed softly, clearly enjoying the water.

“I think we’re nailing this,” he said, sounding like he was already patting himself on the back.

“She likes it,” Charles said, beaming as he knelt beside the tub. “We’re doing great.”

I smiled, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease.

“See? We’re not complete disasters.”

Just as I reached for the washcloth, our daughter let out a sudden, loud wail, her face scrunching up in protest. Both Charles and I jumped at the sound.

“Oh no, oh no, what’s wrong?!” I panicked, leaning over the tub.

“I don’t know! Maybe she’s cold?” Charles suggested, his eyes wide.

“Quick! Warm water, more water!” I grabbed the small cup nearby, splashing some water over her, but it didn’t seem to help. Her cries only grew louder, echoing in the small bathroom.

“I thought babies liked baths!” I said over the noise.

“Maybe she changed her mind?” Charles replied, a nervous laugh escaping him as he tried to soothe her by gently splashing water with his hand.

At that moment, a tiny fountain of water shot up, and we both froze. I blinked, realizing what had just happened.

“Did she just—?”

“She did,” Charles confirmed, his eyes wide in disbelief, as we both stared at the small arc of water.

“She peed on you,” I managed, biting back a laugh as Charles just looked at me with a mixture of shock and amusement.

“She’s back to being our calm little angel.” I said, brushing my hand over her tiny foot.

“Well, at least now we know she’s hydrated,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Charles joined in, shaking his head as he wiped his arm with the towel.

“So much for being ‘experts’.”

The bathroom was filled with nothing but the sound of our laughter and her quiet little gurgles.

“You think this is funny, huh? Giving your papa a hard time already.” Charles leaned in, looking down at her with a grin.

I watched as he carefully scooped her out of the tub, holding her close to his chest, wrapped in the soft, fluffy towel. She looked so tiny in his arms, her eyes blinking up at him with curiosity, as if she hadn’t just caused utter chaos a few seconds ago.

It's real what people say, it's beautiful to see the love of your life become a dad.

“I don’t think she likes me very much right now.” Charles sighed, shaking his head with a grin.

“Nonsense,” I said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“I think she’s mocking us,” I said, smiling as I stood next to him, leaning my head against his shoulder.

Charles chuckled, rocking her gently in his arms. “She’s going to be trouble, I can tell.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. "She’s just keeping you on your toes.”

We stood there for a moment, just watching her, marveling at how something so small could bring so much joy—and so much unpredictability—into our lives.

“She’s going to keep us on our toes for the rest of our lives, isn’t she?” Charles asked, looking down at our daughter with a mix of awe and amusement.

“Definitely,” I agreed, gently drying off her tiny toes as she yawned, clearly exhausted from all the excitement.

Charles smiled softly, holding her close as he rocked her in his arms. “I can’t wait.”

“Well,” Charles said after a beat, his voice softening as he looked down at her again,

“I guess we survived our first bath.”

“Barely,” I joked, but there was pride in my voice. We may not have been perfect, but we were learning—together.

As I reached up to kiss Charles on the cheek, our daughter let out a soft coo, snuggling deeper into his arms.

“Maybe next time, we’ll get through it without any unexpected showers,” I teased, and Charles laughed, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead.

“Next time, we’ll be pros,” he said confidently.

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

He gave me a cheeky smile. “No, but we’ll figure it out. One bath at a time.”

[peeweekey]

Sebastian likes frogs. Emphasis on the word likes.

He appreciates them, they do good for the environment. They eat up all the nasty flies that buzz around the mountain lake, too. He doesn’t have to worry about mosquitos snaking on his blood while he smokes. It’s just a plus that he finds them cool and interesting.

Which most people find weird. Sebastian thinks it’s weird that they find it weird. Frogs aren’t going out of their way to bother people.

Yes, he likes them. They’re his favorite animal, certainly.

But favorite is not enough for him to want to smooch a frog.

“Sam, I’m not gonna fucking kiss a frog.”

“C’mon! It’ll be like the movie!” Sam teases, insistently shoving Sebastian to the frog innocently sitting on a park bench. “Who knows, maybe it’ll be your very own froggy princess—”

“Didn’t the girl turn into a frog when she kissed it,” he shoots back, elbowing Sam backwards in the gut. The blond lets out an overdramatic hiss of pain, bent over and clutching his stomach. “Abby, back me up here.”

“I never watched that stuff,” Abigail shrugs, watching with amusement. She makes no move to help at all, comfortably resting against the wide wooden posts of a fence. “Watched a lotta cartoons though. Phineas and Ferb is my jam.”

“Not about the movie,” Sebastian grits exasperatedly. His brows knitting together in frustration “The frog.”

“Mhm, go on,” a cheshire-like grin on her face. “Kiss it, Seb. A big smooch right on its slimy mouth.”

Sam eggs him on, the pain of being elbowed magically disappearing. “Do it! Do it!”

Sebastian presses his lips tightly together. There’s no use resisting once Abby and Sam band together. They’re a force to be reckoned with like this—demanding and overbearing. Sebastian exasperatedly wipes a hand over his face, shooting the poor frog a sorry look.

Sam pushes him one more time, he gives him a stony glare in return. “Fuck—alright! Stop being so damn loud, you’ll scare it away.”

The frog in question croaks slightly, like it senses the trio talking about it. He gives it a wary glance.

As he slowly approaches, Sebastian can hear Abby and Sam’s satisfied sniggering behind him. They roped him into doing another stupidly outrageous thing for the umpteenth time.

He sighs, he really needs better friends.

Mustering up all his courage, he bends down, almost eye level with the frog, resting a hand on the wooden grain bench on where it’s perched upon.

He screws his eyes shut and goes for it.

Sebastian’s lips connect with the frog’s slimy, almost rough skin. So fast and featherlight that it can barely be considered a kiss. Cold against his lips. He pulls back immediately after, wiping any residue off his lips with the back of his hand.

The frog jumps, croaking with,what he assumes is, alarm.

“See?” Abby laughs, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. “No princess in sight. You didn’t turn into a frog either!”

“Man,” Sam snickers, patting him roughly on the back. Sebastian groans with every smack. “It would’ve been cool though, if you turned into a frog. We’d have a frog drummer in our band!”

Sebastian shoves his unruly friends off. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s get going. The frog is probably traumatized.”

“You can check that off your bucket list,” Abby teases, a smirk playing on her lips. “Kiss a frog before I die. We’ll tell the story for generations.”

Sam howls with laughter, Sebastian feels absolutely mortified.

Before the trio could make any move out of the park, a cloud of green smoke curtains the frog, so thick and so unusual. Sebastian unconsciously backs away from it.

“What—woah,” Sam says, more mezmerised than shocked at the green smoke pouring out of the frog Sebastian kissed. “What is that?”

“The fuck if we know, Sam!”

“Boys, boys, shut the fuck up. Look.”

Abigail points at the fog. It grows and grows, stopping and dissipating once the whole bench is covered with the green mist.

The frog is gone—disappeared into thin air. Instead, a not-so-frog shaped person sits. You blink up at Sebastian slowly.

Woah, woah.

He feels his heart accelerating—for all the wrong reasons. An unusual thumping sound that vibrates all throughout his body—his fingertips, his stomach, his toes. Where there should be fear and panic and definitely fear, Sebastian feels exhilaration.

You’re pretty.

It’s also pretty horrifying for him to think—and feel.

You blink slowly—a frog-like trait that cement his suspicions. You’re staring up at him as he stares back down at you, curious meets bewildered. “…”

His eyes are wide, scanning each and every part of your now not frog-like features. Sebastian feels cold sweat dripping down his forehead—a stark temperature difference to the heat in his cheeks. “Oh—oh shit.”

“Uhm… ribbit?”

-

Another thing he blames on Sam and Abby—his horrifying attraction you; the person, not the frog.

He checks that off his metaphorical bucket list, too.

[charliemwrites]

Chapter 1

Content: Violence, Murder, Horror Elements, Masturbation, Kidnapping, Threats, Mild Pet Play, the One (1) use of an ableist slur

It’s the middle of October when Soap convinces you to go camping.

Autumn has sunk its teeth deep into the countryside, bleeding green from the trees and leeching warmth from the days. Deep shadows and lengthening nights are cold enough to condense breaths into pillows of steam. All of the little critters are fattening up and bedding down for a frigid winter, prepared to be snowed into burrows and dens until spring pries away the ice.

Your hip already aches through the first half of your morning exercises. The ghosts of splintered shrapnel prick beneath tender scar tissue until the rust of sleep flakes away. Lying on hard, cold ground sounds like a one-way ticket to agony. You’d much rather be one of those fluffy bastards curling up to hibernate. You tell Soap this on Monday when he initially proposes the idea.

Besides, you add, trying not to chug your coffee, Soap’s in no condition to be fucking about in half-frozen woods either. Not with his finicky nerve pain.

On Wednesday, when you meet up again, he takes a different route. It’s been too long since you two last dipped into a civilian-appropriate but military-adjacent activity. Paintball, knife-throwing, base-jumping…

Your bed is starting to feel too soft and too big again. The city is loud but not the right way. The tedium of self-imposed routines is starting to grate on nerves still tuned for combat. If you don’t get out before the trap of winter snaps closed, you might go mad. You can see it in Soap’s eyes too, a manic glint behind glass blue.

But still. Camping feels too much like what you’ve just left – the shrinks probably wouldn’t approve. Not that you’d ask them.

On Friday, Soap offers a compromise. His grandfather (“Seanair”) left him an old hunting cabin out in the countryside. Nothing luxurious, but it’s got a fireplace, cots, kitchenette, bathroom. It’ll be more like holing up in a safehouse than roughing it for a mission. More importantly, it’ll be gentler on your battle-worn bodies.

That next Monday, you meet him at the café with supplies packed and an honest anticipation for a week off the grid.

*

“Yoohoo! Any murderers about?” Soap calls. “Any armed psychos? An angry raccoon, perhaps?”

You scowl, caught behind him in the doorway. “I thought you checked it out already?”

“Aye, but ye ne’er ken,” he reasons, shrugging. He shuffles in as you nudge him. “We’ve the luck o’ the devil, you an’ I.”

You snort as you start kicking off your shoes. “True enough, I s’pose.”

“Course, I like our odds against any weirdo wi’ a knife, don’ you?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Not so sure about a raccoon though. Think we’d be fucked.”

“Och, tha’s right. I remember your lectures about rabies.”

“Good.”

You snicker at his grimace, likely feeling the phantom sting of vaccines.

The cabin is cute, honestly. There are only three rooms – the living room/kitchenette, the bedroom, and the bathroom. The bathroom is small enough that you could stretch your arms across the width of it and touch both walls, but it’s got a working shower so you’ve no complaints. The bedroom has a dresser and a nightstand, plenty for you and Soap.

While you set to work putting the groceries away, Soap putters about opening windows and making up the beds. The two of you don’t immediately have much to talk about, considering how often you see each other and the long drive out. It’s alright, though, you’ve long grown comfortable in stretches of silence together.

Once settled in, you suggest a walk to explore the area. Part of it is genuine interest in appreciating nature before the sun sets early. But there’s also a large, paranoid part of you (sounding like your old captain) that demands you get your bearings. Just in case.

There’s a loch about a mile from the cabin, a beautiful sheet of dark glass big enough for decent fishing. You’re able to see the row of holiday homes on the other side but wouldn’t be able to see any people on their docks out there. You and Soap follow a deer trail for a way, exchanging stories of your respective childhoods.

No surprise that John MacTavish was a wild child with a rebellious streak that got him in trouble more often than not. He gets you laughing bright and easy before long, and for once it doesn’t feel like playacting as a Normal Functioning Person.

When the sun starts to skim the evergreens, you return to the cabin. You start up a pot of cheesy mac while Soap gets the fire going, pyromaniac that he is. Once it’s burning nicely, he starts closing up the windows. Not too soon either – the temperature is starting to dip and twinging at your hip, unhappy from sitting in the car so long.

The two of you hum over empty carbs and excess dairy by the fire, a glass of scotch for each of you. When you’ve had your fill, he washes the dishes, you pour another round, and the two of you settle together on the old sofa.

“Almost been a year,” Soap says after a while.

You sigh through your nose, stare into the dwindling pool of amber in your hand. “Three more weeks.”

“You miss it too.”

Against your will, your eyes slide sideways, to the hand he’s clenching and unclenching on his thigh. There’s a wicked line of scar tissue beneath the sleeve of his shirt where the surgeons salvaged what they could. Mostly successful too, apart from the damaged radial nerve that ruined his career.

“So much, Soap, fuck.”

You didn’t mean to say that. You’re supposed to be the healthy one here, encouraging this necessary and healthful change to your lives.

As if reading your mind, Soap hums, bumps his elbow into your ribs. “No shame in it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even know what I miss.”

“Feeling useful, I reckon. Feeling… necessary,” he muses, subdued.

It’s insightful but too accurate. Too selfish. You rub your thumb over the lip of your glass.

“I hate that I can’t keep an eye on Price and Gaz,” you say. “Feels like I’m always waiting to hear the worst, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he whispers roughly. “I ken.”

*

The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch. Soap, sitting up with his sketchbook, and you folded into the corner against the arm, book pages fluttering between lax fingers. At some point, the cramped position aches enough to wake you. Your eyes flutter open, low fire throwing long, deep shadows across the wooden wall.

Something is watching from the window.

You jolt up, hand reaching for the gun you no longer carry on your thigh. The movement jostles Soap awake as well. It involuntarily draws your eye, just a fraction of a second. But the haunting shadow is gone by the time you turn back.

That’s not enough for you. You roll to your feet, hiss as your knee threatens to give. But you manage to get your balance and snatch your combat knife from your boot as you storm towards the door.

“Kit? Kit! The fuck is going on?!” Soap calls.

“Saw something!” you reply.

There’s a flashlight hanging by a hook next to the door. You grab it as you burst out into the chilly air, tensed for a fight. A quick sweep of the front yard and immediate tree line reveals nothing. Steps soft and careful, you approach the side of the house, expertly gripping your knife.

“On your six,” Soap breathes behind you.

“Copy.”

You round the corner, eyes scanning the trees, the brush. There’s no movement, no suspiciously rustling branches. You tilt your head, listening for anything past the normal sounds of the night. But there isn’t even an unusual silence in the dark world around you.

“Just a dream, then,” you sigh.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Unusual, though. Your nightmare-induced hallucinations usually conjure guns in your face or teammates bleeding out on the floor. Not strange figures at the windows. Still, you can hear the explanation of your shrink trying to soothe you. Middle of the night after drinking, in a new and atmospheric environment. Plus, there’s been all that fuss on the news about a serial killer; nowhere near you and Soap, mind, but still. Subconscious or some shite.

“Let’s do a sweep anyway,” Soap says.

Your chest warms. “Alright.”

Naturally, there’s nothing. Soap only gives you a one-armed hug as you return to the cabin. One final check of the interior – since you did leave the door open when you rushed out – and then the two of you turn in for bed.

*

The next day starts lazy and slow. A strange reprieve from your body’s military-trained urge to wake early. It’s nice, though, to snuggle beneath the covers with Soap’s soft snores only a few meters away. You play pre-downloaded games on your phone while you wait for him to wake, enjoying the lie in.

Breakfast is enjoyed on the little porch out front; you bundled up in a woolen throw while you sip coffee. It’s shaping up to be an unusually sunny day, and you agree to a longer hike around the loch before lunch. When you return, you settle on the porch again to read while Soap chops wood.

Which, well.

You don’t mind a bit of entertainment between pages… or paragraphs… or…

Soap hasn’t neglected his physique at all since the discharge. All corded muscles, broad shoulders, and tapered waist. Watching the bunch and release of his arms has always been a guilty pleasure of yours, and so blessedly indulged during training sessions in the 141.

You try not to sigh and drool over it (him) like a repressed Victorian.

“Ach, fer fucks…”

You snap to attention, book set aside. “Is your arm acting up?”

He’s set the hatchet down, grabbing at his elbow with a pinched expression.

“Aye,” he grumbles.

You trot to his side, pleased that he still instantly submits to your care. He lets you manipulate his arm, prod along the nerve pathways and bunched muscles that are spasming in pain. His groan has no business being that low or rough or close to your ear. But you ignore it like you always have, focus on getting him right. Barely even register when he sets his jaw on top of your head.

A few minutes pass in silence while you try to massage away the worst of the flare up. When he finally sighs, slumping into you a little, you gently squeeze his forearm.

“Bampot,” you huff.

“Aye, I ken,” he mumbles.  “’S why I have you.”

You click your tongue. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive. Next time let me help.”

“Not on yer life.”

You pinch his side, grinning wickedly when he yelps and jerks away. Little shit. Your favorite little shit, damn him.

He allows you to help carry the firewood to the rack next to the tiny shed. It’s round back of the cabin, covered by an old blue tarp. Soap is in the lead and sees it first.

“Oh, well isn’t that pure dead brilliant,” he huffs.

“Hm?”

You peak around him and blink at the rust-colored splatters decorating the side of the shed. There’s a dark patch in the scraggly grass as well and drag marks into the trees. Clearly, some prey fell victim to the circle of life here. Recently, too, from the color of the blood.

“What do you think it was?” you ask. “There aren’t wolves here.”

“Nah, but coulda been a fox.”

You scrunch up your nose. “This close to us? Usually foxes steer clear of humans.”

“Feral dog, then, maybe.”

Maybe.

It’s a lot of blood for anything a dog or fox would risk taking down, though. Even a feral one.

“C’mon, let’s get inside. Need a coupla pills ‘fore mah arm starts taking the piss again.”

You help him stack the firewood and then follow him back to the cabin. And if you linger on the blood, your random dream, and the lingering sensation of eyes on you… well, nothing new for you.

*

It pours all of the next day. Soap says it’s good timing, that he won’t have to wash the shed himself. Both of your injuries are acting up, though, and you spend the day trying to find different positions to appease the ache in your hip. At one point, he has to help you to the shower, your leg feeling too weak to support your weight. It’s frustrating, but you’ve had nearly a year to learn to cope.

Soap lifts your spirits, though, like always. Convinces you to play Scrabble and keeps insisting that he’s just using Scottish words. It ends the way it usually does – you and him wrestling like children, trying to trap the other to determine the winner. You only just manage to get a hold of him, though he puts up a good fight. He eventually admits that “daylich” isn’t actually a word and he didn’t deserve the triple word score.

Then he breaks out a pack of biscuits as a peace offering and all is forgiven. The two of you nibble on those while watching a movie on your laptop and then shuffle off to bed.

Long after Soap has fallen asleep, you’re awake. The memory of his body against yours always leaves you feeling branded. Like the heat of him burns right through your clothes. It’s been… probably too long since you last got off. Way too long since someone else got you off. And yeah, you had a couple of shameful secret wanks around teammates back in the day, but things are different now. You’re not high on adrenaline in the military anymore. No excuse for shoving a hand down your pants.

Still, your thoughts spiral as you finally start to doze. Rough hands on your hips, your thighs, your throat. Gentle but teasing at the true strength they possess. A hot tongue along your cheek, treating you like something to savor… or to devour. A shadow looming over you, dwarfing you. Phantom sensations that you crave as much as you shy away, wanting it but knowing you shouldn’t.

The throbbing between your thighs rouses you. Sleep-addled, you give in. You’d be embarrassed of how wet you are if anyone else were to know. And of the soft, needy noise you make when your brush your fingertips between your thighs. But Soap is still snoring steadily, and the pounding of the ongoing rain makes you brave.

You stroke slowly and gently over the bundle of nerves at first, mimicking those dreamt touches. It’s almost as maddening even when it’s your own hand. Sleep is half-dragging at you, though, and you speed up, drawing tight little circles at the top, teasing lower to stoke the heat burning in your gut. Your breathing picks up, little breaths past an open mouth.

It’s really not going to take much. Not with how long it’s been, how much you want it, vague thoughts of your darkest fantasies flickering through your hazy mind. You tilt your hips down, get the pressure of your heel against your empty, aching hole. You rock a couple times, high-pitched noises caught at the top of your throat.

You come imagining a big hand around your neck choking off those sounds. Have to slap your free hand over your mouth as you shake and writhe through it. Drag your nails up your bare thigh just to balance out the unbearable pleasure. And then you go limp against the pillows, panting and shuddering through aftershocks.

When you extract your hand from beneath the blankets, you blink at the wetness coating your fingertips for a moment. If someone asked, the excuse you’d give is not touching anything with your wet hand. But truthfully, you’re just indulging in impulsive hedonism as you suck your own fingers.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the shadows.

Then you climb out of bed for a proper cleanup, ready to finally fall asleep and definitely not think about how much quicker you came knowing that Soap was right there the entire time.

*

It’s raining on and off the next day. You and Soap take a little walk during one of the dry patches, though it’s cut short with how sore your hip still is. Soap collects more firewood from the shed, keeps the flames well fed while you putter about. Nap for an hour, start rereading one of your favorite books, watch a scary movie with him, make American flapjacks just for the sake of it.

Even though you should be feeling stir crazy, Soap has always made for good company. The day passes pleasantly into an early night, the sun standing little chance against the thick cloud cover.

You and Soap are settling in with scotch when frantic knocking interrupts the peaceful quiet.

“Help!” a ragged voice screams. “Someone please help me!”

You hardly exchange glances before the two of you are up. Soap goes for the door, gun in hand. You scramble for the ever-present medical kit that earned your call-sign, left out on the counter.

Soap yanks the door open; a man tumbles in. Middle aged, lanky build, bleeding from a long cut on his forehead. His ankle is twisted at a damning angle. You scan him for obvious weapons, but his t-shirt and muddy boxers reveal nothing but bruising and scraped skin. His hands are empty as they scrabble at the floor, trying to drag himself inside. Soap slams the door closed and locks it.

“Please!” the man cries again. “You have to help me!”

You drop to your knees beside him, already popping your kit open.

“We’re going to help you, sir,” you say evenly, “but you need to calm down.”

“You don’t understand,” the man gasps as you help him sit up. “H-He… he’s out there.”

“Who?” Soap asks, grip shifting on the gun.

“S-some psycho,” the man answers. You work easily past his shaking, getting a look at his swelling ankle. Definitely broken… with force. “In a mask.”

You blink, shoot Soap a look. Have the two of you fallen into some weird horror movie by accident?

“What did he do?” Soap asks.

“H-he attacked us with a big bloody knife.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” you ask. “Who else was with you?”

“The lads – my friends – my brother. Oh, god…” He pales further. You brace him, eyeing the packaged shock blanket peeking from your kit. “Danny is dead. There was so much blood.”

“How many?” Soap asks, voice hard. “How many of you are still alive?”

“I-I don’t know. I barely got-got away. Oh, god—”

He dissolves into tears and whimpers. You rip open the blanket and drape it around the man, then scoot down to his ruined ankle. Over his head, you frown at Soap. Something is missing here. This man was with at least three other people, but one man attacked them? There’s something to be said for shock and surprise and fear, but still…

“Soap?”

“Gonnae see if I can find survivors,” he says. “I’ll send ‘em your way if I find any. You stay here, take care of this ‘un.”

“That’s stupid,” you argue. “You can’t go by yourself!”

“No different than recon, aye? Not gonnae engage, but we cannae leave anyone bleedin’ out there.”

Your mouth twists. No, no you can’t leave civilians potentially wounded with a killer out for blood. Discharged or not (war criminals or not… and you both are, technically) you’re both too dutybound for that.

“RV here in ten and I’ll have the car ready for exfil.”

“Affirmative.”

He crosses to you, knocks your foreheads together – a pre-mission gesture you never thought you’d receive again. You close your eyes for a second, squeeze the back of his neck. Then send him off with a firm nod.

You lock the door after him, then return to the man.

“Are you two military or something?” he asks.

“We were,” you answer, “medical discharge.”

“Oh brilliant! You’re telling me that my only hope is a couple cripples?!”

You level him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m a medic with more kills than you’ve got chest hairs, understand? Shut up and brace. I need to wrap your ankle.”

He whimpers and whines and curses while you set and compress it. Nothing you haven’t heard before, vehement as it may be. Ungrateful, though, you think vaguely. Save a guy’s life and he’s calling you all sorts of derogatory names while you try to salvage his ability to walk.

“You done?” you ask, interrupting his latest stream of expletives. “I need to hear if someone is coming.”

That only shuts him up for a moment before he’s piping up again. “Do you have a weapon?”

You tug your pant leg up to show the knife strapped to your calf.

“Do you even know how to use that?!”

“Look, I know this is a lot for you, so maybe you should stop talking for a while.”

His face twists, brain turning to anger as he tries to cope with his own fear and new trauma. You don’t pay him any heed, wiping off his head and closing the still-weeping cut with butterflies. All you can hear over his wheezing is the rain outside. No footsteps or screams or, most importantly, gunshots.

With the worst two of the man’s wounds seen to, you take stock. You’re not dressed for any sort of confrontation in lounge pants and socks.

“Here. Start treating your legs and arms,” you say, pressing gauze and wound wash into the man’s hands.

“Where are you going?!” he protests.

“Need to prep to leave,” you explain. “Shout if you hear anything.”

He doesn’t look thrilled, but you’re already up and hurrying to the bedroom. You climb into a thick pair of cargos – relieved that your fashion sense hasn’t improved since the army – and a thermal shirt. Your pistol is waiting in the side pocket of your duffel, loaded and holstered. The weight of it is comforting against your thigh; you’ve missed it.

You grab the bags and carry them back to the door, check your watch. It’s only been four minutes. If Soap isn’t back in another six, you’re going out to get him yourself, injured civilian be damned. Everything you’ve gone through together; you’re not going to lose your best friend to some overdramatic wanker with a knife.

“What are you doing now?!” the man asks.

You give him another once over. He’s done a decent job prioritizing the worst scrapes and cuts, they look clean enough. Most importantly, he seems less faint than when you left. Giving him something to focus on must have helped.

“Checking the car. We’re leaving as soon as Soap gets back,” you answer.

“A-at least give me something to protect myself with!”

You try not to sigh in annoyance. What good would he even be, unable to walk and shaky on adrenaline? Still, you take pity and tug the knife from your boot, offer it to him handle first.

“Not the gun?” he complains.

“No.”

You jog out to the car, gun in one hand and duffels in the other. It’s raining again, getting harder by the moment. There’s a steady, sharp pain radiating throughout your leg, threatening to knock it out from under you. You grit your teeth as you toss the bags in the backseat and move to the ignition.

And the car doesn’t start.

“Shit.”

You don’t waste time trying it again. It should be in perfect condition; it must have been tampered with.

When you approach the house again, you hear shouting from inside. You pick up the pace, nearly skid across the wooden floor when you get there. The man is huddling up by the couch, white knuckling the knife.

“I-I heard something!”

“Where?” you demand, scanning the immediate area. Thank fuck that Soap’s seanair believed in minimalism.

“In the back.”

You frown. “The only way in is through windows back there, and those are locked.”

Right?

“I know what I heard!”

“Stay here, then.”

You click the safety off and pad the short hallway to the bedroom. Don’t bother announcing yourself, or any idiotic “who’s there”. You kick the unlatched door open and sweep through the room just like you would for a raid. The tiny lamp on the nightstand is still on, illuminating the sparse space.

You check under the first bed, then sidestep and tilt your head to check the other. Nothing.

“There isn’t—”

The window is open. The window is fucking open. How?!

You spin on your heel, just in time to see a hauntingly familiar mask bent over the gurgling body of the man. There’s no hesitation as you raise the gun and fire twice, but the killer has already rolled out of the way. Well fuck that.

You rush from the bedroom, fire another two into the couch as you round the corner. He’s a fast fucker, waiting by the wall adjacent to the hall as you exit. And he’s fucking big. Slams into your side – your bad side – like a tank. It fucks your balance, and you go down with a snarled curse, winded as all his weight lands on your much smaller frame.

On training and instinct, you slam your elbow back. There’s a crunch, a grunt of pain. But damn him, he doesn’t let up. A big hand finds yours on the gun. You yelp as he squeezes hard enough to feel the bones bend. The gun fires – bang, bang, bang. His head is right by yours, the hard edge of his mask pressing into your temple, panting in your ear.

You lash out with your other arm, though your aim is off. Instead of hitting his throat, you get his jaw instead. You plant your boot on the floor and push, trying to get out from under him. Instead, he rolls with your back against his chest. The gun clatters as he snakes a thick arm around your throat. You grab at his forearm, but you know you have no hope of matching him in strength.

You scrabble for the knife in your boot, but it’s gone.

Fuck, you gave it to—

The cabin ceiling is getting spotty.

Your fingers brush the killer’s leg, find a familiar shape tucked at the side of his boot. You snatch up the knife and drive it into his calf. He growls, but the arm on your throat blessedly disappears. You suck air, blinking past dark edges. Twist onto your front and blindly fumble for your gun.

Manage two shots right to his chest. He falls limp. You wait a beat, two. He doesn’t move again.

You click the safety on and holster the gun. And then, out of morbid curiosity, crawl closer to the body.

“Holy hell,” you breathe as you get a good look at the mask.

He’s wearing a skull over a black balaclava. Not just a prop either you realize when you tap at it. It’s real. Human. Thin cracks spiderweb along the front orbital bone, the corner of the eye socket – from where you elbowed him, you think. Beyond them, his eyes are closed and still, the skin painted black.

“Big scary fucker,” you murmur. And if you’re a bit admiring… well, it between you and a dead body. A couple dead bodies. Can’t forget about the other guy. “That was almost fun.”

“Kit!”

You jolt, barely able to hear Soap’s voice over the pounding rain, but relieved to hear it. A hiss escapes between your teeth as you get to your feet, hip protesting. You have to grab at the couch to catch your balance. Then brace yourself and walk carefully towards the door.

Your fingers are just centimeters from the doorknob when an arm wraps around your neck again. You flail, try to kick off the door, but it hardly even makes him stumble. Then there’s a sharp pinch in your arm, sibilant shushing by your ear, and the world goes dark.

*

The world comes to you in bits and pieces.

Something soft under you. A slight ache in your hip. Fabric around your bare legs. Voices? You think you recognize the rumble of Soap’s brogue, but not whoever he’s speaking to.

Soft golden light creeps past your fluttering eyelashes. Soap is sitting across the room on… a big floor cushion? You blink a couple times, adjusting your slightly blurred vision. But yep, that’s him, sitting on a gigantic pillow. And… is that his throat mic?

“Mm… John?” you call, rubbing at your eyes.

“Aye, Kit. Nice ‘n slow now. We’re alright.”

You hum and push yourself up, limbs heavy. Once you’re sitting, Soap speaks again. Gentle and calm.

“You remember what happened?”

You pause, frown. It comes to you in a slow trickle. The trip, the forest, the cabin… and then it floods back. The injured man at the door, the killer, the struggle. The ambush as you were going to meet Soap at the door.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Aye.”

You give him another once over. That’s not a throat mic; it’s a collar. A thick black leather thing, complete with a silver chain that trails off somewhere behind him. You stare for a second, bewildered.

“Don’t be jealous. You match.”

Your head whips around to the hulking figure in a doorway to your right. He’s just as imposing as you remember, tall and fucking built, dressed in all black and mask still on. The soft lighting casts spooky shadows across the eye sockets.

The words process a moment later and your hand darts up to your neck. Sure enough, there’s a wide leather band around your neck. You’ll give it this, though – you didn’t even notice it until he said something. Not too tight, comfortable even. Clearly made with long-term wear against skin in mind. There’s a chain attached to yours too and you follow it to an anchor in the wall.

“If it’s any consolation, ye look right bonnie,” Soap calls.

You snort. “’Course I do.”

The killer shrugs off the wall. You watch as he saunters closer in long, heavy strides. No point in scrambling away or trying to run – you’d have a limited radius of escape if he didn’t grab you first. Besides, you’re not about to cower to some spooky bastard with a couple dirty tricks up his sleeve.

He crouches down well within your reach, clearly not concerned about you lashing out. You tilt your head in defiance, meeting his eyes for a moment before he flicks his gaze down. He reaches out, gloved fingers catching your chin. Not hard, but firm enough that there’s no arguing when he tilts your chin up.

Fabric brushes the sensitive skin of your neck, above and below the collar.

“Pretty kitty,” he purrs. “Glad I didn’t bruise this lovely neck.”

Two fingers press against one side a little harder, edging beneath the leather. You recognize the gesture as you swallow. He’s checking your pulse. You’re proud that it’s still steady and unhurried.

“Not scared?” He doesn’t say it like it’s a question.

You arch your eyebrows. “Should I be?”

His eyes flicker. “Not if you behave.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, resisting a sneer. Past his shoulder, Soap is watching with a smirk. Unharmed, you note again. He’s fine. You’re fine, despite slight soreness from the brief struggle. If there was something to be concerned about (apart from the obvious) he would have let you know right off the bat. So, you take a calculated risk.

“Yeah? And what do you consider behaving?” you ask.

The corners of the killer’s eyes crinkle. You knew enough masked men back in the military to recognize a hidden smile. He’s amused by your snarky question. Another good sign.

“Good pets obey their masters.”

You blink, breath leaving you in a soft rush. It… makes sense. Just not the answer you expected. Stupid, maybe, given the collars, leashes, and dog beds. You’ll have to blame the lingering drugs.

“There are so many shelters, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you blurt, bewildered.

The man snorts, hooks a finger under your collar and gives an almost playful tug. An entirely instinctive part of you catches its breath. You’re glad he’s not measuring your pulse anymore.

“Those can’t talk back,” he answers simply, shrugging.

Soap barks a laugh. “Well, you’ll get what you asked for with us then.”

You grin crookedly, showing all your teeth. “And then some,” you agree, reaching up to tug the hand from your collar.

He jerks harder this time, unbalancing you towards him. You catch yourself on both hands, feel a blaze of heat across your nose and glare up at him through your lashes.

“No touching, kitten,” he says. “You’ll have to earn that.”

You try not to roll your eyes, not quite willing to push your luck too far yet. But it’s a near thing.

“Sure, let me get right on that,” you scoff dryly anyway.

He clicks his tongue, but no further retribution comes save for one last warning tug. Then he’s standing, towering over you again.

“I need a shower. You two settle in.”

And he just walks off. Like he didn’t just take two former SAS operatives as human pets. You wait until you hear distant water before turning to Soap.

“What happened?”

“Ambushed me,” he grumbles, sitting back against the wall. “Snuck up as I was trying to get you untied. Bastard is trained.”

Soap’s pouting, even though there’s an entire police case of victims who weren’t as lucky as him.

“Trained like us, you mean?”

“Aye.” Soap pauses, looking at the floor pensively, brows furrowing. “Means he had every reason and way to hurt us.”

You nod. “He had me in a hold and his knife hand free. Could have done anything with it. Let me stab him instead.”

Soap hums. “And, well, there’s a basement. Could have brought us there too, I reckon.”

He glances at the doorway the killer was lingering in when you woke. You get what he’s saying – or not saying, as it were. The two of you are hale and whole only because the killer decided to make it so. Because, as all evidence seems to suggest, he wants pets.

“You figure he means it? About… us?” you wonder.

Soap shrugs. “He’s no reason ta lie.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

“News says he’s a sadist,” you point out. “His idea of a pet might be...”

“Aye, but then why do all this?” He gestures to the big soft beds, which you know must have been a bit expensive for their size and comfortability, and the well-made leather collars. You’ve even got a blanket at your feet for the cool air. “Nae, I think even sadists miss a bit ‘o companionship now n’ then.”

You hum. Makes sense, in the part of you that’s seen the worst humanity has to offer and risen up to greet it. You’ve seen plenty of shit, plenty of people, and the things they’re capable of. But even “monsters” go home to family, to hobbies, to entirely wholesome things that they enjoy just because.

That’s the hard part about war. Seeing the most depraved and evil examples of humanity and reconciling that they have qualities one can recognize in themselves.

“The plan, then?”

“Say we go along with it for now,” Soap says, shrugging. “Not like we could get free as we are anyway.”

You hum in agreement. The chain is clipped to the wall anchor by a thick padlock, and feeling at the collar earlier, you know it’s the same on the other side. The collar itself is too high-quality to come apart without something sharp. So you’re stuck. Even if you did will a lockpick into existence, you’ve no intel on the rest of the house or even where you’d go from the house.

“But listen, Kit, I’m no’ gonnae let anything happen to you. If this gets violent, I’ll tear the walls apart with my hands if I hafta.”

You smile, wish suddenly and fiercely that you could hug him. He looks like he could use it; god knows you could.

“I know, John,” you soothe. “I will too.”

He nods, jaw twitching, then sighs and sits back again. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, digesting the plan. You take an actual look at the room you’re in – a den, it seems like. A fireplace in one corner, a decent sized couch to your left. Beyond it, you can see a clean and modern kitchen. There’s a coffee table, end tables, lamps, a goddamn rug. It’s downright cozy; like something out of a magazine.

“Nice voice, though, aye?” Soap chirps suddenly, snapping your gaze back to him.

“Soap.”

“Och, don’t ‘Soap’ me,” he grumbles. “You look me in the eye and tell me tha’s no’ a voice made fer sex.”

And damn him, you can’t.

“Can’t say I was thinking about his voice when he was waving a big knife at me.”

“He can wave his big knife at—”

“I’m gonna kill you myself—” You snarl, balling up your blanket and chucking at his stupid, wiggling eyebrows.

“Oi, you two,” aforementioned sexy voice chastises from the hallway.

You wrinkle your nose as Soap grins at you, a shadow in the corner of your vision as the killer comes into the room again. He brings a cloud of clean water and bergamot. He smells good.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you hiss, dismayed.

“Problem?” the killer asks.

He’s got the mask on again (or still? You hope he doesn’t shower with it on, that’s unsanitary) but you can hear him arching an eyebrow. Stubbornly, you turn away to glare at Soap some more. It’s obvious he realizes what you’re referring to from the way he smothers a snicker, though.

Shithead.

You don’t get away with it for long before a hand is pulling your jaw up. Rough only because you resist for the briefest fraction. Once he’s got your face where he wants it, though, your captor’s grip isn’t painfully tight.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, kitten. Understood?”

Your hand twitches to grab at the hold but remember what he said about touching without permission. Stubborn as you may be, you’re not actively trying to incite violence against you or Soap. The plan is to go along with… whatever this is. So you swallow a bit of your pride.

“Understood.”

He hums like that’s not quite the answer he wanted, but it’s acceptable for now.

“Now, is there a problem?” he asks again.

“Apart from the kidnapping?” you snip. “Everything is right as rain.”

He snorts, smooths his thumb over your chin, slow and dangerous. You go still, refuse to falter but careful not to provoke further.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he muses almost to himself.

“Must have expected it,” you reason honestly, “know you watched us for a few days.”

He tilts his head, eyes eerily unblinking within the unholy shadows of the skull. “Longer’n that, pretty thing.”

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say. Longer than the days at the cabin? How long? And how did you and Soap not notice?

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by fabric gliding over your bottom lip. His thumb threatening to slip past. You snap your jaw closed, nearly catch the tip of his finger in your teeth. He chuckles and finally releases you, making for the nearby couch.

He settles in with sigh and flicks on the TV. There on the screen is a flashing headline:

Another Ghost Victim Found.

Next

Masterlist

[t-tomuras]

𓅪 ─── • 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬

Pairing: Mithrun x F!reader

Warnings: Perceived one-sided affection, longing, slight pussyjob, multiple orgasms, riding, creampie

Wordcount: 3.1k

Sure you could've done any of the usual methods to help ease your captain to sleep for the night but several nights alone with him in the dungeon made you just a bit more adventurous.

It’s exceptionally cold in every hall of the dungeon, you’re just thankful that Mithrun is comfortable with your proximity by now. Easy to handle and never complains whenever you crowd his space during meals and crawl beneath the covers of his sleeping bag to cuddle close. Each instance increases in occurrence, especially after being separated from the rest of your party. 

“It was fortunate that we’d fallen through that hole together, wouldn’t you say?” You coo as you shimmy down into the moderately plush cover with him, cuddling closely again for the third night in a row. Shoving your cold feet between his thin shins without earning so much of a hiss from your captain while sighing over the warmth of his body. 

Fluffing the blanket and tucking the other end beneath both of your feet after contouring yourself to his body before finally settling comfortably. Wrapping your arm around his throat as you rest your forehead gently against his temple. Nuzzling closely as the fire at your back warms the exposed skin of your shoulders. 

He tosses a sideways glance from his peripheral and nothing more but you respond to the look expertly, “just cold, not going to sleep I promise. I know it’s my watch Captain, the door is closed anyway so it should be fine, get some rest.”

“I’m not tired,” the same as every night, though it sounds a little more clipped than usual. The admission makes you giggle now, however, a breathless ‘of course’. Mentally going over some method to lull him to sleep that doesn’t involve exiting the already cultivated warmth of the shared bedroll. 

Not many come to mind, even fewer that you think would actually work quickly. He should be, at the very least, fatigued by this time; you’d both woken slightly earlier than normal and he’d used his magic sporadically throughout the day. 

And if his tone is any indication, you’d consider him to even be cranky, which seems comically endearing more than anything else. 

A rush of heat flooding your system, following the tracks of the flowing blood in your veins, with the idea you have. 

“Alright then,” cute lilt of your voice melting into a more sultry one, “let me help with that Captain.” Propping yourself up on your elbow with one arm and leaning against his chest with the other. Digits coyly drumming against his sternum, “a new way this time. Something for both of us?” 

Mithrun’s brow raises in question, prompting you to continue when you fall quiet while running the arch and ball of your foot along the expanse of his shin. Kicking your leg further over both of his own, straddling him as your elbows rest on either side of his head.

Your captain spares a cursory glance and, thankfully, surmises what you’re insinuating without making you say it out loud. You don’t think you’d be able to anyway, hovering over him like this outside of pleasant dreams is consuming most of your confidence. 

“Why would this make me fall asleep?” 

“It’s my job to take care of you and meet your needs Captain,” a job you take great delight in, especially now. It was okay to be a little selfish right? You still had your own desire, Mithrun was still a man, “even if I do all the work, it should tire you out.” 

His expression never changes, Mithrun only slow blinks up at you, but he doesn’t disagree. Nor does he show disdain, something he can still express but never really feels the.. well, desire to. 

Though you do covet another sort of desire from him, you always have, since early on in your arranged partnership but you yearn even more so now. You crave the notion of Mithrun lost in his need for you as deeply as you crave his lips hungrily sliding over yours. Dream of intimate affections and passionate explorations to the point it’s cultivated a particular proclivity, its eating you alive. 

But his silence now begins to embarrass you before long, the heat of shame stinging the apples of your cheeks. You shift, preparing to remove yourself from him entirely, “forgive me, maybe I should just do the usual—“

“It’s something you want as well?” The question surprises you, freezing you in place above him. Tilting your head as you swallow a little more visibly before you nod your head slowly. 

“Then let’s do it,” hearing it in his bored tone, indifferent to the act gives birth to a pit in your stomach that wars with the fluttering feel of elation. Mithrun denied whatever he saw fit but he never refused anything of you; he may not ever particularly care for doing most things outside of his pursual of vengeance but he won’t do something he doesn’t want to.   

“Alright Captain,” a suspire of a sound, unintentionally sultry as you adjust to sit up more, “are you certain you’re okay with this?” 

Checking once more with a hammering heart as you fist your slip at the hem and drag it upwards before tugging it over your head to leave you bare above him. 

He nods but says nothing else, only stares unblinking up at you, gaze flickering to your uncovered breasts but nary a reaction. It almost makes you bashful, shifting your weight to rest the fat of your ass against his crotch as you bring your arms up to cover your chest. 

“You’re staring,” slightly less confident than you’d wanted to sound. 

“I’m waiting,” simply stated, you’re not surprised. It even makes you laugh, a mirthless sound as you dip lower. Fingers brushing hair from his sightless eye and press your chest to his, drawing the blanket back over your forms so you won’t feel too exposed. 

Your hands slip beneath the covers as your hips hover above his own to push the shorts you’d changed him into down his thighs. The fabric pooling at his knees before he shimmies them lower.

Shifting forward as he lifts his knees and settles his feet flat against the plush surface of the sleeping bag, the position having the curve of your ass contour perfectly to him. 

Heat strings the nape of your neck you’re sure isn’t caused by the flame nearby, certain it’s the feel of him against your sex. Saliva embarrassingly gathers on your tongue for you to swallow down as you lean down to him again. 

Face to face with him but there’s a sudden awkwardness, you aren’t entirely sure how to really initiate this with him. 

You could crawl down his body, take him into your mouth. Feel him steadily harden as you bob on his length but you don’t think your ego could recover if you looked up and saw a lack of enthusiasm on his handsome features. 

“This should help,” muttered more to yourself than to him as you dip your head to kiss at his throat, nipping playfully at the flesh as your warm cunt rests over his soft cock. Cradling his skull as humid puffs dampen the skin available to you between each brush of your lips, peppering chaste affections along the column while climbing ever higher, laying a final one in the space behind his cropped ears. Smiling when his cock twitches at just the feel of your breath fanning over the scar tissue alone.

He even cranes his neck for you, presenting the extremity more prominently to you. Your heart could soar, finally grinding your pelvis into his own as your teeth graze the cartilage; your thumb swiping sweetly over the smooth skin of his cheek, ending its trek at the opposite lobe to massage it. Affording equal attention to both while you hum softly, a gentle tune you likely couldn’t name. 

But even if Mithrun’s body reacts to you, you hunger for more. Long to hear his breath hitch or sigh at your actions, for passion to take him in the form of frustration at your leisure. To have him grip your hips and hasten the pace of your currently slow grind over his semi hard cock. 

You knew this would be nothing like what your other squad members described with their own lovers but you didn’t know it’d feel so disconnected. You didn’t think it’d bother you this much either, trying and failing not to take it to heart; you were more than aware that your affections aren’t returned. 

That they likely never would be, because he can’t physically, nevermind emotionally, desire you. Even so, it doesn’t stop you from wishing there was a glint to his eye while you drag his steadily hardening cock between slick folds. That he’d want to cup your face and tell you how pretty you looked like this, how much he adored what he did to you, what you do for him. 

Could the dungeon grant that wish? 

The thought makes you halt abruptly, lifting your hips while gnawing the skin of your lip until near bleeding when he surprises you; fingers holding you in place when he questions, “why did you stop?” 

Your throat feels dry when you swallow, words seized by it so you merely shake your head instead, a glassy look to your eye and an unconvincing smile. 

“Keep going,” somewhat commanding, you swallow the hope of him following it with ‘I want more‘, knowing it will never come. 

The command will be enough for now, though your heart races and eyes widen when his hands find your hips as you give a tentative roll once more. Slick clicks disturbing the silence as you find your rhythm again, melting in the moment when his engorged tip kisses your clit with one particular rut. Shuddering above him and as pleasure threatens to overtake you, you don’t register the slight grip of his fingers.

Pelvis twitching out of sync before you gasp, a sharp inhale to punctuate the sudden rapture. How long had it been since you’d found bliss? It felt better this way than by your own hand, you can admit that much, and you hadn’t even been filled by Mithrun yet. 

So lost in the throngs of your orgasm you miss telling reactions from the man beneath you; like his uncovered eye widening a fraction in interest and the way his sealed lips part around a breath. 

His expression is neutral by the time you float back down to him, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly as your fingers thread together just below his diaphragm. Lifting your ass slightly to reach between your bodies, taking hold of his fully rigid length and he looks on at the sticky mess with rapt attention as you align it with your drooling hole.

“Ready now, Captain?” The sound of your voice peels his attention for how his tip prods into your warmth before he nods. 

The hands steadfastly at your hips reflexively aid in how you sink down on him, stretching you slowly. Obsidian hues flickering up to watch how you react to him once more. 

Plush lips formed into a pretty ‘o’, brows furrowed but distinctly different from the times he’s seen you in pain. 

But the breathy moan that pulls from your throat when you’ve taken him fully, sensitive clit running against the neatly kept thatch of hairs on his pelvis is an experience in and of itself. 

A tune one could only attribute to a siren's song, a flicker of feeling sparking in his chest that could dare to ignite the more he hears it. The only call Mithrun may yet fall victim to. 

You both settle into a steady rhythm from there, rising and falling on his cock at a leisurely pace as you adjust to the feeling of him while he does the same in turn. Rotating in minute circles intermittently to test what feels good for him as well, canting your hips slightly to maintain the angle you found when his pelvis ruts up and out of sync with your own.  

Reveling in the subtle reactions from him, finally finding a comfort in these actions with one another. The breathless whimpers from you steadily crescendoing into airy moans and modestly audible panting. Mithrun’s skin glistening as a sheen of sweat collects and catches the licking flames, his still intact eye lidded evenly with his damaged one and his lips perpetually parted. 

Your stomach flutters when he wets his lower lip with a swiping tongue, arching slightly and pushing his head into his pillow with the hastened pace you’re melting into. 

Getting lost in the feeling before long, carried away now that you’ve broken from your initial trepidation and timidness. This feels natural now, just as every interaction with your captain does. 

The natural ease guiding you now, as if on autopilot as you lean down for a touch more intimacy to the act. Fisting the material beneath you to anchor yourself before cradling the curve of Mithrun’s skull, lips brushing over his dewy skin, smattering what’s available to you with a barrage of chaste pecks. Trailing from his throat where your tongue darts to sample the salty sheen as you draw upwards along his jawline. Nails raking soothingly at his scalp, breathing in the smell of Mithrun and sex as you inhale deeply, unable to keep yourself from what you do next. 

Your lips seal over his, a firm press before tugging playfully at the full lower lip because you’re more than elated in this moment. 

Everything about this feels good, feels right, and you can’t believe it’s your captain who fills you so perfectly. Moaning against his lips and frantically rolling your hips into his own, blinded as you chase your second climax before you moan again. The coil snapping and you tense against him, lips parting against his own as your brows furrow when euphoria engulfs you once again. 

Riding the waves of your orgasm until realization threatens to nix it prematurely when your eyes roll open with fluttering lashes.

“I’m—!” Gasped as you rest your palms on either side of his head, pushing up but not away despite that being the knee jerk reaction.

Cheeks ablaze as you still, thinking you need to apologize while velvet walls continue to spasm around his sensitive cock. 

Lips forming around the words before the hands resting atop your hips grip insistently at the fat of them. Crescent moon’s sure to rise beneath the pressure of his nails as your captain moves you himself. Lifting you and pushing you back down on his aching cock, a slight urgency to the movement as he repeats the action twice before you naturally fall into the rhythm with him. 

“Keep going,” a slight rasp to his usually smooth tone, “Do what you were doing earlier.” 

You find exactly what he means again easily, arcing your back as you lean down again. Elbows framing either side of his head when Mithrun surprises you for the third time tonight. 

He lifts his head for his lips to capture yours again, his hands sliding to the small of your back to press you flush against him. One creeping higher, caressing just below your shoulder blades for a more natural conforming position. 

Your surprise melts into gleeful acceptance, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Dragging your hands to the center of his pillow and pushing them beneath his head again. Cupping behind his ears while the pads of your thumbs press into Mithrun’s skin, tilting him in the opposite direction. 

Opening your mouth involuntarily for a moan to slip freely when his cockhead nudges into just the right spot. Making a noise of surprise when you feel his own wet muscle slide over yours a moment later while Mithrun pushes his fingers into the small of your back. Pressing down while you taste one another until he needs more, pawing at the plump flesh of your ass in wordless encouragement. 

Urging you to bounce just a bit faster as his breath stalls in his chest, coming out in stutters when he parts from the kiss. 

You wish you could focus on how cute he looks with his brow scrunched in concentration before his feet plant on the floor for better leverage. Thrusting up into you, desperately pursuing his coveted demise as the room fills with a cacophony of lewd squelching, honied cries and gravely growls. 

Babbling ‘please captain, please cum for me, so close, please fill me up’ almost incoherently before the coil in his abdomen gives way the moment you moan Mithrun oh so sinfully. Toes curling into the material of his bedroll and every muscle in his body tenses as he paints your walls in warm sticky white. 

It’s fitting you follow your captain to blissful Elysium the same as you do the pits of hell. Blinding pleasure wracking your form with whole bodied trembles while he works you both through your climax. Each unhurried rut prolongs the pleasure before the sting of overstimulation threatens you both.  

Lifting off of him with a whine, lamenting the empty feeling before you collapse in the space next to him, near boneless as your chest heaves for breath. 

Snuggling closer despite how tacky skin sticks together uncomfortably with every adjustment in position until you settle tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Sighing contentedly as your pattern of breathing syncs with his own, slow and even while you replay all that transpired in a relatively short span of time. 

Though, pleasant recollection leads down the corridor of over analyzation and its only product is agonizing reflection.    

You’d all but coerced him.

Guilt bubbles in your gut, disrupting and denying the peaceful call of slumber. The corners of your eyes burn as your fingers curl into a fist against his chest, “perhaps I should no longer be in charge of your care Captain. I’ll request a change in station once the other Canaries retrieve us.” 

“No, I prefer for it to be you.” 

Even on the cusp of slumber, tone laden with drowsiness he’s quick with his rebuttal as he rests his chin on your crown, effectively tucking you further into the crook of his neck. 

To anyone else, his comment could be taken at face value. That he simply wishes to maintain the ease of familiarity; you know his routine and what works best for him, adjusting to a new Canary was bothersome. 

But, with how long you’ve known him now, you know something like that is a nonissue. Your captain is mostly agreeable, anyone could see to his needs should the situation arise. 

It’s far from a confession of fondness but it’s  enough to warm your heart and ease your mind to fall asleep in time with him. 

He can scold you for shirking your shift come morning. 

[mangoposts]

“Keep still baby.. you wouldn’t want any of our friends to see us, would you?” Matt whispers, I feel his warm breath against the shell of my ear whilst i’m seated on his lap.

We’d been an hour into the Lil Skies show with all of our friends around, Matt and I had taken a seat on one of the stools behind our crowd of friends, who were standing against the railing of the balcony. This grants us enough privacy to pursue our current acts, according to Matt.

“N-no. Matt, we shouldn’t do this here.” At any given moment, one of our friends or even his brothers could turn around from their spot and watch as Matt’s hands are under my short skirt, his other hand wrapped tightly around my waist to keep me sturdy against his upper body.

My words must’ve irked something within him, because his desire to continue only grows stronger afterwards as I feel his cold fingers circle around my clit through my lace panties, the material thin enough to feel every bit of what he was giving me. I begin to squirm a bit in his hold as my face progressively heats up the longer i’m in this position, the thought of our friends or anybody in this venue possibly being able to see Matt and I making me feel awkward yet turned on all at once.

“Where should we do it then, hm? Because I don’t want to stop touching you any time soon.” I can practically hear the smirk on his face in his voice as he speaks. and with his face so close to my ear, i can feel as his stubble lightly scratches against my cheek. His cologne is strong from this proximity, i could feel his eyes burning through the side of my face as i’m trying to keep my composure. But with the loud music, flashing lights of all colours, the dozens of people cheering in the crowd below us along with his scent filling my senses and his eyes locked onto me, i feel myself get slightly overstimulated as my head is flooded with Matt. How badly i want to feel his fingers inside me and his hands around my neck while he whispers how good I’m being just for him.

“I-i don’t care anymore. Please just touch me Matt. Please.” I grip his hand that’s holding onto me while i lay my head back to rest against his shoulder. My voice and actions are laced with neediness and desperation at this point. His fingers are still lightly tracing along my clothed clit, and his smirk only grows knowing he’s finally got me where he wants me.

“That’s my girl. Get up and meet me by the car. I’ll bend you over the backseat and touch you however you like, princess.”

[hotshotsxyz]

hi abbie! from the prompt list: buddie, ” i miss you. i miss you so much it hurts." please?

(buddie) (656 words) i have, once again, taken this in what is almost certainly a different direction than intended

“Hey, Shan,” Eddie says softly.

The air is crisp and cold, unseasonably so for early November, but the sun shines bright against a cloudless blue sky. It’s a perfect day to spend outside, and a perfect day to have a conversation he should’ve had years ago.

Eddie brushes a few errant leaves from Shannon’s headstone then sits in the grass beside it.

“It’s been a while since I came here without Christopher. He—he’s so much like you, Shannon, you have no idea. But I…”

Eddie scrubs a hand down his face and sighs.

“I need to talk to you about something else. Tell you some things that I wish I’d figured out a little sooner. Things I wish I could’ve told you face to face.”

Eddie closes his eyes and tips his face toward the sun.

“I still don’t really know how to say any of it out loud, but I’m going to try,” he says.

A soft breeze blows through the cemetery, ghosting across Eddie’s face like a gentle caress. The corners of his lips tick into a small smile.

“I miss you,” he admits. “I miss you so much it hurts. But I… I think you were right.”

This is so much harder than he thought it would be, but every word comes a little easier than the last.

“We were kids when we met. The same age Christopher is now, can you believe that? And we were still kids when we had him. I don’t think either of us really got that at the time.”

Eddie pulls his knees to his chest and rests his folded arms on them.

“Neither of us had the chance to figure out who we would’ve been on our own. These last few months have been the first time I’ve ever even lived alone, you know? And I—I’ve finally realized that I’m not the person I’ve been trying to force myself to be.”

There’s a thread coming loose along one of the seams of Eddie’s jeans. He picks at it until another stitch pops free.

“I’ve been holding onto your ghost almost as long as I knew you, Shan. I think it’s about time I set both of us free.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath.

“I kept you on a pedestal, because if you were the one great love of my life then I wasn’t—”

His eyes begin to sting.

“I loved you so much, but not the way I thought I was supposed to. You were my best friend. Think that might be a thing for me,” he laughs wetly.

“I wish you could’ve met him for real. I think you’d’ve gotten along. And I… I wish we’d gotten the chance to be friends again. You probably would’ve told me to get my head out of my ass way sooner.”

A tear slips down his cheek, followed quickly by another.

“I’m gay,” Eddie says.

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. Something that feels like the weight of the entire world lifts from his chest.

“So you were definitely right about the divorce,” he jokes, and then the joke turns into a laugh, and the laugh turns into a sob.

A gust of wind blows, knocking a few leaves loose from the nearby tree. One of them drifts slowly and softly through the air until it lands gently on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Shan,” Eddie whispers.

He sits with her a while longer, long enough for his tears to dry and his thoughts to quiet.

“I’m going to try,” Eddie says when he stands. “I’m going to try to be happy. I promise.”

He lingers a few moments longer, then heads back to the cemetery’s entrance.

Just beyond the gate, sitting exactly where Eddie left him, is Buck. He looks up from his book as soon as Eddie crosses the threshold.

“Ready?” Buck asks softly.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I think I am.”

[roseyreveries]

Hunted

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part Two <- click!

Summary: Hydra infiltrates SHIELD and takes control of Bucky again, setting the Winter Soldier on course to take out his target: you.

CW: Guns, Violence, Blood, Angst, not very movie accurate, the Avengers being weaker than usual for plot

Directory

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The bass from the radio thrummed in time with my heartbeat as I belted out the lyrics to the song blaring from the speakers. My sister, Maggie, laughed beside me, swaying in her seat, her off-key voice matching mine perfectly. We’d done this a hundred times before—road trips, late-night drives, blasting karaoke-worthy tunes that never failed to lift our spirits. Today was no different; it was just us, the open road, and the kind of freedom that only a highway can bring.

I glanced over at Maggie, her face scrunched up in exaggerated concentration as she hit the high note, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re killing it!” I shouted over the music.

“Please, you’re the one auditioning for a Grammy!” she shot back, winking at me.

The world outside was a blur of cars, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and pink. I felt alive, invincible. But then, out of nowhere, everything changed.

It happened so fast. One moment we were carefree, and the next, I was slamming on the brakes. A figure stepped onto the road, right in front of our car—a man with long dark hair, clad in black, his presence commanding the space like he owned it. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Bucky Barnes.

My heart seized in my chest. His eyes locked onto mine through the windshield, cold and unyielding. I barely had time to register the large gun in his hands before he aimed it directly at us. My breath caught in my throat, the world around me slowing to a terrifying crawl.

“Holy shit!” Maggie screamed, her hands flying to the dashboard as if she could somehow shield herself from what was about to happen.

The next second, a loud bang echoed, piercing through the chaos of the traffic. I watched, helpless, as a disk shot from the barrel of Bucky’s gun, hurtling straight at us. It slammed into the underside of the car with a deafening thud, and before I could even process what was happening, the world exploded.

The blast sent a shockwave through the car, and we were airborne. The car flipped violently, the screech of metal against asphalt and the shattering of glass filling my ears. My body lurched against the seatbelt, the force knocking the wind out of me as the car tumbled. Up became down, and down became up—everything spinning in a disorienting blur of sound and pain.

My vision flickered, the interior of the car now a shattered mess of broken glass, smoke, and twisted metal. I tried to scream, to reach for Maggie, but my voice was lost in the cacophony. The car finally came to a bone-jarring stop, landing upside down on the road.

For a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. I blinked, the sharp taste of blood in my mouth, my mind struggling to catch up. Everything hurt—my head, my arms, my chest. My vision was blurred, but I turned to my right, my heart hammering wildly.

“Maggie!” I croaked, the word barely a whisper. She was hanging upside down in her seat, her eyes closed, a small trickle of blood running down her forehead. I reached out, my fingers brushing against her arm, desperately trying to shake her awake.

My hands trembled as I reached out to check Maggie for injuries. I forced myself to focus, pushing through the blinding panic. I ran my hands along her arms, her legs, feeling for breaks or dislocations. Her pulse was strong, steady under my fingertips— a small comfort in the midst of the wreckage. I checked her pupils, watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, all the while praying she would open her eyes and tell me this was all a bad dream.

I knew what to look for— what signs meant danger and what was just superficial. Years of training kicked in, the muscle memory of countless missions and drills guiding me through every step. I wasn’t just a regular sister panicking in the aftermath of a crash. I was more than that, had been for a long time now.

Maggie didn’t know the truth. No one did. To everyone else, I was just me— the sister who sang too loudly, who drove too fast, who lived a life that was seemingly normal. But behind closed doors, under the cover of night and secrecy, I was something else entirely.

I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Not just any agent, either. I’d climbed the ranks quicker than anyone expected, my skills and determination earning me a seat at the table alongside the Avengers themselves. I’d worked operations so classified, most people wouldn’t even believe they existed. I’d been trained by the best, learned to fight, to strategize, to survive. And now, all of that training, all of those missions, came flooding back in a rush.

Maggie’s injuries were minor—cuts, bruises, a gash on her forehead that looked worse than it was. She’d be okay, at least physically. The relief was so overwhelming, I almost cried. But there was no time for that. I needed to get us out of here before Bucky— or whoever the hell he was working for— made another move.

I glanced outside, taking in the chaos around us. Bucky was still there, his expression as unreadable as ever, but he wasn’t alone anymore. Other figures moved in the shadows, closing in on the wreckage. I cursed under my breath. This wasn’t just a rogue attack; it was a full-blown ambush. And we were smack in the middle of it.

I reached for the hidden compartment in the console, the one Maggie didn’t know about. My fingers brushed the cold metal of my concealed weapon— a sleek, high-tech piece courtesy of Tony Stark himself. I’d been armed and ready, as always, just in case. I hadn’t expected to need it on a karaoke drive with my sister, but that was the life I led— the life no one knew about.

I checked the safety, my eyes flicking to Maggie once more. She was still unconscious, but she’d be okay. I had to believe that. I had to keep her safe, no matter what.

I eased myself out of the wreckage, gun in hand, and moved with purpose. The agents in the shadows were getting closer, and I recognized the insignia on their uniforms. Hydra. Of course. Bucky was working with Hydra— or maybe he was brainwashed again. I didn’t have time to figure it out; all I knew was that we were in serious danger.

Bucky’s eyes met mine, and for a split second, something flickered there. Recognition? Regret? I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Right now, he was my enemy, and I had a job to do.

“Stay back!” I shouted, aiming my gun at the nearest Hydra agent. They hesitated, their eyes flicking to Bucky for guidance. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging through my veins. I was outnumbered, outgunned, but I’d been in worse situations. I knew how to handle myself. I knew how to fight.

And I was going to fight like hell to get Maggie out of this alive.

“Bucky,” I called out, my voice steady despite the chaos around me. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but they’re not in charge of you anymore. You’re safe, Buck.”

He hesitated, his grip tightening on his gun. The seconds stretched on, an unbearable tension hanging in the air. I didn’t know if he’d listen, if he even could. But I had to try. For Maggie. For all the people who’d counted on me to keep them safe.

For the person I used to believe Bucky was.

His gaze shifted, something softening in his expression. I held my breath, praying for a miracle. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he wore so well.

“Move,” he ordered the Hydra agents, his voice flat, emotionless. The moment was gone. He wasn’t Bucky Barnes, the hero. He was the Winter Soldier. And there was no reasoning with him.

I steeled myself, my grip on the gun firm. If Bucky was going to make me fight, then I would. There was no turning back now.

I stepped forward, adrenaline surging through my veins, and fired the first shot. The Hydra agents scattered, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. They fanned out, ducking behind cars and debris, their weapons raised. I squeezed the trigger again, aiming for the nearest target. The bullet hit its mark, sending the agent sprawling to the ground. But there were too many of them, and I was just one person.

The highway erupted into chaos— bullets whizzed past, shattering the remnants of glass around me. I ducked low, using the twisted metal of our car as cover, my mind racing to formulate a plan. There was no backup coming; it was just me against a small army. But I’d faced worse odds, and I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

I darted out from behind the car, my movements fluid and precise. I fired off two more shots, dropping another agent before spinning to take cover behind a cement barrier. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder that I was still alive, still fighting.

They kept coming, relentless and determined. I counted at least six, maybe more, their dark uniforms blending into the shadows of the wreckage. I fired again, hitting another in the shoulder, but the rest were closing in, tightening the circle around me. I moved quickly, pivoting and shooting, each motion a calculated effort to keep them at bay.

A bullet grazed my arm, the sharp sting slicing through the adrenaline. I hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring the pain. I had no time to bleed, no time to think. I fired again, but my gun clicked— empty. I ducked behind a nearby car door, my fingers fumbling for another clip, but I came up empty. I was out of ammo.

Shit.

I crouched behind the door, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. My mind raced, calculating my next move. I could hear the Hydra agents regrouping, their footsteps growing louder, the sound of their weapons being loaded. I glanced down at my gun, flipping it open to confirm what I already knew— no bullets, no way out. My eyes darted around, searching for anything I could use, but the highway was a wasteland of broken cars and debris.

I was trapped.

Then, with a deafening crack, the door was ripped away, torn from its hinges like it was made of paper. I stumbled back, my eyes widening as Bucky stepped forward, his silhouette framed by the chaos beyond. He moved with a lethal grace, his metal arm still raised, the door now discarded at his feet.

I scrambled backward, my hands searching for anything to defend myself, but all I found were shards of glass and twisted metal. Bucky’s gaze was locked onto me, his expression unreadable, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried. He advanced, and I kept retreating, my back hitting the wreckage of another car.

Just as he reached for me, something red streaked through the air, smashing into Bucky with the force of a freight train. The impact sent him flying, his body hurtling across the highway before crashing into the side barrier with a bone-rattling thud. I blinked, stunned, my brain struggling to process what just happened.

I turned my head, and there he was— Iron Man, standing with his fist raised, his helmet gleaming under the dying light of the sun. The red metal glove that had just knocked Bucky out of the way hovered mid-air for a split second before it shot back to his arm, snapping into place with a hiss.

“Thought you only worked at night,” Tony quipped, his voice crackling through the suit’s speakers, though the concern was evident beneath the sarcasm. He didn’t waste a second, his repulsors flaring as he took off to engage the Hydra agents swarming the scene.

I barely had time to register Tony’s arrival before two more figures emerged from the chaos. Black Widow and Hawkeye moved like shadows, their motions fluid and deadly. Natasha’s guns blazed as she took down the agents closest to me, each shot precise and unerring. Clint loosed arrows at an impossible speed, his sharp eyes targeting every Hydra soldier who dared to step forward.

“Go!” Natasha shouted, nodding her head towards the car where Maggie still lay, her voice sharp and commanding. “We’ve got this!”

I snapped back into action, scrambling to my feet and sprinting towards Maggie. She was still unconscious, the faint rise and fall of her chest the only reassurance I needed to know she was still hanging on. I fumbled with her seatbelt, my hands slick with sweat, and pulled her free, cradling her limp form as gently as I could.

I scanned the road, spotting a bystander— a man in his thirties who looked more terrified than I felt. “Help her!” I yelled, thrusting Maggie into his arms. “Take her to the nearest hospital!” He nodded, wide-eyed but willing, and hurried away, cradling my sister as he dashed toward the edge of the highway where it was safer.

With Maggie safely out of immediate harm, I turned back, just in time to see Natasha sprinting towards me. She tossed something in my direction, and I caught it instinctively— two matte black handheld firearms, their sleek, familiar weight grounding me instantly. My usual weapons. The ones that had seen me through countless missions, each nick and scratch a testament to the fights I’d survived.

“Thanks, Nat,” I breathed, loading the guns with a practiced ease. “I owe you one.”

“Just another Tuesday,” she quipped, her eyes scanning the area for threats as we ducked behind a nearby car, taking cover from the barrage of bullets raining down from the Hydra agents still standing. Tony and Clint were keeping most of them busy, but there were still plenty to go around.

I fired off a few rounds, picking off agents as they attempted to advance. The familiar rhythm of combat settled over me, a strange comfort in the midst of the chaos. I turned to Natasha, my voice low but urgent. “What the hell happened? Why is Bucky like this again?”

Natasha grimaced, reloading her guns. “There was a breach at the tower. Hydra got in, and they took Bucky. Managed to wipe everything— reset him completely. He’s back to being the Winter Soldier.”

My stomach dropped, a cold pit forming as her words sank in. “And now he’s trying to kill me?”

“That’s the part we don’t get,” Natasha said, her tone edged with frustration. “The intel we managed to pull says you’re his primary target, but we don’t know why. Whatever programming they shoved into him, it’s all centered on you.”

My mind raced, trying to piece together a motive, a reason— anything that would explain why Hydra would send the Winter Soldier after me, of all people. I thought of every mission, every time I’d crossed paths with them, but nothing added up. I was high up in S.H.I.E.L.D., sure, but I was far from their most dangerous enemy. At least, I thought so.

“We’ll figure it out,” Natasha promised, her eyes meeting mine, fierce and determined. “But first, we get through this. And we stop Bucky before he does something we can’t undo.”

I nodded, steeling myself. I couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if we failed. I had to focus, had to keep fighting, because there was no other option. Not when Bucky was still out there, lost and controlled, a weapon aimed directly at me.

Natasha and I exchanged a glance, and then we moved as one—emerging from cover, weapons blazing. The air was thick with smoke and gunfire, the acrid smell of burning rubber stinging my nose. But I pushed forward, each step driven by the need to protect the people I cared about, to find a way to bring Bucky back from whatever hell he was trapped in.

The battle raged on around us, a whirlwind of gunfire, explosions, and shouting. Tony blasted through Hydra agents, his repulsors sending shockwaves that tore through their ranks. Clint’s arrows flew with pinpoint accuracy, each one taking down an enemy as he moved with effortless grace. Natasha was relentless, her strikes precise and lethal as she fought her way through the chaos.

But Bucky was the eye of the storm, moving with deadly efficiency. He tore through Hydra and Avengers alike, his metal arm swinging with brutal force. Every hit landed with bone-shattering precision, every movement calculated to maim or kill. The Winter Soldier wasn’t just in the fight—he was dominating it.

Tony launched a barrage of energy blasts at Bucky, but Bucky dodged with inhuman reflexes, closing the distance in a matter of seconds. He tackled Tony mid-air, dragging him down to the pavement with a force that cracked the asphalt. Tony hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but he was up in an instant, firing another repulsor blast that sent Bucky stumbling back.

“Stay down, Tin Man!” Tony growled, taking to the air again, trying to put some distance between them. But Bucky was relentless. He lunged, his metal fist smashing into Tony’s side with a clang that echoed through the highway. Tony’s suit sparked, systems flickering, but he kept fighting, blasting at Bucky with everything he had.

Bucky ducked under Tony’s next attack, moving in close. His metal arm swung up, catching Tony square in the chest. Fingers of steel closed around the arc reactor, the very heart of Tony’s suit. With a vicious twist, Bucky ripped it out, crushing it in his grip. Sparks flew as Tony’s suit shut down, his systems failing with a flicker of dying lights. Tony fell, gasping as the suit collapsed around him, powerless and struggling to breathe.

Natasha rushed in, her movements a blur as she aimed for Bucky’s legs, trying to trip him up. She landed a hit, her boot connecting with the side of his knee, but Bucky barely staggered. He swung his arm, catching her mid-strike, and sent her flying into the wreckage of a nearby car. She hit hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Natasha tried to rise, her expression set in determination, but Bucky was already on her. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly before slamming her back down. Natasha gasped, struggling, her hands clawing at his arm, but she couldn’t break free.

Clint loosed an arrow, the projectile striking Bucky’s shoulder with a solid thud. Bucky snarled, releasing Natasha, who crumpled to the ground, clutching her side. Clint fired again, but Bucky deflected it with his metal arm, the arrow splintering against the steel. Bucky moved in, his fist a blur as he knocked Clint’s bow from his hands. Clint ducked under a punch, rolling to the side and grabbing another arrow, but Bucky was faster. His metal arm swung like a sledgehammer, catching Clint across the ribs and sending him crashing into the guardrail. Clint grunted in pain, struggling to get back up, but Bucky was already turning away, his focus shifting.

And then his eyes locked onto me.

A chill ran through me as Bucky turned, his gaze zeroing in like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. I was out of ammo, my guns discarded on the ground, my body aching from the earlier hits. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I scrambled backward, my hands searching for anything I could use as a weapon. But all I found were shards of glass and twisted metal, nothing that could stop him.

Bucky advanced, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each one echoing like a drumbeat in my ears. I swung a metal pipe, but he caught it effortlessly, wrenching it from my hands and tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. I stumbled back, my back hitting the wreckage of a car, nowhere left to run.

“Bucky, please,” I tried, my voice cracking.

He didn’t respond. He was right in front of me now, his expression blank, his eyes cold and empty. There was no sign of the man I knew— only the Winter Soldier, a weapon with one purpose: to eliminate his target.

I swung again, this time with a jagged piece of glass, but he deflected it easily, sending the shards clattering to the ground. His fist slammed into my side, pain exploding in my ribs. I gasped, falling to my knees as the world spun around me. I was exhausted, every part of me screaming to give up, to lie down and let it end.

But I couldn’t. Not with Tony down, Clint barely standing, and Natasha struggling to breathe. I couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this.

I pushed myself up, using the car behind me for support, and faced him. “I know damn well you’re in there somewhere. This is not you, Buck. You need to wake up. Please.”

For a second, Bucky’s arm hesitated, his gaze flickering. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, unyielding stare of the Winter Soldier. He raised his metal arm, poised to strike, ready to finish what he started.

In that moment, everything seemed to slow. I could hear the faint sound of Tony struggling to get his suit back online, Clint’s pained breathing, Natasha’s quiet groan as she tried to push herself up. And Bucky, standing over me, ready to deliver the final blow.

Bucky’s metal arm was raised, ready to deliver the final blow. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might burst from my chest, every instinct screaming at me to survive, but I was cornered, and there was nowhere left to run. I stared up at him, my breath hitching in terror as I crumbled against the wreckage, tears streaming down my face. The Bucky I knew isn’t there anymore. This is it.

“Please, Bucky,” I sobbed, my voice breaking under the weight of my fear. “Please don’t do this. Please! I don’t want to die.”

My words were a desperate, frantic plea, spilling out in a torrent of terror as I shook uncontrollably. His expression was blank, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he loomed over me. I pressed myself further back against the twisted metal, trying to make myself as small as possible, but there was no escaping him. I could barely breathe through the sobs racking my chest, each breath coming in panicked gasps.

“Bucky, I’m begging you!” I cried, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this. Please… please, let me live!” The words were tumbling out of me, broken and raw, and I was shaking so hard I could barely get them out. “I’m not your enemy! Bucky, please!”

His arm didn’t falter, his face a mask of cold determination. I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body wracked with sobs as I screamed, “Please, Bucky!” The second I saw his arm swing down, I looked the other way and screamed, “I love you! I love you!”

The words ripped out of me, raw and desperate, cutting through the chaos. I opened my eyes to see what had happened. Why wasn’t I hit? His arm was stopped, freezing mid-swing. His eyes widened, confusion flickering across his features as if he were suddenly woken from a trance. The soldier’s unyielding stare gave way to something else—something conflicted, like he was struggling to understand.

Bucky stumbled back, his hand flying to his head as if he were trying to claw the commands out of his mind. He groaned, a guttural sound of pain that echoed in my ears. I watched, tears still streaming down my face, as he fought with himself, his body convulsing with the effort to regain control. His breaths were ragged, each one a struggle against the chains of Hydra’s programming.

He let out a tortured scream, the sound filled with agony as he staggered back, his fingers digging into his scalp. His metal arm jerked erratically, twitching as if caught between following orders and breaking free. It was like watching someone try to tear themselves apart from the inside out. My heart ached at the sight, every second a painful reminder of how deeply he was trapped.

“Bucky…” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached out a hand, but he didn’t hear me. He was lost in the battle within his mind, his body shaking violently as he continued to scream, his face contorted in a mask of pain and fury.

His feet shuffled back further, his back hitting a crumpled car as he slumped down, his hands clutching his head. He pounded his fist against the ground, each hit sending cracks through the pavement, each hit an attempt to silence the war inside his own head. I wanted to reach out, to help him, but I couldn’t move, my own body weakened from the fight and the fear.

As Bucky struggled, I heard the distant sound of heavy footsteps— the unmistakable thud of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushing in. My vision blurred, the adrenaline finally wearing off and leaving a dull, throbbing pain in its place. The world around me began to fade, the sounds of Bucky’s anguished cries and the agents shouting orders blending into a muffled haze.

I tried to keep my eyes open, to hold on just a little longer, but my strength was gone. My body slumped, the last of my energy spent as darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw was Bucky, still fighting against the storm in his mind, and then everything went black.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

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[pickingupmymercedes]

Things I left behind - Lewis Hamilton

Little extra to Back to December - can be read as a piece on it's own

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: just angst (but it adds depth to the fluff of the main piece)

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The piano keys were cold under my fingertips.

The sun was barely up, slipping through the half-closed blinds of the apartment I’d rented for a few months.

This was supposed to be the place to find myself again, but it felt like a cage to my own mind.

It was far enough from everything—far from him, far from the life we’d built, far from who I thought I was.

But not far enough from me. From my regrets.

The cold seeped into the apartment, the kind that sinks into your bones — the bite of the chill, the way it pressed into me, the way it matched the ache inside my chest.

I could see my breath in the air, little puffs of warmth that disappeared before they could settle into the room.

It felt poetic somehow, fitting. Like everything inside me, too quick to vanish before I could hold onto it.

G minor – the first sound that came to me.

A low, sorrowful note. It filled the quiet, echoing back as if it understood what I couldn’t say out loud.

My phone sat on the edge of the piano, the screen dark. I hadn’t touched it in days, not since I checked it obsessively, waiting for a call that never came.

I closed my eyes and let the melody flow, the way it always did when words felt too heavy on my tongue.

I knew the words were there—somewhere beneath the hurt and the regret and the messy tangle of everything I couldn’t bring myself to face.

But I couldn’t say them, not yet. Because there were so many words—so many things I should’ve said to him when I had the chance.

But instead, I’d thrown it all away.

It had been months since I left, since I stood in front of him with my heart in my hands, spilling out words that I knew would end us.

It hadn’t been a fight, not really. Lewis didn’t know how to fight back what I was choking on.

He just stood there, taking it all, and I hated him then. I hated how he just let me go, like he’d known this was coming, like he’d been bracing himself for the moment when I’d finally walk away.

But now, I hated myself more.

I hated myself for leaving, for letting fear dictate everything I said, for the way my voice broke when I told him that I needed to focus on my music, on my career, on myself.

And I hated that he believed me, that he nodded like he understood. Like he’d known I’d choose my dreams over us, even if he’d never once asked me to make that choice.

I’d thought freedom would feel like the air in my lungs, a wide-open sky with no strings pulling me down.

But it just felt empty, like the hole I’d carved into my chest the day I left him standing in that doorway, staring after me with those eyes that always saw too much.

D, this time.

A little brighter, but it clashed with the melody. Just like everything in my life seemed to clash right now.

Like the memory of that last night with him, when I’d finally said everything that had been building inside me.

How I’d told him that I was tired of being the girl in the back of every photograph, tired of people caring more about who I was with than the songs I wrote, tired of feeling like my name would never be more than an afterthought next to his.

“I’m scared, Lewis. Don’t you get that?” I’d said, my voice rising despite the way I was trying to keep it steady.

He was sitting on the edge of the couch, hands folded in his lap like he was trying not to reach for me. Like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“I’m scared that no one cares about my music because all they see is you. It’s always about you. And I don’t know how to be okay with that.”

“You know I never wanted that for you, Y/n,” he’d said, his voice breaking on my name. His eyes so full of hurt it nearly shattered me right there. “You know that, right? I’ve never wanted to hold you back”

I was pacing, my feet moving restlessly across the floor, needing the movement to keep from collapsing. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted, Lewis. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening. That people look at me and all they see is—”

“All they see is me,” he finished quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders pulling him taut. “I know. I know, and I wish I could fix that. But... but leaving? Is that really going to fix anything?”

I’d turned to face him then, my vision blurred with the tears I’d refused to let fall. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what’s going to fix this. I just know that every time I look at you, I see everything I’m not. And I hate myself for it.”

He flinched at that, and for a moment, I thought he might yell, might finally snap and give me the fight I was bracing for.

But he just looked at me with this broken sort of resignation, like he’d known this was coming long before I did. Like he’d already prepared himself to watch me walk away.

And God, I wished he would have fought me on it.

I wished he would have yelled or begged or done anything other than let me go so easily, so quietly. It would’ve been easier to leave if he’d been angry, if he’d given me a reason to walk out that door.

But he just stood there, letting my words tear through him, and when I finally ran out of things to say, he said the one thing that broke me completely.

“I just want you to be happy, Y/n. Even if it means I’m not the one who gets to do it.”

“I love you, God, I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t breathe when I’m with you anymore.” I had pleaded and he just looked down at his hands then, like he was searching for something to say, but the silence stretched between us, suffocatingly.

Finally, he nodded, a slow, reluctant movement that made my chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re suffocating, Y/n. If you think that leaving is the answer, then... I don’t know how to change this for you.”

The tears came then, spilling over before I could stop them. I wrapped my arms around myself, as if that could hold in all the pieces that felt like they were breaking.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but I knew it wasn’t enough. It was too small to hold all the regret I’d carry with me when I walked out that door.

He stood up then, closing the distance between us with that careful, measured step he always took when he thought I might bolt.

I almost reached for him then. I almost took it all back, almost fell into his arms like I’d done a thousand times before.

Almost.

But I stepped back, swallowing the ache that clawed at my throat. He dropped his hand, his shoulders slumping, and I saw the hurt flash across his face before he looked away.

“I wish I could be enough” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

I shook my head, the words tumbling out before I could think. “You are, Lewis. You are so much more than enough. This isn’t about you. It’s about everything I’m too afraid to lose if I stay.”

But I didn’t think he believed me. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I believed myself either.

He deserved better than that. He deserved better than me. And I’d been too much of a coward to stay.

He walked me to the door, that same careful distance between us, like he was afraid that if he got too close, I’d shatter right there in front of him.

He held the door open, and I stepped out into the cold, the wind biting at my skin.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Not when I knew that if I saw the way he looked at me, it would break whatever resolve I had left.

B minor.

The notes slipping into something closer to a melody. I let it carry me, to the way I’d felt standing outside his door, the wind biting and the sound of my own footsteps fading into the night.

I could still feel the ghost of that night hanging over me. I could see the look in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t watching—the one that made me think maybe he was just as scared as I was.

Scared of what it meant if he couldn’t give me what I needed, if he couldn’t make me stay.

God, how could I have been so blind? How could I have thought that walking away would make this hurt any less?

It’s been months, but sometimes it feels like I’m still standing there.

Like part of me never really left that doorstep. And I keep thinking about all the things I should have said, all the things I wish I’d done differently.

I wonder if he does too. If he lies awake in that too-big bed in Monaco, wondering if I regret that.

My fingers stilled on the keys, the silence rushing back in. My breath came out in a shaky exhale, fogging up the air.

"I go back to December all the time..."

The words felt too heavy, too raw.

I wanted to erase them, to take them back before I could let myself feel their weight.

Before I could admit that the truth was that I had never left that December.

I’ve been in a loop. Over and over. Replaying the moment when I turned away from him and stepped into the cold.

And every time, I wished I could go back and do it differently—wished I could find the courage to stay, to let myself believe that we had what it took to be enough.

I pressed my hands to my face, letting the tears flow freely, and whispered into the darkness, “I’m sorry, Lewis. I’m so, so sorry.”

Freedom wasn’t what I thought it would be.

It could never be.

It was just another kind of loneliness, one that I wasn’t sure I’d ever learn to live with.

______________________________________________________________

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[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  SWEET KANSAS HONEY

SUMMARY : invited by her friend to a bee farm, but Dean wasn’t invited to their cute day out. Dean gets pouty… and, ya know, horny.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : lavender mcclenic (oc), athena fonseca (oc)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), phone sex, dirty talk, sexting, voice kink, masturbation 

WORD COUNT : 1.5k

A/N : jamies elsewhere song title. this fills the free space square on my @jacklesversebingo card. lavender is based off of my best friend (athena is based off her gf) we have fictional plans to live on a farm, and have a tunnel connecting our houses LOL xxx

“Ah, this is exactly what we said our future would look like,” Y/n grinned, fixing the sunglasses on her face. She turned to face her friend, who did the same, walking towards the little shed where they could change into protective gear.

“Not really,” Lavender laughed, “you’ve got a boyfriend you love with all your cheesy heart. We don’t have a tunnel under our house like we said we’d have,” she listed, playfully. Y/n rolled her eyes and kicked the door open gently, sliding her foot along the bottom of the door as she stepped in before Lavender, looking around curiously. 

“Well, at least we’re still here, on a farm, makin’ money,” Y/n grinned, letting the door shut once her friend was inside collecting the white suits for them to slip into. Y/n placed her phone on the wooden table inside, the walls decorated with tools, and other items she didn’t know how to use. 

She changed quietly with Lavender, lifting the white suit over her regular clothes. They looked up at the same time and bursted out laughing for no reason at all. They were both bad at emotions, at least at saying them out loud, but Y/n had a feeling that laughter was a wordless I missed you. The phone on the table buzzed and Lavender looked over curiously when Y/n didn’t look. 

“It’s that boyfriend of yours,” Lavender teased, “you were so against dating, remember that?” Y/n shook her head and laughed, making sure she was ready to leave as Lav finished up.

“Whatever. So were you,” she dismissed, grabbing her phone with bare hands at the text notification with Dean’s name. She smiled, but she didn’t open it, and Dean sent another message. Her smile got wider.

“We grew up then,” her friend suggested, walking towards the door to open it with her back. 

“Sort of, I still like bees and honey,” Y/n told her, taking her own gloves before following her friend out.

“And I still think we should build a tunnel connecting our two houses. There’s plenty of land. I’d… do anything for you,” Lav hesitated with the last part, her cheeks turning pink. 

“Lav… that’s sweet, but-”

“The offer stands. Five years, or tomorrow—until we lose it all.” Lavender waved her hand to dismiss it and walked faster to avoid the embarrassment of being, well, loving. Dean texted her once more and she groaned softly. Either it’s an emergency or Dean’s just trying to get her attention. 

“I’m gonna…” Y/n trailed off and Lavender turned around and tilted her head at her friend. She lifted her phone and shook it. 

“Yeah, go, before I embarrass us both and keep saying sappy shit like that. I need a cleanse,” Lavender grunted, meeting her girlfriend who had the honey collecting tools on standby.

“Me too,” Y/n smiled, then turned around to check Dean’s messages. 

dean : Good morning, sexy, it’s been fifteen hours since I last saw you and I’m bored. So bored. How did I go through my childhood without you? :((

She laughed softly. 

dean : I woke up early and I was so cold because you weren’t sleeping next to me. 

Liar. He wears socks, pyjama pants, and a Henley to sleep. He’s the one who provides the warmth. Of course, he was just trying to be cute. And it was working. 

dean : I did a whole bunch of chores though. I cooked. Took Miracle out for a walk. Cleaned our room. And the Dean Cave. But I’m done now.

She smiled as she imagined him doing all of that. He’s undeniably adorable. He knew that. He knew how much he meant to her. She saw three speech bubbles appear, so she waited for his next message. 

dean : Oh. Hi, baby. I see you’re reading my texts now. I just want you to know… I’m picturing you coming home with a whole bunch of honey. And guess what? I’m licking it off your body. Yummy. 

She bit her lip as heat bloomed across her face. 

me : Good morning, handsome. I miss you, too. You’ve finished doing all that? Why don’t you watch a movie now? Read one of those books you’ve been wanting to read. Go to that bar that serves your favourite nachos, boys’ night out. I’ve got loads of suggestions if you run out. 

me : Also, you weren’t cold, but that’s cute. 

me : Second also, you can’t text things like that when we’re not together… very naughty, I don’t appreciate it. X

She saw the speech bubble again and she bit her lip, looking across at Athena and Lavender laughing together while they scraped the panels for honey. She smiled at them and missed Dean even more. 

She didn’t expect to see a photo. Not one quite like the one Dean sent. 

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, looking back up. She clicked the photo anyway, a smile growing on her face, and arousal dampening her underwear.

Dean was in the shower. 

Of course he’d take his phone with him. Of course he’d take the chance to get off. He had a high sex drive. He was daring. Unafraid. And he knew how hot he was. Especially all naked and wet. With his body all taut and flushed pink from the heat of the water. With his face distorted in delicious pleasure as he touched himself, his lip plump and trapped beneath his cute teeth. With his hand wrapped tightly around his cock. 

dean : I fig read what you seny 

She laughed softly. And decided to call him instead. He picked up instantly. She heard the water falling against tile and skin before she heard his heavy breaths or his husky voice. 

“Dean,” she whispered, her cheeks on fire.

“Hi, babe,” Dean moaned and she gasped, her stomach twisting with excitement. “I was expecting a text, a photo, not a phone call, but, uh, I appreciate it.” She shook her head, listening closely to the loud, lewd, sound of his wet hand moving quickly along his cock. 

“You’re jerking off?” She blurted out, looking up at Lavender and Athena who were waving her over impatiently. She smiled at them and nodded, putting her finger up. 

“Mmm, my morning’s been good, too. Well, kinda, thanks for asking, beautiful,” he replied sarcastically, moaning occasionally as he spoke. Her clit pulse and she squeezed her thighs to stop the discomfort of her arousal. 

“Dean…” She moaned, but there was a hint of hesitation that he picked up on. He groaned. 

“I’ll hang up, but please, text me something dirty so I get at least a bit of reality in my fantasy,” he begged. She heard him swear quietly and then he laughed breathlessly. 

She closed her eyes and thought about what to do. What to say. He sounded so hot, groaning and moaning her name, pumping his cock through his fingers faster and faster. 

“Dean,” she purred. He hummed softly, distracted by his pleasure. “Be a good boy and cum for me,” she instructed, smirking when he groaned long and loud. “I want to hear you, baby. Fuck, I wish I could see you. I wish I had you in my mouth right now so I can swallow every ounce of your cum.” Dean cursed loudly, brokenly moaning her name as he came.

He panted into the phone and she bit her lip, waiting patiently for him to recompose himself. 

“Ah, fuck,” he murmured and she lifted a brow curiously. “That was hot, baby. We should do it often. Like… even when you are here. I’ll be in the dungeon and you can be in the garage,” he laughed softly to himself and she rolled her eyes. “I miss you. I know it hasn't been that long and that I’ve been sleeping for a majority of the time… I guess I’m just not used to being alone anymore. Without you. I’m sorry for interrupting your time with your friend.”

Her smile softened. “I miss you, too, Dean. And it’s okay… I’ll be back Sunday evening. That’s tomorrow, by the way,” she teased and Dean laughed shyly.

“You didn’t say yes or no to my idea,” he reminded her. 

She smiled. “Of course it’s a yes.”

“How about tonight? Can we set up a time for it?” He asked excitedly, then the water shut off, and she heard his wet footsteps, then the soft sound of his towel. 

“Yes, I’ll text you,” she breathed out. “Now, stop doing… whatever it was that turned you on, and get some proper work done,” she laughed, putting one glove on as she prepared to go with her friends.

“I… just got horny suddenly when I was taking a break. I was reading… ya know, All About Love,” he hesitated. 

“What? Why?” She laughed, but she knew him well, and she’d read the book. “Stop thinking of me. It makes me wet,” she pouted playfully and he laughed again. “And next time you take a break, don’t touch your dick… Until I tell you to do so,” she added with a grin.

“I love you.” She could hear the smile in Dean’s voice, the open and shut of doors. 

“I love you, Dean,” she responded lovingly. She could hear him breath softly and hum shyly, a whispered bye, and she hung up. 

“Wow, you just throw around the L word, now, eh?” Lavender teased as Y/n walked closer to them, ready to join them. Y/n laughed sarcastically and Athena giggled. 

“Shut up,” Y/n grumbled, playfully snatching the tool in Lavender’s hand to help them out.

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[enhaheeseung]

Come back to me - L. HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warning: angst, crying, alcohol consumption.

WC: 1,906k

Part three

After signing the papers, he got ready for bed, more like stripped down to his underwear and boxers before slipping into bed.

He sighs and opens the drawer on his side of the bed, taking out a photo of you and him together.

He put his thumb on the picture frame, softly stroking the image of your pretty smiling face. “Good night, my angel. I love you.” he kissed the frame and set it on your side of the bed, pulling the blankets over the photo before shutting off the lights and going to sleep.

-

When the morning came, heeseung was still in a deep sleep, dreaming about you laying in bed next to him while he caressed your cheek and you smiled at him. “Y/n,” he mumbles, inching closer to you in his dream to kiss you, except the kiss didn’t feel tender or warm like it usually did. It felt cold and hard, and the next thing he knew, his eyes were fluttering open, and he was holding the picture frame to his lips.

Tears immediately well in his eyes as he hugs the frame to his chest. “I miss you so bad.” he laid on his back, the tears rolling down his cheeks and wetting his pillow.

Hours passed like that, him clutching onto the picture like his life depended on it while endless tears poured from his eyes.

Finally, at some point, he stopped crying, but his throat still felt tight, his eyes burned, and his breath was uneven and shaky.

It was well past midnight, and he was still just glued in his bed until reality had set in.

He slowly put the frame back inside his drawer, wiping the residual tears off his cheek, and with one last labored breath, he slipped off his wedding ring, placing it on top of the picture and closing the drawer, realizing that you and him are officially over.

There were no apologies, no second chances, no nothing. You had moved on, and he’d just have to learn to accept that.

-

Except he never really did. He put his wedding ring back on his finger, and your picture stayed in the bed with him every single night.

Those divorce papers still on your nightstand, untouched since the night he signed them, which was weeks ago.

You hadn’t contacted him about it, and he definitely wasn’t going to contact you about it cause as long as those papers were safe with him in his eyes, you were still together. “Remember when we used to watch movies on the weekends?” He smiles, holding your picture in his hands while he sits on your side of the bed for the hundredth time this week. “When we used to go out every Sunday for breakfast at your favorite spot, and then we’d come home and just talk about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other's company while holding hands,” he sniffles softly, a teardrop falling from the tip of his nose and blurring the image of your face he quickly wiped it away afraid to ruin the only thing he had left of you. “I miss those days.” he wipes his tears only for more to take their place seconds later. “I hope you still have those days even if it’s not with me,” he whispers shakily. “I hope he gives you everything you deserve, and I hope he gives you everything I couldn’t.” he hugged the frame, rocking back and forth, trying to comfort himself. “I love you so much I love you so bad it hurts.” he closes his eyes, an endless stream of tears freely flowing from his puffy red eyes.

His moment gets interrupted by the loud ringing of his phone. He ignores it and lets the call go to his voicemail at least three times cause he didn’t want to talk to anyone but you right now, but apparently, he couldn’t even do that cause his phone wouldn’t stop ringing. “Hello?” He answers, his voice strained and weak.

“Is this heeseung?” He hears Jake’s confused voice over the line. Jake couldn’t even discern that it was him cause how different and drained he sounded.

“What do you need, Jake?” He doesn’t bother answering the question. He just wanted to end the call as quickly as possible so he could talk to you some more.

“Oh umm, it’s just work, you know? You haven’t been in for weeks, and the office is a mess without you.” Jake knows it’s selfish cause he knew heeseung and you were at odds, but at the same time, Heeseung hadn’t been in the office for nearly a month, and things were getting out of hand without him there.

“I see.” he ponders for a moment and supposes it is time to start going to work again, even though he really doesn’t want to. “Expect me tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, I-“ Heeseung wasn’t trying to be rude, he really wasn’t, but right now, he needed to be left alone until he could get over the painful ache in his chest. He felt hollow without you, just a shell of a man. You were literally his other half, and to put it short, he couldn’t exist without you.

-

“Bye, love!” Heeseung says after straightening out his tie and kissing your picture one last time before heading out for the day.

Work was obviously shit. He hated every last second of it, but it did take his mind off you just a little bit. But every time it got quiet, it took every last ounce of strength for him to not to just break down in front of his co-workers. That’s why he was more than grateful when his shift had finally ended.

“Headed out now?” Jake tucks his hands in his pockets while heeseung just nods his head and puts his belongings away in his suitcase. “Me and Jay are going out, and you’re invited if you want to come?”

“Sure,” he replies while Jake takes a closer look at him. His eyes were sunken in frown lines on his face, and he looked thinner than usual. And not to be rude, but he didn’t even look like he had showered.

“So how are things with-“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he answers immediately, already knowing what Jake was going to say. And he didn’t want to speak about it cause the moment he said it out loud, it would become all too real, and he wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

“Sorry, I asked.” heeseung just walks past him, giving him a small pat on the shoulder before he leaves his office.

-

Heeseung was an unhealthy amount of shots in. No matter how many times they told him to slow down, he didn’t. Even when he was pass-out drunk, he was still asking the bartender for another bottle.

“Hee, I think that’s enough.” Jake reached for the bottle to take it from him, but heeseung just took it back, pouring another shot.

“I’m good, I swear.” his words don’t match the look on his face as he swallows the liquor like it’s water.

“Geez,” Jay whispers under his breath. “You shouldn’t have invited him,” he elbows Jake on the shoulder.

“I know!” Jake whisper, shouts, eyes big and panicked.

Jake and Jay both had work in the morning, and neither of them felt like dealing with a drunk toddler who was now crying and screaming your name over and over again, gaining attention from everyone in the bar. “Get him out of here,” Jake said to Jay as he reached inside heeseung’s coat pocket and grabbed his phone, leafing through his contacts, hoping he had a friend that could come get him otherwise, the responsibility of his drunk friend would fall on his shoulders.

The first contact read “my angel,” which Jake assumed was you, his wife, and that probably wouldn’t be the best option right now. He looked through some more, and he saw his contact and Jay's contact information, which wasn’t gonna do any good right now. He scrolled further and saw he had his parents saved, and he was starting to lose hope because there was literally no one he could contact, but one name caught his eye. “Hoon,” he whispers. That sounds like a guy's name, and maybe he was a friend of his or something, so he dialed the number even though it was nearing midnight.

“Heeseung?” Sunghoon answers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Uhh no, actually I’m a friend and co-worker of his, so he’s a little drunk right now, and I was wondering if you’d be able to help him home. It’s just I have work tomorrow, and normally I’d do it bu-“

“Where?” Is all Sunghoon says.

“I-I’ll text the address.” Jake barely even got to finish before the call had ended.

-

Twenty minutes later, Jake and Sunghoon made the exchange, and now heeseung was in the passenger seat of sunghoons car after a very awkward greeting outside at the bar.

The drive was silent except for Heeseung hiccuping every now and then. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, half out of it. “Y/n’s probably so worried about you.”

Sunghoon just shakes his head at his very stupid friend. It took him days to figure out why Heeseung abruptly walked out of his apartment, but he soon put two and two together when he saw your clothes on his bed, and he knew then and there heeseung got the wrong impression about what was going on but it was an accident when he did the laundry he got a few of your belongings as well nothing more nothing less besides you were like his little sister anyways.

She’s actually worried about you.

That’s what Sunghoon wanted to say, but when he thought about all the things you told him heeseung had done to you, he thought that heeseung didn’t deserve to know that you missed him. He thought heeseung deserved to know what it felt like to be in your shoes for once, so he kept his mouth shut and pulled into the driveway, helping heeseung to his house.

“You can go t-thanks for the ride.” heeseung tried to stand, but he would have fallen if it wasn’t for sunghoons help, and that made him feel even more helpless.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes and helped him upstairs. The living room was a complete disaster. Everything was a mess beer take-out boxes, dirty clothes, everything was dirty.

When they made it upstairs, sunghoon widened his eyes in shock. The only thing that was neat and clean was your side of the room, and his eyes couldn’t help but fall on the picture frame that was neatly tucked under the covers.

“Thanks, hoon. I think I can manage from here.” heeseung practically fell on his bed and grabbed his picture frame, so drunk that he didn’t even care that Sunghoon was there. He kissed the picture and passed out only seconds later.

When Sunghoon saw that, he was so torn between telling you and not telling you because what if you went back and heeseung treated you the same? Or what if you went back and heeseung treated you better?

It was all a mess, one that somehow landed on his shoulders, and he wasn’t even in the relationship.

Only time would tell how things would go.

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

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[with-my-calamitous-love]

STARRY EYES SPARKIN’ UP MY DARKEST NIGHT

touya todoroki x reader

you and touya find solace together, dancing barefoot in the kitchen.

separate from my other touya x reader series. i missed writing short little tidbits for him 🤍 i can write a part two if you guys want! slight nsfw themes

inspired by call it what you want (and all too well)

honestly, he though it was stupid.

after a 2 hour long session of touya being knee deep between your thighs, taking you to heaven and back on the couch, he allows you to pull him towards the kitchen. here, he’s wearing nothing but jeans that he can’t even be bothered to zip up. not that you’re complaining- he’s sculpted like a masterpiece.

touya’s enjoying the view as well, watching you in a big t-shirt and not much else. if he can’t dance, he’ll at least admire the way the fabric clings to you in the glow of the fridge lightbulbs.

some american singer plays in the background, singing about her reputation. shes not the only noise going on, however. the quiet domesticity of your shitty apartment is loud and clear to the two of you. and somehow, its more romantic than grand gestures or fancy, expressions of love.

for a man who never knew the love of home, he sure cherished the fact that his and your laundry were both thrown into the same cycle. he loves the smell of rice cooking in the fridge, and handily fixing that leak in the sink you didn’t know was there. he chuckles when you join him in the shower, not being able to withstand the cold temperatures he prefers to bathe in. he loves the sound of running water when he washes the dishes after you cook, and your soft breathing when he hushes you to sleep.

its so mundane. so simple. so familiar.

nobody’s heard from him in months. his scarred hands make their way to your waist, holding you as you sway back and forth. you fit in his arms like a daydream, his head hanging low as he decides this is the place he wants to be.

your forehead presses against his, searching those burning blue eyes for any signs he may not really love you the way he says. any doubts or any lies.

you find none.

you step on his toes accidentally and he teases you, because of course he does- “thought you were the expert on this, doll.” he smirks, flashing that same shit-eating grin you came to love.

you roll your eyes, hushing him up by moving in closer. “i told you, i am. you’re horrible at this.” you chuckle. he loves that laugh of yours.

“i’m a stone-cold villain, not some ballroom dancer.” he reminds you, though the way he suddenly twirls you around says otherwise. maybe he just wanted to see the way your hair dances around your body, your simple beauty captivating him enormously.

touya loves you like you’re brand new. the way he looks at you, taking in every detail silently. to him, you make dancing barefoot in the kitchen look like a sky full of stars.

suddenly, all the judgement from your past disappears. the heartbreak, jokers taking swings at you and liars calling you one fade to nothing when you look at him. you crumble his castles, the walls he builds up just with your gentle touch. he doesn’t understand how you do it, or even why he loves it so much.

for all his life, he’s made the same mistakes. bridges burn, people hurt and baring scars- he almost never learns. but when he looks at you, god- he knows he’s done one thing right. he finds it in him to laugh with you, to feel the happiness he never knew he was allowed to experience. yeah, you’re definitely the 1 thing he’s done right.

“you know you can’t save me, right?” he asks in a whisper, head dipping down to your ear. and he’s right. he’s someone who, no matter how much you love him, you can’t burn stronger than his flames. he wants to be sure. he wants to know you’re here, dancing with him in the kitchen of your apartment, willing to get your heartbroken. he’s steeling himself for the pain he’s about to cause you.

if love could save us, we’d live forever.

but right now, he’ll keep dancing with you.

“…i know.” you whisper, silent resignation in your voice. at the very least, you two have right now.

if you could, you’d wear TT around your neck. not because he owns you- touya could never own or even deserve someone as kind and light as you. but he can say that he knows you, and loves you harder than anyone you have ever known. his tortured heart burns the brightest for you.

its more than anyone else could say. they could berate you, call you two criminals and lash out in violence. but the two of you challenged them- let them call it what they want. they don’t know what it really is, anyway.

for @crushmeeren whose kind words on a vent post i made earlier this week inspired me to write🤍🫧

[summerslashers]

Invitation: Thomas Hewitt x Reader

Summary: Part two to Beginning. Thomas comes over to your house to give you a special invitation.

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I’m sorry these are so short. I get terrible writers block :/ I hope you like it though

You sighed and used the back of your hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead. You had been moving and unpacking boxes all afternoon, and there were still plenty of them laying around the house or sitting on the porch, several too heavy for you to move on your own. You decided to take a quick break and make a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade to cool yourself down. You immediately got to work cutting and squeezing lemons, creating a simple syrup, and combining it all in the large pitcher before filling it to the top with water. You were just finishing cleaning up the kitchen when a loud knock startled you.

You walked over to the front door, opening it to see a familiar half-masked face, the man taking up almost the entirety of your doorway. He stood there awkwardly, his fingers twitching at his sides- a nervous habit of his. You smiled up at him brightly.

“Thomas,” you said warmly. “It’s really nice to see you again. Please come in if you’d like-”

He hesitated for a moment, looking into your gentle eyes that gazed at him so fondly. Everything about you invited him in, and despite his nerves, he found that he couldn’t say no to you. Instead, he nodded and you stepped aside, allowing him ample room to join you in your small kitchen/ dining area. You shut the door behind him.

“I just made some lemonade.” You smiled and stepped into the kitchen, an open area to the left of your front door. “Would you like a glass?”

Once again, he seemed uncertain, fidgeting with his hands and struggling to make eye contact. He wasn’t used to being offered nice things. He really didn’t know how to respond. Of course he wanted some lemonade, but he didn’t want to bother you. You could tell that it was worrying him, and you offered a sympathetic smile the next time his eyes met yours.

“I’ll pour you a glass, okay? I promise I don’t mind.” He nodded and you filled two tall glasses with ice, pouring a generous serving of lemonade in each one.

You walked over to him with a glass in each hand and offered him one. He accepted it with a grateful look in his eyes, bringing it to his lips and gulping down the entire glass. You smiled, happy that he liked it. You offered to pour him more, taking the glass gently from his hand and walking back to the counter where the pitcher sat.

“Sorry about the mess in here.” You refreshed his ice and filled his glass to the top with lemonade. “I still have a lot to put away.”

There were boxes strewn about the floor, some half unpacked and others not even opened yet. Each had different labels on them in your handwriting for the different rooms in the house. You returned his glass, taking a sip of your own and savoring the cold, sweet drink.

“So,” you smiled, standing in front of the large man. “What brings you over?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper, handing it to you. You set your drink down on your small dining table just behind Thomas. Then, you opened the note, and in a familiar handwriting- the one from the back of Thomas’ baby photo- it read, ‘We’d love to have you over for dinner this evening. 6 o’clock. -The Hewitt Family’.

You grinned up at Thomas. “I’d love to join your family for dinner.”

Tommy felt a familiar warmth in his chest. Your smile never failed to give him butterflies or bring a blush to his cheeks. He was happy- more than happy that you accepted the invitation to dinner. He was sure his mama was going to love you. How could she not? You were so wonderful and kind and caring. Besides, the whole family was appreciative of the cookies you made and mama thought the flowers were very cute.

“I just need a little bit of time to get ready and I’ll be there,” You glanced over at the clock. You had about three hours. You looked around at the boxes in the house. You were hoping to finish unpacking today, but you supposed it could wait. There was one slight problem though.

“Hey Thomas?” You looked up at him, suddenly a bit anxious. “Could I maybe ask a favor of you?”

Thomas looked back at you with soft eyes and nodded. Of course you could. You could ask him anything.

“Thank you so much,” you smiled. “Before you go, I was wondering if you could help me move these two boxes inside? They’re sitting on the porch and I’m having a really hard time moving them myself-”

As soon as you said the words, Thomas went to work immediately, stepping out and onto your front porch. You followed behind him with a happy skip in your step, pointing to the two boxes that sat over by the railing. He nodded, lifting them both with a sharp exhale through his nose. You gaped at him, finding yourself at a complete loss of words as heat rose to your cheeks. Those boxes were very heavy, and he picked up both like it was nothing. You stepped out of his way as he entered the house.

“You can just set them anywhere,” you told him.

He set them down gently near your small, circular dining table, standing back up with a small huff. His eyes met yours and you beamed at him, making his heart skip a beat. You were too cute.

“You’re so strong, Thomas. Thank you so much for helping me.”

He felt that oh so familiar warmth in his chest when you complimented him. He was often criticized for his brute strength rather than praised. People who met or knew him would call him things like ‘monster’ or ‘animal’, but when you called him strong, he knew you meant it in a good way. It made him happy.

The two of you parted ways after you thanked him several more times for his help and let him know that he was more than welcome to come over anytime he wanted. Then, three hours later, you were showered, dressed nicely, and standing on the porch of the Hewitt home with a hot apple pie.

[illusioninfnty]

day 24 ; primal play

↠ mike munroe x reader

fandom: until dawn word count: 916 warnings: nsfw 18+, physical traits of reader (taller than mike and muscular), dom!reader, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, slight aftercare, outlast!au (if Tex!reader was straight…shudder)

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

You can hear his breathing.

The snow crunches beneath your feet as you hunt for him. Your breath is visible in front of you, the cold air stinging your cheeks as you steady your breathing.

Mike had brought up the idea first. You were experienced in this type of hunt, learning from your parents, and he wanted to see just how well you could do.

If you caught him, he would be your reward.

You know you're close, and you slow down your pace so he doesn’t hear you. The whistle of the wind is just loud enough that you believe you’re able to cover your tracks.

But then a twig snaps under your foot, and you can see his shape dart out from a nearby tree and through the woods.

You know the quickest way to reach him, your knowledge in the terrain coming handy as you weave your way in and out of trees, tracking Mike’s steps as he runs away from you.

The quickness of your route allows you to find him easily, and you act fast so he can’t escape this time. You grab him by his arm, tugging him close to your chest and wrapping your own around his neck. “Got you.”

Mike shudders under your hold, your warm breath close in his ear.

“You’re a fucking psycho,” he answers you lightly.

“Maybe. But you still love me.” You give him a quick peck on his cheek and squeeze the skin between your gloved fingers. “Hell, it’s fucking cold out here.”

Looking around to get a sense of exactly where you are, you spot a cabin in the distance. You smirk, your plan forming quickly in your head.

“Come on.” You drag Mike along with you. “I’m getting my reward now.”

“N-now?” he sputters, his eyes dart back and forth. “What if someone sees us?”

You roll your eyes. “Not out here, you idiot. We’d get hypothermia. Over there.” You point out the cabin, all dark and more than likely completely abandoned.

Mike’s eyes widen in realization. “Damn. Alright.”

The walk takes only a couple of minutes, the two of you scrambling just as much to reach your destination. When you reach the door, you try the doorknob and the entrance opens up easily. You pull Mike in, slamming the door behind you with your foot as you smash your lips onto his.

You begin to undo all of his outerwear, starting with his coat. As you undress him, he opens his mouth slightly in a moan, and you stick your tongue in. You kiss him with vigor, swirling your tongue around with his. His hands move down your body, removing your own clothes. 

Soon the two of you are completely bare, and you maneuver yourself so that you push him onto the couch, a string of saliva connecting as your lips part.

Mike’s cock is already hard, throbbing in anticipation. You crawl on top of him, brushing your front against the head of cock. He moans and jerks up from the contact.

“You ready for me?” you ask, teasing your slit over his cock, wetting yourself with his precum.

He nods. “Always.”

You lower yourself onto him slowly, moaning at the way he stretches you open. You start riding him, arching your back and digging your nails into his chest. He groans, and you grip him harder.

His hands move up to hold you at your hips. “So tight,” Mike whispers, his knuckles turning white with how hard he grips onto you. You clench around him more, and he bucks his hips up into you.

“You like that?” you murmur to him, your hands slowly traveling up his chest and resting against his neck, putting light pressure on it.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes out.

Your hands tighten around his neck, choking him. His mouth widens in a gasp as his eyes roll back, and his hips rut up into you. You increase the pace of your own bounces, the sounds of skin slapping together louder than ever.

“There you go,” you coo gently. Mike moans at your praise. His cock pulses harshly inside you, and he cums unexpectedly—much earlier than he ever had before.

He fills you up completely, some of the liquid spilling out the sides of your walls and onto his lower stomach. You continue to ride him as his orgasm washes over him, his cum lubing you up to make your movements even slicker.

Mike soon whines from the overstimulation, and you let go of his neck as his body trembles from the overwhelming sensations. His gasps come in short breaths as he brings up a hand to rub his neck.

You pull yourself completely off of him, more of his cum spilling out of your hole. You roll over and move to find a bathroom in the cabin, coming back to Mike with some towels and a cup of water for him.

Kissing his cheek, you begin to wipe his body clean. As you look out the window, you see that the snow has begun to fall faster, the visibility of the outdoors much lower than usual.

“Crap. The weather got a lot worse,” you say, biting your lip. “I don’t think it’s safe to go back to the lodge like this.”

Mike pauses and looks as though he’s pretending to think hard. “I guess we can cuddle instead.”

You playful punch his shoulder and wrap your arms around his midsection. “Come here, you big goof.”

[words-4u]

right person (2/3)

pairing: luca x reader

wc: 3.3k

a/n: part two is hereee! i took the conversation that marcus and luca had while chopping/folding dough and revamped it for this fic <3 hope yall like it

warnings: 18+ SMUT, swearing

part 1 / part 3

as it turns out making shiso gelee wasn't as complicated as it sounds but it also helped massively that chef luca is always near to correct any mistakes.

the kitchen is silent besides the sounds of pots and smacking of dough from marcus' station.

luca is drying some tupperware at the table behind you while you whisk some liquid gelatin.

"that's a little bit too thick," he says peering over. "so just add some more pineapple juice."

you caught a whiff of his aftershave which made you want to lose your mind. "yes, chef."

doing as he instructed, you add more juice. "just to know for the future, can i ask why?"

he glances at you before going back to his task at hand. "uh, the thicker it is, the stronger it is. so too thick and it overpowers the other components."

"good to know... and what do you serve this with exactly?"

"uh, we do that with a thin slice of marzipan and a caramel cracker," luca answers.

"damn, that sounds good," you say.

"yeah, it's a nice dish," he comes over to your side and puts away some freshly dried containers.

"uh you're good to go on your break, by the way. we can pick this up in 15,"

"are you sure?"

"yes. the gel needs to set anyways."

"thank you, chef," you smile and make your way to an area behind the restaurant for a smoke break. lucky for you, that area had a nice wooden bench. you take a seat and place a cigarette between your lips, lighting it.

taking your first drag, you shut your eyes and lean your head against the exposed brick of the building.

"i, uh, i don't suppose i could use your lighter, chef," a voice asks. the accent is instantly recognizable.

"oh, sure," you go over to where he's standing and close the distance between you as you light his bud.

you stuff your lighter back into your pocket but don't return to the bench.

"y/n," you say after a few moments.

"sorry?"

"it's just, uh, when we aren't in the kitchen, you can call me y/n,"

he nods.

"so tell me y/n," he says. "how do you like you copenhagen so far?"

"well, considering i've been in the city less than 48 hours, i have no complaints. the scenery is beautiful. food is pretty good and the people..." you look up at him. "i'm still getting to know the people."

he holds your gaze before letting out a cloud of smoke. "hmm."

if you didn't think there was a weird tension between you earlier, you definitely feel it now.

“if you, uh, ever want a proper tour, let me know,” luca says.

it takes everything you have to not breakout into a massive smile. “thanks, chef.”

“outside the kitchen, luca,”

this time you nod. “luca.”

he clears throat and steps on his cigarette. “well, we’d better get back inside and check on the gelee,”

“of course, how could we forget about the gelee,” you say following him back in and you swear you hear him chuckle.

when you got back to your station, you began blanching some large green leaves first by boiling it in hot water and then immediately dumping it in a metal bowl filled with ice water so it doesn't lose its colour.

luca took the metal bowl and brought it to the table behind you where the blender was. he takes a clump of the leaves and then adds water.

"start off low," luca says as he turns on the blender.

the loud noise jolts you a bit.

"you can see the colour change," he says as you move closer. "you see it starting to get brighter?"

"gorgeous colour," you say.

"yeah, it is."

luca pours the green liquid into a sifter and hands you the purified liquid.

he watches as you pour the liquid into a new bowl and asks you to to bloom the gelatin with the cold green liquid to prevent potential clumps.

the second half of your shift flew by because before you knew it, it was time to clock out of the day.

in the change room, you removed your apron and since you were alone you removed your shirt as well quickly sliding on the grey sweatshirt you came with.

just as you brought your sweatshirt down, luca walked in and stood at his locker across from you.

turning your head slightly to peek at him, you caught him pulling off his shirt and since his back was turned towards you, he couldn't see you drinking in the sight of him.

you turned back around and pressed your lips.

"uh, luca," you say.

"yeah?" he says.

"about that, uh, personal tour? is now a good time?" you slowly turn his way.

he cracked the faintest smile. "sure. anywhere particular in mind?"

you shake your head. "wherever you wanna show me,"

"in that case, might i suggest some sustenance first? does coffee sound good?"

"coffee sounds fucking great," you sigh and follow him out the door and on to the sidewalk.

"there's this cafe that i love just up the road," he says.

walking alongside him, you take in your height difference. he's probably 6'2" to your 5'7" so it was perfect.

when you arrive at a hole-in-the-wall cafe, that had blue painted bricks and picture frames of happy looking folks. probably customers or family members.

"hi," luca says going up to the old woman behind the counter. "can i get a medium black coffee and...." he looks to you to say your coffee of choice.

"just a caramel latte please,"

"a caramel latte," he repeats "and two snegls please,"

you grab a table for the two of you near the window so you can people watch while luca gets your order. it's midday now and you watch as people in their own little lives pass by the window.

luca makes his way to you holding two coffee cups and clutching two bags of pastries.

"okay now can i ask what the hell a snegl is?" you say once he's seated.

"sure. it's cinnamon roll style pastry but shaped like a snails shell if that makes sense," he explains.

"so a cinnamon bun?"

he was going to refute your statement but upon seeing the look on your face, he concedes. "yeah, it's a cinnamon bun,"

you guys shard a small laugh.

"so long have you been a cook?" he asks taking a sip of his hot drink.

"about six years now. i went to university for psychology but didn't really feel like it was my thing," you answer.

"so you dropped out?"

"no. after all the hard work my parents did to raise me, dropping out, no matter how disengaged i was, was not an option. so i got that degree but i did tell them the truth. that my heart wasn't in it for that right reasons."

"so how did you fall into cooking?" luca sat up ready to hear your story.

"my dad taught me everything i know," you say a lump started to form in your throat. "i swear his favourite place besides his bed was the kitchen."

luca stayed silent and let you collect yourself. "he passed recently... but he was the best mentor i could have asked for."

"i'm sure he's proud," luca said with sincerity.

you give him a small smile.

"what about you?" you say ready to move on before you start crying in front of your hot co-worker. "how long have you been doing this?"

"uh, fourteen years now..."

"oh, so you started when you were three?" you ask deadpanned.

he chuckles. "close enough, yeah."

"and with that accent i'm guessing you're from london."

"you'd be correct. and you're from chicago?"

"born n raised," you confirm. "so did you go to culinary school?"

"i didn't. no. i didn't do too well in school. got in quite a bit of trouble. ditched the check. they caught me. made me wash dishes, and, uh, i loved it."

"wow, you might be the only person i know that loves washing dishes,"

he shrugs. "it gives me time to reflect."

"fair enough," you hold your hands up. "i can't argue with that."

"so, uh, you said your dad passed recently, but how recent? if you don't mind me asking?"

"no, not at all. i love talking about him," you say. "he died a little over a year ago and not gonna lie... i didn't handle it too well. it was sudden. in his sleep. so i had no chance to say goodbye and i think that's what still hurts more than anything."

you let a tear fall but quickly wiped it away. "i'm sorry."

"you never have to apologize to me. ever. and especially for crying," he hands you a tissue that came with the pastries.

"you're an only child?" he asks taking out a snegl and placing one in front of you.

"i have two brothers. and you?"

"uh, yeah. i have a younger sister somewhere... yeah,"

"somewhere?" you echo taking slow bites of your snegl.

he clears his throat. "half-sister, i have to clarify. my parents separated when i young and my mum quickly found someone new. then my sister came along and then one day... my mum just left. no goodbye or anything just a note saying she wanted to focus on herself... my step-dad got custody of my sister and well i was 18 by that time so i moved out and moved on."

you stay silent for a few seconds. you couldn't believe a mother could abandoned her kids like that, especially someone as great as luca.

"she's missing out... your mom."

"yeah," he sighs.

you were starting to see luca in a different light. after telling him your story and you his, all you wanted to do was hold him and hope to ease his pain and loss. but you couldn't do that so you opted for something safer. kind of...

"hey, want to come back to mine and i can cook us a meal or something?"

"you still wanna cook after today?"

"you can take the cook out of the kitchen, but you can’t take the kitchen out of the cook."

he laughs at that. "okay, let's go."

you and luca talk some more on the way to your place. he makes you laugh telling stories of his younger rugrat days in london and when you're talking, he hangs on to your every word.

"you... live on a boat?" he says when you arrive.

you look back opening the door. "cool, huh?"

"very."

you turn to luca as you place your bag on a hook at the front door. "can i get you anything?"

"water is fine," he says taking a seat the dining table. you get his water and tell him to make himself comfortable as you went up stairs to change into a t-shirt and loose jeans.

it's only when you make your way back down and see luca sitting at the table, that you've realized how small your space and intimate your living space was.

"what's on the menu for tonight, chef?" luca asks as he spots you coming down the steps.

"home made pizza, if your elegant taste buds can handle that?" you reply.

"i can never turn down a pizza,"

you got started on the dough and soon enough luca is by your side helping. what was supposed to be you cooking for him, turned to him taking over and doing all the work which you let him happily.

"how did you get good at this?" you ask as you finished with your slice.

he exhales. "honestly, i made a lot of mistakes."

"so that's the secret then? just fuck up?"

he smiles. "it might be, you know, fuck up."

"i think 'cause i started early, i got my skill set up really quick and then started to feel like i was really the best, you know, like at all these really good places. i really was the best cook. and then i started at this really great place as a commis. and this other chef started the same day as me, and..." he sighs.

"i thought we were competition, um, but really we weren't. he was better than me. much, much better than me. he worked harder and faster than i ever could. and it was the first time i realized that i wasn't the best," he confides.

"and i was never gonna be the best. so i started looking at it like it was a good thing. like, at least i knew who the best was now, and i could take that pressure off myself. and the only logical thing to do was to try and keep up with him. so i never left this guy's side."

"and you got better," you say.

"oh, i got better than i ever thought i possibly could be just from trying to keep up with him."

"that's incredible, honestly," you say putting the dirty dishes in the sink and hopping on the counter.

"thanks but i think at a certain stage it becomes less about skill and it's more about being open."

"open?" you echo.

"yeah. to-to the world, to yourself, to other people. you know, most of the incredible things that i've eaten haven't been because the skill level is exceptionally high or there's loads of mad fancy techniques. it's because it's been really inspired, you know." he says.

"i like that," you say softly.

"you can spend all the time in the world in the kitchen, but if you don't spend enough time out there..." he trails off but you understood what he meant.

"right," you nod.

luca lifts his gaze to you. "it helps to have good people around you, too."

"is what i am? good people?" you smile coyly.

he gets up and walks over to you, placing his hands on either side of the counter in front of you. "honestly? i really think so."

a few moments go by where luca just studies your face and you can feel your heart beating a million miles per hour.

"you are so fucking beautiful," he finally says. his voice barely above a whisper.

those words set your body aflame. you parted your lips and he leaned. "may i?"

"please," was all you managed to get out before luca held your chin and guided your lips to his. he was taking things slow, trying to sus your level of comfortability and giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted but you didn't want that. ever.

you brought your arms around his neck pushing him closer to you. the kiss got heavier and you moaned as he bit your lip. "i have been wanting to do this since i first saw you,"

"good because i've wanted this too," you say as luca starts to kiss your neck and moves his hands under your top.

he slides his hand up and down your back and then around to your boobs to start playing with your nipples. you lean your head back and revel in his affection.

you were desperate to get his hands on him as well so you lifted the black hoodie he adorned wanting to see his chest that you caught just a glimpse of earlier.

"wow," you say as you running both hands across his pecs and abs. you trail your fingers down south before you cup him through his jeans. "is this okay?" you whisper.

"more than okay," he lets out as you message him through his jeans.

he moves to take off your top next and you help, revealing your bare chest to him. luca looks at you in awe and immediately attaches his lips to your nipple while still playing with other.

you unbutton your jeans and luca helps you shimmy out of them.

"fuck," he whispered at the sight of you sitting completely naked and ready for him. he slides two fingers up and down your slit. "you're so wet, is this all for me?"

you whimper at his touch, spreading your legs wider. "all for you, luca."

he brings his fingers to his lips to taste you. "just like i imagined, you taste so sweet" he says as he gets on his knees and slides you to the edge of the counter.

the first lick was heaven. you couldn't help but throw your head back and moan. luca doesn't waste anytime, eating you like your his last meal.

"l-luca," you whine as he sucks on your clit. you grab his golden locks as he laps at your cunt.

"you're the best thing i've ever tasted," luca says in between licks. coming from a chef, that was the highest praise a girl could get.

he detaches himself from your cunt, his nose, lips and chin covered in your juices. he stands and holds your face in his hands and kisses you. you taste yourself on his tongue as he slipped it down your mouth.

"i need to fuck you or else i'm gonna lose my mind," he says in breathy whispers.

"upstairs," is all you said before he carries you in that direction and up the stairs to your bed.

luca drops you on the bed and you lay on your forearms and watch as him takes off his jeans and then his boxers. as he pulls that down, he watches you watch him.

your eyes go wide at the sight of his hard, and rather large, dick. you reach to wipe the pre-cum leaking from his tip, pressing it to your lips. he groans and climbs on top of you. "condom?"

"i'm on the pill," you say caressing his hair back and bringing his lips back to yours.

luca takes his aching dick and rubs it against your slit. "are you ready?"

"mmhm," you say as he wraps your legs around his waist as he sinks into you.

muffled moans are exchanged between the two of you as your mouths clashed hungrily.

"you're so big, luca" you say, squeezing down on his eliciting a hiss from him.

"y-yes squeeze me like that again... fuck," he thrusts his hip into you at a steady pace as you scratched your nails across his muscled back.

"this feels so good," he murmurs.

you gasp as he pulls out almost all the way only to push back int you again. you pull your knees up so he can reach deeper inside you. you could feel him stretching you and filling you up, his beautiful face inches away from yours as he peppers your neck with sloppy kisses.

the sounds falling from your lips are incoherent, his pace moving at a high speed as he wants to get you off. it didn't take long for you to gain the warm sensation in the pit of your stomach. "i'm so c-close,"

"yeah? cum for me, darling," he moans keeping that speed that he's at, his dick throbbing inside you as well signalling he was gonna cum soon.

luca let out a throaty groan before he snaps his hips into you, feeling his first load release into your cunt. you follow close behind as you cover his dick with your wetness but he stills fucks you through your high.

as you catch your breaths, he leans his forehead against your collarbone before he pulls out.

"wait there," he says and goes downstairs and comes back up just as quickly carrying paper towels. he smiles to himself seeing you in your current position all fucked out, liking the effect he had on you.

the bed dips as luca makes his way to you and cleans you up.

you slide under the covers, and when he discards the paper towels, he joins you.

"that was good," you say as he brings you into his chest.

his fingers trail up and down your arm softly while he lays his head on top of yours.

"it was," he says planting a kiss on your head.

"can we stay like this for a bit?" you ask not wanting this moment to end.

"yeah, i'm not going anywhere," he says.

between the day that you had and luca caressing you, you let tiredness wash over you.

tags: @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok, @eddiemunsonreader, @sodapop182, @haydensith, @inpraizeof, @thecraziestcrayon, @zeeader, @tiana76, @jackierose902109

hope you guys enjoyed part two and thank you for all the support on the first part! part three is coming soon <3