#lumping services jobs

[trilogywarehousepartners]

Full Service Warehouse

Looking for a logistics company for warehousing services. Trilogy Warehouse Partners is a full service warehousing services company based out of St. Louis. We offer a wide range of warehousing services and can customize any service to meet your needs and goals.

[yellowsubiesdance]

GIRLIES the recovery i have been in today has been great, but i can’t stop stressing myself out over the work i WANT to be doing

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

This chapter does contain explicit smut, 18+ content!

Tags: Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Paying for services with sex, Vaginal fingering, Oral sex, Office sex, dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, mechanic

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4 (final part!)| Ao3 | masterlist

A kiss, brush of lips, tongues and teeth.

Wandering hands, firm and steady on your hips— possessive, greedy.

Heavy eyes and shallow lungfuls, trembling fingers and a drowning pulse.

Scorching fever, yearning, aching for something more.

Every morning before work, languid kisses pressed between the oil and cloth fabric of Simon’s truck seats. Awkward angles and smashed positions. A clean Simon, all mouth wash and redwood soap, taste of morning tea on his tongue. Sweeter and longer kisses, gentle hands and a smoothing tongue, soft voice and honeyed croons.

Swoops butterflies low in your core, tightening your chest, hiding smiles between his lips.

Every evening when he picks you up from work, frantic kisses pressed against your front door and his broad chest. Indecent, shaming your neighbors with such a desperate act. Your mechanic Simon, dirty, filthy; sweaty and stained, salty on your tongue. Rough and brutal kisses, pinching hands and clashing teeth, deep timbre and gritted demands.

Burns warmth in your core, nudging your thighs together for any stimulation, quiet gasps and mewls swallowed between his lips.

Never more, never any less.

The first time he dropped you off at work, you were hesitant, swallowing over a thick lump in your throat because you wanted more from the night before. You didn’t know how to ask, or if you even should.

His fingers were reassuring when he held your chin, a murmured, ‘have a good day f’me, okay?’

Then he had stamped a kiss against your mouth. It was supposed to be chaste, you knew that, but you didn’t want it to end just yet, didn’t quite get your fill. You probably shouldn’t have made out in the parking lot of your job or perched yourself in his lap either, but you did. Scratched at the insistent craving in your lungs before running into your work building late.

When he had walked you to your front door after picking you up, you wanted to invite him in, you did invite him in. He declined, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, and a brush of his knuckle against your cheek— just droppin’ you off sweet’art.

And like a man contradicting his words, he pressed you flat against the wood of your door, drowned you in his saliva, dragging his mouth, fangs and all, against yours feverishly each time. Barely managing to pull away to bid you farewell.

It went on for a week, mindlessly feeding your fire with make out sessions in his truck and your porch, like two desperate teenagers trying to quench their thirst.

A week was all it took for Simon to fix your truck, had your engine running like new, but a gnawing itch dug at the back of your skull as you stood in his office. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be excited, not with the imminent lack of pre-work kisses and murmurs, any post-work bites and promises in your future.

As if your truck being fixed was the end of it.

A knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you aimlessly nodded along, pinching your lips between your teeth as Simon explained the work he did on your truck. You didn’t really care, your shitty old pick up was the last thing on your mind, even more so when he kept talking with his hands, thick fingers spread wide with each gesture, dipping into even thicker wrists. Solid forearms, veins curled over each curve, right up to each bicep.

Covered in stains— “Y’alright, bird?”

Your mouth fell open, darting your eyes back to his, “Yeah, yeah I-,” you fluttered your lashes, taking a deep breath, “So, what happens now?”

You mean between you and him, not your stupid truck, and you’re sure he knows that, but all he does is huff a laugh, closing the thin distance between the two of you. Bullies you right up against his desk without a care, hands landing on either side of your hips, consequently boxing you in.

“Well,” He pauses, bending his head to the crook of your neck, brushing the bridge of his nose up the delicate skin, drawing rapid goosebumps, “You still owe me f’my services.”

“A twirl?” You breathe, unsure.

“Go on, then.”

It’s hard to spin eloquently caged against his broad chest and the desk, but he doesn’t seem to mind when the plush of your body rubs against the front of his coveralls. Stopping you when your ass faces him just like he always does with a sturdy hand on your hip, except this time you’re pressed right up against his slowly thickening cock.

Your poor cunt, greedy and desperate clenches around nothing over his bulge. You’re sure he can feel it because he exhales a fucking deep chuckle, blurs your eyes with embarrassment.

And then those same hands are nudging you forward, your palms falling flat against the wood with a gasp as he lays his chest over your back. He’s warm against your cool skin, working in the sweltering garage all day while you sat in his conditioned office. The contrast stings your flesh, makes you painfully aware how hard he had been working to fix your truck. The callouses and scars on his hands evident enough, and the thought suddenly makes every touch even more searing. Taking care of your shitty inconveniences without a second thought.

His fingers skim the seam of your pencil skirt, trailing just a little lower to trace against your knee, rakes chills down your legs, “Had t’work a little harder this time.”

You inhale a sharp breath between your front teeth, “Yeah?”

“Mmh, gonna have to do more than just a little spin, love.” He hums, slowly hitching the fabric of your skirt to your hips.

“Yeah?” You repeat, your default answer when his hands are on you.

Simon laughs again, vibrates your back, “Yeah, baby.”

He hooks his fingers in your ruby red panties and tugs them down your thighs. A sticky string of your arousal clings to the fabric, beads in two when the material pools at your feet.

“Let’s see,” He purrs, “Did two oil changes free of charge.”

His hand smooths against the swell of your ass, thumb resting just under the curve, kneading the flesh gently before leaning back. Drags his eyes steady over your ass, and spreads your pussy open with a stamp of his thumb. You squeak, a bit humiliated at your compromising position; it makes an unbearable warmth bloom down your chest, but you like it.

Can’t do anything but like it when he’s ripping the stitches of your vulnerable flesh bit by bit with the reverence in his irises, the hunger seeping into his almond-shaped eyes as he stares at your pussy.

His thumb sweeps through the seams of your pussy and brushes right up against your sensitive clit. He’s firm on the puffy mound, petting confident strokes against the bead, makes you stutter over your breaths with each new shape like he fucking knew how you liked it already. Your legs spread wider at that, head nodding forward against your chest as you succumb, surrender to the sensation.

This is what you had been waiting for. This. His stained fingers on your clit, drooling over his thick digits.

You had been so well-behaved, let him trace your figure with teasing hands, make you late to work every morning, unfocused and wet in the chair in your office, leave you a breathless mess against your front door, so you like to think you deserve this. Deserve to lay against his desk and let him do whatever he wants to you.

“Fixed your air con.” A finger presses into your poor empty cunt.

Your fingernails dig into the wood.

“Got you a new set of tires.” A second finger joins the other.

A moan scrapes against the back of your throat, pushed straight out from the stretch, knees bumping against the desk as you slump slightly.

The first several drags are slow, using the time to coat his fingers in your slick, agonizing to the insatiable ache you need absolutely smothered. Your puffy walls clamp onto his fingers, using your pussy to ask him to press harder, deeper, further, just like you know his deft fingers can.

He gives you exactly what you want, but he makes an embarrassing show of it. Curls his fingers right where he needs to make your pussy squelch loudly, pulls them out just so he can see your slick cling to his skin, connecting the two of you with a dribbled string. Smears it on your pussy, swiping your clit with each movement over and over again.

Then, he follows the string straight to the source, licks around the digits buried in your sopping folds. You’re already wet, a sticky mess, and it only gets worse when soft lips encase your clit. Your knees out right buckle under you, body weight slumped against the desk when his teeth brush against the bead, coaxing your clit out of the hood by nipping, sucking, toying with it while he plunges his fingers deep.

Yeah, yeah, this is what you deserve.

You’re so close off that, gooey, tacky delicious honey washing over you, panting and shaking under him, toes curled uncomfortably in your heels. Your moans echo off the thin walls, and you struggle to remember if Johnny was still in the shop before Simon bent you over his desk within the brink of an orgasm.

The thought leaves your mind as soon as the strokes turn languid, nothing but really hooking his fingers in your walls as a placeholder while he unbuckles his coveralls. You whine, protesting even though the sound of clanking metal promises a better outcome, something bigger, thicker, because you were so fucking close.

He shushes you, tutting his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “None of tha’, takin’ what you owe me.”

His words make you moan, bobbing your head, yeah, yes, you’ll let him take as much as he wants if he keeps your pussy stuffed. You fidget heel to heel in anticipation, looking over your shoulder to watch. It’s a sight, all beefy muscle, tan lines and freckles, damp chest hair and pubes. Every move is determined, fueled with a purpose, shown in the way his arms flex, his brows furrowed.

You practically fall flat against the desk when you see him free his cock, fat and reddened, leaking with precum. The shaft is thick, a slight curve to it, barely fits in the palm of his massive hand. But all you can focus on is the girth, smacks hard against his fucking belly button.

“And now your bloody engine.”

His cockhead pressed to your entrance.

“Tell me, sweet’art, how’d you plan on payin’ all that?”

“With this,” You whine, arching your back, so your pussy rubs right up against his tip.

He hums, hand on your back pressing your hips flat against the desk, so your cheek is flush with it, “You mean this pretty little cunt, huh?”

You nod pathetically, scratching your skin against the wood because you don’t think you quite have it in you to use your words, confess that you’re willing to use your pussy. And he doesn’t push for you to, takes it as a good enough answer.

The stretch stings, makes tears well in your eyes, but it’s hurts so good. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the burn, really drown yourself in the feeling of being so full. It’s a slow start, shaping your spongy walls to take his full length, moist lips mapping shapes against your neck in encouragement to take it all.

You think you’re ready for it, clenching around him, bucking your hips and pleading with quiet words for more— please Simon, I can take it.

Then, he’s just fucking brutal, unforgiving.

Your teeth knock together with the first determined thrust, your eyes snapping open in shock because you were not ready for that. It tears the breath straight out of you, hurts your lungs from the force. Rips a cry of his name from your core, your chest, your throat because you’re sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

Each thrust is harsher than the last, hip bones painfully slammed into the desk with each smack of his cock. The sound of his balls slapping against your flesh, loud and obscene, echoes how aggressive he’s really fucking you.

The gooey honey from his fingers and tongue turns to white, hot, searing pleasure. Borderline painful, as he forces you to take it with no where to run, so you just lay there and take it like a good paying costumer. Accept the onslaught until his hand bands around your throat, curls around the small muscle, and arches your back as much as you physically can so his mouth can press hot against your ear.

“D’ya think I’d jus’ be done with you too?”

You nod, squeak a strained ‘yes’ because you had thought that. Anxiety pinched your chest before his cock split you in two, before he made you his.

“Can’t get rid o’me that easy, sweet’art,” Simon grits through each word, “Work in grease and grime; you’re stuck with me now, baby.”

The words remind you of how dirty he is, how dirty you are for liking that fact. Even more so when his other hand tugs your shirt and bra low, digging indents into your breasts, and you can see how filthy his hand is from work— the same hand that was buried in your pussy moments ago.

Oil, dirt, sweat, grease and grime smeared on your skin, all over your dainty skirt and white blouse. Marking you as his in more ways than the dark hickeys he leaves on your neck and bruised fingertips on your hips.

It numbs your thoughts to nothing but the way you know his cock is just as filthy. Fucking you into a slippery, sticky mess with each rut of his hips. And then he hoists your foot onto the desk, hits a gummy spot that has you arching, quivering in his grasps. Blinding you and consuming you whole.

Your body decides that’s all you can take, squeezing so tightly around Simon as your orgasm becomes ferocious and unbearable. You seize up, Simon dropping his forehead against your shoulder as he tries to fuck you good and well through it, cussing under his breath. Everything’s fuzzy, blurry, and hazy; you’re dizzy, every part of your body melted into the sensory receptors of your body.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it, what words you’re saying, but you’re babbling for him to finish in you, cum inside you, taint your delicate flesh with every thing he possibly can.

It’s a few more shallow thrusts before his fingers are digging harsh into your hips, sharp teeth pinching against your shoulder. Warms your already scorching cunt with his spend, bucking his hips deeper with each new spurt.

Even after you milked him for all he’s worth, he rocks his cock into you again and again. Slower, softer, more careful from the way he was just bruising your cervix seconds ago. Relishes in the way your folds flutter overstimulated around him, middle and index finger tracing around where the two of you meet, where your pussy stretches so pretty for him, like he doesn’t want to slip out just yet.

Your fingers tangle into his on your hip, “Don’t think I paid my full debt yet. If you take me home, I can really show you how grateful I am.”

You’ve never seen him speed faster to your house, ripping the keys from your grasps when he deems you took long enough to open your door. It makes you laugh, finding it quite hilarious how eager he is to fuck you all night, a trucks engine worth of orgasms.

That night you let him fuck your mouth, slobbering and choking over his fat cock as he carves the shape into the back of your throat. Sucking the salty taste clean from him.

When morning comes he fucks you again, even though your pussy is sore and swollen, your muscles contracting painfully with each movement from overuse. The way he coaxes your orgasm out of you is worth it all, the way he kisses you goodbye soft and sweet after a shower at the door is even more so.

His promises to return later that night with his thumb rubbing tender strokes behind your ear are even better. Except this time you don’t have a theoretical debt to pay or a shitty pick-up, just a simple guarantee.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

[callmecoke]

Thinking of the first time the 141 discover you on a website for Sugar Babies (P3)

cw: sexual content, reader sending nudes, mention of sex work (Sugar babies), NSFW Gender neutral reader

Thinking about the first time you sent more…risky photos to your mystery account of four men. For the first few months it was going really well for you. You were financially stable enough to

pay your tuition fees and your bills on time. You could finally treat yourself to things you couldn’t previously afford, and the boys love receiving little pictures of the things you buy yourself. Honestly, you were stable enough to quit this and apply for a “proper' Job, but there was a big part of you that didn’t want to leave this all behind. In a weird way, you grew very attached to these strangers on the other side of the world who paid you just to talk to them. They helped you during your toughest moments, even when they didn’t have to do anything. In a way, you were grateful for opening this account on a whim and meeting these little strangers.

And so, you considered maybe it was time to give them a little gift for all they've done for you.

You knew that a big part of this website was exchanging nudes and dirty pictures for money, but you had never really taken advantage of that specific service before. Infact, the men didn’t even seem to initiate anything sexual with you at all, and were perfectly happy just chatting with you and every now and then getting a cute selfie to tell you how gorgeous you looked. 

But because they weren’t going to ask for more, you decided you had to make that plunge yourself. You weren’t sure if you knew what you were doing. You didn’t go out to buy any expensive costume or underwear for the photo, just stripped down to your cheap everyday undergarments and…posed. Or at least tried to. There was an awkward phase of switching to random positions to try and find one that didn’t look too forced. You weren’t too sure if the photos you took were any good. In fact, your critical mind was telling you that they were horrific. You had picked the one photo that you considered to be ‘less bad’ than the rest and your finger was hovering over the send button as you considered giving in to embarrassment and turning around now. But, you swallowed the lump in your throat and clicked. All that was left for you to do is wait.

Switching to the 141s pov, There was some downtime after completing a rather difficult mission. John was sending a report to lasswell about the details of what went down, reporting back on the intel and the status of their target. Simon was in his corner, per usual, dulling his knife on a block of wood to carve it into shape. Kyle had found a spot on the floor he could lie down in without being disturbed, absolutely buggered after the whole ordeal. And then there was Soap…

The boys decided to rotate shifts on who gets the laptop per day. As of right now, Johnny had it open beside him while he patted dust and sand out of his shoes, not focusing on the screen until a little ‘Ding!’ noise signified you had sent something. He finally looked over and scrolled to your new message, his eyelids shooting open and his mouth hanging open as he releases a very audible “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” Suddenly he had the attention of all three other men in that room, heads turning in his direction as if a gunshot went off. Johnny rushed to close the laptop in a desperate, possessive attempt to keep his comrades leering eyes of your body. Simon tried to wrestle the laptop from Johnnys, as the latter told him in many colourful words to “fuck off and mind your own business.” 

Between the two tusling each other, Kyle getting up and manoeuvring to see what the fuss was about, and John attempting to break up the fight, the laptop slipped from Soaps hands and on to the floor in front of them, screen open and revealing the entire image to all four of them.

Any “Flaw” You had perceived in the photo was entirely nonexistent when it met their eyes. They stood and stared at the picture for what felt like hours, just admiring the form they had only seen in their imaginations. The soft curves of your uncovered chest, outlined by the stray light of the window making you look like an angel from heaven. Their eyes traced down your chest to your abdomen, down to your clothed core that you displayed with shyly spread legs to them. They didn’t even notice, nor care about the cheap piece of cotton; too enamoured by the outlined imprint of your sex against the fabric that they swore was calling their name.

On your side of the world, you were thinking yourself into a stupor as the little “seen” status appeared on screen but no one was saying anything. So much anxiety coursed through your veins that you had bitten your nails until there wasn’t much left of them. You wondered if maybe you made a mistake. Was it too far? Did you potentially ruin the few people who cared about your day and your only source of income? 

Just as the thought of deleting your account and getting a one-way ticket to another country out of embarrassment started to play at your mind, the laptop pinged. Messages popped up on your screen. Four, exactly.

“Jesus christ you are a proper sight to behold.” (Gaz)

“The things I’d do to those pretty fuckin’ thighs of yours if I got the chance…” (Soap)

“Fuckin’ Gorgoeus.” (ghost)

“You’ve caused quite a stir here, love. Never seen the boys this pent up before. Can’t say I blame them. You’ve got me a little stiff here as well.” (Price)

[cherry-holmes]

REGRET

Part 1

(Javier Peña x F!Reader)

Credits of the gif on the image.

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Finding out you’re pregnant create a split between you and Javier. He soon will discover that one can regret they own words.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word count: +3k

Warnings: Writer prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. Read under your own responsibility.

A/N: Hello👋🏻 This is a little something that came to my mind when a saw this gifs last week🧍🏻‍♀️ Let me know in comments if you like it���

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Javier and you have been dating for a year and a half now. It started as something casual. You were just neighbors, then you used to talk about the weather when you crossed paths in the building. Then, he invited you for a drink, and you ended up in his bed.

He told you he was a DEA agent, and you talked about your community service as an English teacher in Bogotá.

Javier was funny and charming. He always treated you like a princess and fucked you like a slut. He was attentive, but he worked a lot. You never seriously talked about what exactly you were, but you spent much more time at his place than yours. He hadn't given you a key, precisely, but he told you he had a copy on top of his door so you could enter when you arrive and he was still at work. He picked you up from the school, and you cut his hair when needed.

Life had been busy, and you never really stopped to ask him if your relationship had a label. The truth is, neither of you had actually stopped and asked each other what would come next when he caught Escobar and/or you finished your community service.

You never thought about it, until that damn morning.

"Fuck."

It can't be happening. Two lines on a pregnancy test were the last thing you needed. You looked at it for a long, long time, trying to process what was going on. You wanted a blood test to confirm, but there's a reason why you already took a pee test. Morning sickness and a delay in your period activated the alarms. You hadn't told Javier anything yet, but it was only a matter of time now.

That afternoon you went to the laboratory, and by noon you received a phone call confirming the results. You were, indeed, very pregnant. After you hung up the phone, you cried a lot. How were you going to tell Javi? What would you do with your job? What were you going to tell your parents? Did you really want to have it... him/her?

You felt the urgency to make a decision in that very moment. Javier was going to ask you when you told him, and you knew he hated the "I don't know."

It took you one, two, three hours, and you had an answer. You knew it was the right one because you thought it would take you a lot longer to decide. But when your heart landed in the same place over and over so quickly, you simply knew it.

Javier came home late at night, but earlier than usual. He looked tired and pissed, and he let his weight fall on the kitchen chair to devour what you had made for dinner. You looked at him the entire time, and the nervousness in your chest made it impossible to eat anything. You wanted to tell him. You couldn't contain the news any longer.

"Javi," you began. He didn't look at you for more than a second before his sleepy eyes fell on his plate again. "I have something to tell you. It's very important."

"What is it, babe?" he asked, his voice slurred.

"I..." You fought the lump in your throat, encouraging yourself to tell him. "I'm pregnant."

Until that moment, you didn't know what you expected. You didn't imagine him crying with emotion and jumping around the apartment, screaming to the four winds that he was going to be a dad. But you didn't imagine what his real reaction would be, either.

Javier didn't even look at you. He dropped his fork, leaned back in his chair, and passed his hands over his face. It wasn't a surprised, emotional reaction. He was pissed. He was cursing the situation.

You didn't say anything as you felt your heart and soul sink into your stomach. Disappointment washed over you as you saw his reaction. You tried to think of something else to say, but you went blank.

"We can't," he finally said, really looking at you for the first time that night.

"What do you mean we can't?" your voice was only a whisper.

He looked at you like you were crazy. "You're not seriously thinking about having it."

Your mouth went dry, but tears welled up in your eyes. "Well... I do."

Javier's face hardened. "It's not safe, not with what I do, not with Escobar still out there."

"We can figure this out together," you said, your voice quivering. "I-I know this country is dangerous and this is probably not the right time, but is already happening and I..."

"Are you sure you're...?" he began. It hurt you the fact that he couldn't even say it.

You stood up and reached for your purse. He saw you as you placed both the pee and the blood test in front of him.

"Puta madre." Javier stood up, pacing the kitchen. "Did you take the pills?" he demanded.

You nodded. "I do. But they're not a hundred percent effective."

He ran his fingers through his hair in an almost desperate gesture. "I can't do this. Parenting is not on my plans, and you know it."

"I didn't want this to happen either, Javier, and I'm sorry," you said, trying not to cry. "But you need to people to make a baby. So, we have to figure this out together."

"Don't complicate things more," he added. He made his way to the living room, pacing like a caged animal. "Think about the consequences. I can't risk my focus on this job for this."

Tears streamed down your face. "So, what? You want me to get rid of it?"

"I think it's the best option for both of us."

After a long, cold moment of silence, you shook your head, stepping back. "I can't believe you."

He sighed heavily, looking away. "You don't understand... it's too dangerous."

"I don't care," you cried. "I'm gonna have this baby. With or without you."

He sighed. He saw the determination on you. Now he needed to make a decision, since you're not going to change yours.

"Ok," he said finally. "It will happen, but you need to go back to the States."

"No," you sentenced. Javier couldn't believe your stubbornness. "I'm not going to leave, either. I can't leave the school. Those kids need my help."

He was doing his best to not completely lost his patience and say something (more) that he could – and will – regret.

"I can't concentrate on my job and take care of a pregnant woman," he sentenced, adding your name at the end in a way you had never heard before.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "Well, then don't worry about me. I can handle this on my own."

Javier stared at you, his eyes dark with frustration. He thought of his parents. They didn't raise a man who shirks responsibility, one who doesn't own the consequences of his actions.

For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. Finally, Javier sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"No," he said. "If that's what you want, fine. You'll have my financial support, but that's all. As soon as you finish your community service, you'll go back home. I'll send you money, that's it."

"I don't want anything from you, Javier. Not if you're not going to do it with real love," you whispered, heartbroken.

Javier's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He turned away, staring at the wall, his hands clenched into fists.

He looked down, unable to meet your gaze. "I never saw myself as a dad. I don't think I ever will," he admitted. "That's all I can offer. I'm sorry it's not what you expected. I'm sorry I can't be the man you need."

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Days turned into weeks, and your relationship with Javier seemed to be stuck in a constant struggle of awkward interactions and avoiding each other. He started working even later, and sometimes he didn't even spend the night at the apartment. He came back the next morning smelling like whiskey and cigarettes. When he did sleep at home, he took the couch while you slept on his bed. When you woke up in the morning, he wasn't there.

Both of you finally reached an agreement. You recognized that you needed his help, and he was aware that he had to be responsible for the situation. You moved in with Javier so you wouldn't have to waste money paying rent. Moreover, you would return to the US when you were seven months pregnant. He would conclude his duty in Colombia however long it took. Neither of you wanted to talk about what would happen then.

Your belly was now thirteen weeks along. Soon, Javier found his place filled with baby stuff. Every day he discovered something new you had bought: tiny clothes, maternity clothing, maternity books. His bathroom smelled like the body cream you used to apply on your belly, and there was a list of pregnancy-friendly foods hung on the refrigerator. He could tell you were putting your heart into preparing for the baby, and at times he felt guilty for not being able to find his own paternal instinct.

On the contrary, you were caught in a fragile rhythm. He continued his dangerous work, and you dedicated yourself to your work at school.

Nights were still lonely, but at least you had your baby. You talked and sang to them. You applied anti-stretch mark creams to your belly, and read everything about babies and labor. You were excited to meet your baby boy or girl, but sadly, at the same time, you felt heartbroken because you loved Javier, and you wished he was more present during the process. However, you had to accept that it wasn't mutual. He didn't love you; he never truly did and probably never would. He just liked to fuck. You should have known it before. Maybe you did, but you were so in love with him that you thought you could change him. Either way, it was too late now.

Javier gave you more money than you needed to cover everything you needed. He never said no when you told him you needed medicine, to pay for a doctor's appointment, or special food that didn't provoke nausea.

But he never went to those appointments with you. He never asked how they went, either. He never showed any interest in the progress of your pregnancy. It was as if he had completely detached himself from the situation, leaving you to navigate the journey alone.

Or at least, that was how you saw it. The truth was, Javier was having a difficult time processing the fact that he would be a father. He had never seen himself getting married, let alone having children.

Furthermore, there was something terrifying about having a baby in Colombia during the war he was fighting. He had witnessed men fall, leaving widows and orphans behind.

He realized that he was more scared of leaving you and his child alone in this chaotic and unfair world if something happened to him. Or worse, he feared that you have to pay for his sins and mistakes. He couldn't bear the thought of that, and he often had nightmares about losing you both.

He didn't know how to express his feelings for you. He couldn't let himself relax and just settle into the nest with you.

One of those nights, when he decided to come home earlier after work, he found you sleeping in bed. You had an open book beside you on a page about what to expect during the second trimester. You had fallen asleep in an awkward position, so he had to gently wake you up to help you move into a more comfortable one. You mumbled in your sleep, calling his name softly and sweetly. Javier felt warmth in his chest, a need to cuddle with you, touch your belly for the first time, and hold you and the baby close.

But he just couldn't do it. He didn't know why, but he couldn't. He limited himself to tucking you in with a warm blanket and opening the window for fresh air, as you liked it. He went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and put it on your nightstand because he knew you got thirsty in the middle of the night.

Javier observed you for a moment, peacefully sleeping, carrying his baby. He missed your soft lips and your fingers in his hair. He missed making you laugh and talking to you about each other's days. And now, he longed to make things right and try to win your heart back.

Tomorrow, he said. Turning down the lights, he went to his place on the couch.

But tomorrow was too late.

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

He left early in the morning to attend an emergency meeting at the Embassy. Steve spend all morning complaining about Messina and the tie-and-suit motherfuckers, but Javier's thoughts were on you.

He was lost on his own thoughts, trying to find the right words to tell you. He was still scared, but he was determined to try. To make it work.

He was on his desk, a report on his hands but he wasn't reading it, when his landline rang.

"Peña," he picked up.

"Is this Javier?" a woman's voice asked urgently.

"Who's this?"

"This is María from the school," she said. He immediately knew something was wrong. He barely remembered María, you had presented each other last year on your birthday.

"There's been an emergency," she continued explaining, anguish filling her voice. "She's been taken to the hospital."

Javier's heart dropped. "Is she okay?"

"She collapsed in class. They think it might be related to her pregnancy. You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can."

Javier didn't waste a second. He grabbed his jacket and bolted out of the Embassy, ignoring Steve's confused shouts. The drive to the hospital was a blur, his mind racing with fear.

What happened? You were fine last night... Didn't you? He felt a pang of guilt. What if you didn't felt well but you didn't say anything because you thought he would be mad? Fuck... He should be more available for you. You should trust him.

When he finally arrived at the hospital, he rushed to the reception desk, asking for your name. The nurse nodded and directed him to the emergency room. His heart pounded as he approached the doors, dread settling in his stomach.

He found you lying on a hospital bed, pale and hooked up to monitors. The doctor was speaking to a nurse nearby. Javier's throat tightened as he stepped closer.

The doctor noticed him and approached. "Are you related?"

"Yes, how is she?" Javier asked, his voice shaky.

The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry to inform you, but she lost the baby. There was nothing we could do. It was a miscarriage."

Javier felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. He looked at your unconscious form, tears welling up in his eyes. "Can I see her?"

"Of course, but she's sleeping right now," the doctor said gently. "She's stable now, but you had to sedate her. This has been very traumatic for her."

Javier nodded and moved to your bedside. He took your hand in his, feeling the weight of his own failures crashing down on him. He had failed to protect you, to be there when you needed him the most.

Hours passed as he sat by your side, holding your hand and watching you sleep. When you finally stirred and opened your eyes, he was there. His eyes were teary, reddened from his contained emotions.

"Hey," he whispered, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm here," he said, squeezing your hand. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have done more."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I lost my baby." Your voice was barely a whisper, little sobs escaping your lips. You were still in a haze of sedatives and mourning.

Javier nodded, his heart breaking at the pain in your voice. "I know. I'm so, so sorry."

"No, you don't," you said, hurt and anger painting your weak voice. "You didn't want my baby."

"I was scared," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I didn't know how to handle any of this. But I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to lose our baby."

You shook your head, tears streaming like rivers down your cheeks. The gaze you gave him was filled with anger and resentment, piercing through his chest.

"Fuck you," you cried.

Javier flinched as if you had struck him. He looked away, unable to bear the intensity of your anger and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible.

"You never be there for us, so don't come and say you're sorry," your words melted into an unstoppable crying. You felt like if your heart would literally broke into a million pieces. Grief and exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

"I know I can't make this right. I know I failed you. But please, let me be here for you now," he pleaded, but there was nothing he could say to soothe your unbearable pain.

"You're a piece of shit, Javier," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and grief. "I don't want to see you ever again."

You turned away from him, your tears flowing freely.

He lingered for a moment, hoping for some sign of forgiveness, but when none came, he slowly left the room, closing the door behind him.

He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, feeling the crushing weight of his failures. He had lost not only his child but also the trust and love of the woman who meant more to him than he had ever admitted.

Part 2

[velvet-paradox]

Secured (Part One)

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: wanting a little slower pace in his military career, König takes a calmer, desk job while he recovers. After a bit of a mix up on shifts, König is now in charge of what comes next. (I've been watching The Night Agent and got inspired!) Length: Medium Warnings: explicit content, strong language, eventual NSFW. ENJOY!

König had fully intended to listen to his mother's concerns the last time he visited her cozy little cottage on the hillside. Tended-to garden, trimmed up grass from the helpful lads that lived just down the road. He'd been injured, shot in the shoulder where conditioned muscle met bone, got treated and sent home with strict orders to take it easy.

Relax.

Live a little.

And he did just that.

Enjoying his time with is mother, resurfacing memories of when he was a boy, less scarred and jovial then the man posted up on her afghan covered couch. Physical therapy was bitch, even a pint couldn't stoke off the fire that burned into his joints.

He was also enjoying homecooked meals and not the usual mess hall offerings or freeze dried lumps they'd slap tantalizing names on the plain, brown packaging, as the stuff inside were actually up to snuff.

Ja right!

"You ought to settle down now , König. You have been fighting for most of your life, you should be living, traveling and seeing the world with the love of your life under arm. Don't you want that?"

Of course he did.

Most of his life were acts of service, finished deeds, quotas. Filling out paperwork, signing classified documents, pursuing the worst of the worst, taking down targets, letting his life on the actual line for the greater good.

Did a certain foreign dictator need to be 'rescued' from their senate floor and taken to an undisclosed location and threated, beaten and broken for an extended amount of time until intel was finally given through broken teeth and a bloody jaw? Perhaps.

Was a 'missing' senator maybe not so missing after all under the clutches of the Austrian and with good reason, added sex trafficking was highly frowned upon and under his high ranking position too? Not on his watch.

Yes blood was on his hands, in his hair, in his mouth but those same hands wanted to also be washed clean, to hold another, to touch another.

Sometimes he'd feel unworthy, all these acts, all these years in the military formed the man laying in his bed, the same four walls that molded him, crafted him like clay. That maybe all his hard work wasn't worth all the damage. His shoulder screamed when rubbed his hands over his face.

….

"How she doin'?" Sebastian Krueger asked the following morning, sipping tea from one his mothers' glass cabinets, sitting across from König at a little table and chair set behind the cottage. He'd already eaten two biscuits was not so subtly eyeing the third one of the decorative plate.

"Mother is well, she'll be back from the market soon. You should stay for dinner, I have half a mind that she is trying to fatten me up like some Christmas goose!"

"You know I wasn't going to say any-"

"Then don't!"

Krueger chuckled and broke off half the biscuit instead.

"She must be happy to have you home for a bit, not off on field duty."

"A little too happy," König took a long, hot sip, savoring the honey on his tongue. "She thinks I should settle down, find a partner, live life while I still can."

"Is she wrong?"

"Nein. I want those things as well, Seb. I just don't know where to start! I've been on deployment after deployment, cots, and safe houses since I was seventeen. How do I talk to a woman about a life like that? One isn't going to just fall into my lap, you know?"

"I could set you up with someone if you like?"

"Yeah right," König snorted and finished his tea. "I'm not taking fucking dating advice from you."

"Why not?" Krueger eyed him, expression laden all the way up to his hairline.

"Because smart pants, you don't know any women to set me up with!"

Krueger pondered his words, eyes narrow, mouth opening and closing, lost in thought he just grunted and finished off the rest of that biscuit in defeat.

"It is smarty pants by the way!"

König heard Sebastian shout as he made his way through the threshold of the open back door to refill their cups.

….

Four months.

Four months of softly changing his sheets, helping his mother about the house, going for runs through the jagged hills, splashing his face with fresh creek water, chewing on wild growing ramps. Bringing back little rocks to add to his mother under-window flower beds, he'd done so since he was a knee high boy. She had saved them all of course.

He was starting to lose his mind, the pain meds his doktor had prescribed sat half full on the nightstand, he took them as needed but for the most part he punished himself, testing his own pain tolerance as means of an endurance challenge of sorts. He needed to do something, anything, to get out of the house.

Sebastian suggested he come back to work, take a desk job, fill out reports, that sort of thing to make his life a little more interesting until he was medically cleared for field operations.

"I know of another type of job, real laid back, you don't have to do too much physically." Kruger had mentioned one sunny, yet cold afternoon.

"Like what?"

"Ever heard of Night Division?"

"Nein, I have not." König had answered, a query on his mask covered face. Sounded interesting.

"There is a reason for that, it is a top secret op, need to know basis," Krueger pulled him in close on their walk through the base, stopping by the archway that lead to the rec room. "If you want in, let me know, I'll get you clearance and I'll walk you through it. If not; not harm, no foul."

König considered it, contemplated it for the rest of the day. He was feeling a bit down, his shoulder throbbed something fucking fierce every fours or so, letting him know he was still in the healing stages, still on the mend. But a cushy little desk job, keep him occupied, maybe he could get caught up on a few books he'd started and had to put down or leave behind, relax at a desk like he had when he first started out after basic. He could do something like that.

Sebastian was right; this job would keep dinner on the table and the lights on. It was simple enough as well, answer the phone when it rang and flashed burnt orange (according to Krueger this phone hadn't actually rung in two months). Monitor the actions, pay attention to the caller in need of assistance, ask the appropriate questions in order to render aid.

König brought a thermos and a water bottle full of ice. He was afforded a notepad and pen, a binder in the top right drawer of a silver desk, the left held a rolodex of people who might be calling in need.

He'd been at it for two weeks now, no phone calls, caught up on three books already as he reclined back in the softest office chair he's ever sat his behind in. Ankles locked, boots on the table reading, belly full. Then it happened.

The phone rang, a shrill sound that damn near rocked him right out of that chair! His book fell to the floor, loosing his page instantly. The orange flashed urgently as König scrambled to get out his notebook to take notes and location, the binder that held random question whoever was on Night Division duties to ask to make sure they were truly talking to who they were supposed to. The phone number as Krueger had told him was only given out to military, not a simple phone number one might find scribbled on a folded up post-it or bar napkin.

König cleared his throat and picked up the receiver, holding it tightly to his ear.

"Hallo, what is the color of the day?" König asked, clicked pen at the ready and pressed onto the first page.

"What? I don't know! I need help." A frantic woman hushed her voice into the phone, he could some shuffling and light grunting.

"Ma'am, I need the color of the day before I can assist you."

"I don't fucking know! Please help me." The woman gasped and he could hear something close.

"Miss this is a very secure line-"

"I know that. Night Division, right? My brother said if anything suspicious happened while he was deployed, I should call this number immediately. Which is what I am doing!"

"Without the color, miss-"

"Please, sir. There's two people breaking into the house, their looking for something. I don't want them to find me. There's a crawl space in my brothers' closet, that's where I am." The woman rasped, panic in her voice made König uneasy, things could get messy fast, he knew that first hand.

"I do not know your location."

"There's a rolodex in the top left drawer of your desk, my brothers' name and address are in there. And hurry!" She growled lowly.

"Name?"

"[REDACTED]."

"I'll send over someone."

"What? You're not coming?" The woman almost sounded offended, as if he had stood her up on a date or backed out of a last minute party.

"This is my station, miss. I can't leave my post, another call might come through."

The pregnant pause made him even more uneasy, as he wrote down the boyfriend's name and address with three scratches of his pen below it.

"I don't want to die like this." The woman exclaimed with a sniffle.

….

Much to König's surprise when he told his supervisors that a phone call had come in, he didn't realize that meant he was the one to answer it meant that in the very sense. Another selected Night Division advocate would take his place.

They handed him a standard service weapon, shoved a bullet proof vest to his bulky chest and sent out on his way. He even got to pick which company car from the lot. The SUV handled beautifully, the screen on the dash showing the coordinates to the Division caller. He cut the lights as he turned down the block, a quiet, wet residential street. Most of the cars were put away in their garages, all but one.

König memorized the plate, just in case things got hairy.

He could see movement in the house, shadows dancing in the low light. He narrowed his eyes, and softly exited the vehicle, approaching the house like the thieves already inside. König maneuvered around the back of the house, rolling his bad shoulder before kicking open the back door. He could hear muffled voices from inside, startled footsteps, a new magazine is put into a weapon that stands no chance against the man advancing in the darkness, especially when he flips down his night vision goggles.

"Whoever the hell you are, you owe me a new door asshole!" A raspy man calls in the dark.

"Sorry. Are you [REDEACTED]?" König asked, already knowing the answer.

"Who?"

"Didn't think so!"

König held his gun steady as rain, aimed true at one of the intruders. The man before him was crouched and steadily raising to his feet in the foyer, hands up.

"Do not do anything stupid, well more stupid than breaking into someone's house."

"Easy big guy, [REDACTED] is my brother, he asked me to check on the place while he's on vacation."

"Vacation, ja? Where to?"

"Uh Spain I believe he said." The man mumbled something.

"Then why are you in the dark? Go ahead and turn the lights." König suggested.

The man reacted by reaching behind him and swiftly pulled out a blade, the metal glinting in the darkness.

Big mistake.

Though König is on the larger scale in terms of height and weight, he is quite agile, a superb trait and bonus to his career. The blade came right at him but was easily slapped away by his gloved hand, the man reached back for another but ever the observant Austrian, he located the light switch panel next to him, flipped up his goggles and whacked the room into brightness, exposing everyone to the white hot lights. A woman tried to bum rush him and failed as she made a distressing sound when she hit the floor, her loosely held gun skidded away.

The second attempt at throwing a blade stuck to the wall beside him, König ripped it out of the dry wall and threw it back at the man in the foyer, landing perfecting in the shoulder. The man wailed out in pain, the woman scrambled for the gun only to slide it further out of reach.

König pointed his gun and undid the safety.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the woman looked up at his towering frame, her head jerked slightly and she slowly put her hands up. "Get your little friend and leave, you wish to wake up tomorrow do you not?"

They left without a fuss while König cleared the rest of the house. Not too much damage, the office behind the French doors was a mess though and going to be a bitch to put back in order but that wasn't his problem.

"Miss?" König called out after finishing his sweep of the first floor.

"Miss you can come out now. We talked on the phone. Night Division. You're safe now."

As he made his way up the staircase, lined with paintings of landscapes and bodies of water, the door to his immediate right swung open and the woman appeared.

"Oh!" She was startled, no doubt by his mask and head coverings, by the way he was steadily putting away his service weapon. His size in comparison to hers.

Her eyes went wide and she slightly hugged the doorframe, a baseball bat in hand. Her expression ranged from frightened, to skeptical, to calm in an ease of seconds.

"I didn't mean to startle you." König apologized.

"It's not.. sorry. You're who I spoke with. Are there more of you?" She asked peering around him, or at least what she could, clutching her cellphone and bat.

"Just me I'm afraid."

"Oh. Did you kill them?"

"Maimed."

"Good. I don't think there's enough peroxide to clean that up."

"You've cleaned up blood before?"

"You do see that I'm a woman, right? I've been cleaning up blood since I was twelve." The woman cocked her head to the side with a snort and dropped the bat down to her side.

König got the OK to clear the rest of the second floor, just in case. All was well and he followed her down the stairs, pointing out the mess the intruders had made of the office.

"You mentioned they were looking for something. Did you hear what exactly?" He asked from the doorway, watching her side steps and tip toe about the space, moving a crooked lamp, picking up a few pillows from a small futon in the corner, a woven blanket.

"Something called Eden. Does that mean anything to you?" The woman asked, putting her brothers' things back in order. The sound of shuffling papers being neatly stacked once more made for a delightful background noise.

"No but I'll look into it. You should get ready."

"You certainly cannot stay here, miss. Those two dirt bags might come back with more firepower and back up. Nein nein, you shall come with me to a safe house after a debriefing at the base." König explained, watching her face rise and fall with understanding that the man before her was right. "My superiors will want to know what you have told me."

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

König waited patiently in the office, looking at childhood photos of the woman who was pounding the floor upstairs, gathering some belongings. Her brother's Marine portrait, certificates of accomplishments and replica swords lined the wall behind the wood stained desk.

She knocked on the side of the office doorframe soon after, giving him a thumbs up.

….

"You said Eden, correct?" Kim Hong-jin or another masked man by the codename Horangi sat down with König and his charge. He was used to the cold conference room, the woman beside him, shivering and rubbing her hands before sitting upon them, did not.

Mid conversation, König shouldered off his jacket and draped it over his shoulders, dwarfing her in size. She gave him a nervous smile before continuing.

"Did they mean to hurt you, the duo?"

"I don't know. They just broken in through the side door, my brother, [REDACTED] has three entrances to his place, I got a Ring notification and hid. I'd never seen them before but they were adamant that my brother had something they wanted."

"Hmmm. We'll look into it, see what rocks we can over turn," Horangi scribbled down some information, circling a few keywords from your statement. "König; take her to the old farmhouse on 84th, hasn't been used in a beat, could use a tune up. Keep yourselves occupied until further notice." Horangi shook the woman's hand before gathering up the folder and notes. "Oh and König?"

"Ja?"

"Don't let her out of your sight."

The ride to the farmhouse was a bumpy one, the cabin of the SUV jostled the pair around, rocks and pebbles no doubt threatening with good merit to get lodged into the tread of the tires. The crooked place came into view from just the headlights, on bright of course, started to appear along the empty dirt road. There wasn't a neighbor for miles König and his partner noticed once they took their exit ramp from the highway, making sure they weren't being followed.

He held the door open for her, taking the duffel bag from her lap, flipping it over his shoulder like an afterthought.

"I never did get your name," the woman said, walking up the rocky driveway to the creaking porch as König took out the keys Horangi had given him on their way out from base. "Suppose I ought to know who I'm being shacked up with."

König snorted and put the key into the lock. "You can call me König ." "Hmm, nice ring to it if you ask me." She said, fumbling along the wall until the lights came on, showering the cozy house in a nice warm glow.

"And you are, miss?" He asked and placed her bag down on a stiff looking couch.

She spun on her heel and held out her hand in salutations. "I'm Y/N."

Even in the country light and glow of the almost yellow/orange lighting, you looked great. Not that he thought you looked bad; at all. He realized you were incredibly attractive the moment you popped out of your brothers' room, weapon and phone in hand. Hair mussed, face contorted with relief at his presence, stroking his ego.

You looked around, checking the rotary phone on a polished side table. Lifting the pewter Eiffel Tower, the fake flowers were dusty and the place reeked of mothballs.

The kitchen was decent, a little round table with a cheap plastic table cloth, four chairs with matching tied cushions.

"Not too bad," you announced after rummaging through the empty fridge. "I could live here."

"How long do you reckon we shall be out in the sticks?" König asked, more so out loud to himself than to you.

"Who knows. We'll need to go to the store in the morning, fuck all is in this place. Not even a water pitcher!"

"We will just have to take it day by day, I'm scared."

You snorted. "You're scared? You. All what? eight fuckin' miles of you. You're scared."

"I mean uh… I'm afraid. You'll forgive me, I tangle my words sometimes."

"Clearly! We should check out the rooms, I call first dibs!" You shouted, brushing past him like a child or wobbly infant, thundering your footsteps to the second floor. He could hear you exclaiming up there, bouncing on one squeaking bed in favor of the other as he locked up the house.

"Found mine, fend for yourself big guy."

He took the third room, at the top of the landing, it's bedspread reminding him of sweet grass summers. He laid there for awhile on top of the covers, telling you to keep your door open just in case. He could hear you snoring lightly, could picture the rise and fall of your breaths, timing them on his watch before he crept down the stairs, taking sudden notice that the fourth stair from the bottom creaked at just the right spot to the right.

He propped himself into an armchair by the sheer curtain covered window by the door.

Ever cautious.

Hyper aware.

He knew he wouldn't sleep and had planned on being awake as soon as Horangi sent you on your way from base.

He didn't mind.

He was being useful which filled his head with light, happy thoughts.

[wileys-russo]

did you see the video of the lionesses back at the wc in australia, where they got asked who’d they’d call to remove a spider from their room? and everyone named lucy lol

now imagine reader is part of the lionesses and in her room and sees a spider, gets lucy to remove it all while her roommate documents it and posts it on her insta story, both reader and roommate very grateful for lucy

and leah is immediately all pouty and “i could have removed it for you, why didn’t you call me? >:(“

eight legged attack II l.williamson

"-no i'm serious! she really said that to me." you laughed, pressing your key card against the door as it beeped and you shouldered it open. "and you were still friends with her after that for how long?" maya gasped in shock at your story as you collapsed onto your bed tiredly, full from dinner.

"like maybe two more years?" you admitted with a guilty grin as the younger girl shook her head in disbelief. "she only got worse after that!" you laughed, maya rolling her eyes and disappearing into the bathroom.

not even thirty seconds later a blood curdling scream sounded and you shot upright, tripping over your own feet and barreling into maya who came shooting out of the bathroom. "may!" you groaned as the two of you smacked down to the floor, clutching your heads which had collided.

"its fucking huge!" the girl was quick to her feet, scrambling away and diving onto her bed. "what?" you groaned again, sitting up and rubbing your forehead where you were near certain a lump would soon form from the collision.

"that thing in the bathroom!" the girl spluttered out as you stood, frowning and stepping into the bathroom. "maya what the hell are you-" you stopped as you saw it, perched up in the corner of the room above the shower.

eight furry legs and beady little eyes which seemed to lock in and follow your every move. your chest clenched as your blood ran cold and your words died in your throat.

you let out a scream not dissimilar to maya's, jumping backwards and slamming the bathroom door. "oh my god we're under attack." you hissed, diving onto maya's bed beside her as the two of you stared at the bathroom door with eyes wide as saucers.

"there's only one woman for the job."

~

you sighed in relief as there was a knock on your door, both you and maya hurrying over to pull it open. "right, i need my beauty sleep. where is it then?" lucy sighed, tupperware container in hand and a tired look in her eyes as you let her inside.

"bathroom. but be prepared man its huge!" maya warned, the two of you standing well back as lucy rolled her eyes. "children honestly, the lot of yas." lucy grumbled, shaking her head as she opened the bathroom door.

you and maya carefully ventured closer as lucy started to suddenly laugh. "this! ya scared of this puny thing?" she bent over clutching at her stomach as you both scowled at her. "just get rid of it luce! please." you huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at her.

"yeah alright alright." she chuckled, opening the tupperware container and instructing one of you to grab the room service menu. "you're hungry?" maya frowned in surprise as lucy fixed her with a blank look.

"yeah starving." she replied. "no ya idiot! it's to catch this stupid tiny thing." she corrected as maya handed her the menu with a roll of her eyes. "was only asking." she mumbled, standing back and pulling out her phone to record.

you both heaved a collective sigh of relief as lucy left the room, taking your eight legged attacker with her. she claimed she was just going to get rid of it outside however both you and maya had a sneaking suspicion that you weren't the only lionesses who'd be getting a surprise visit from a spider tonight.

you had finally started to settle, maya having done a thorough check of the bathroom and disappearing to shower, when your phone buzzed. you smiled seeing it was from your girlfriend, requesting you come to your room.

"may! i'm going to see leah!" you called through the closed door, drowned out by the music and the sound of her singing making you roll your eyes with a smile, sending her a text instead.

stepping out of the elevator you walked down the hall, stopping outside leahs room. you hadn't even been able to knock twice before the door swung open taking you slightly off guard.

"hi baby." you greeted happily, stepping inside and closing the door behind you, stepping toward her for a hug but frowning as she turned and walked away from you.

"babe?" you questioned as she flopped down on her bed, flicking the tv on and ignoring you. "leah?" you continued, advancing toward her and looking down in confusion.

"i'm mad at you." the blonde huffed, fixing you with a glare and crossing her arms. "what could i have possibly done in the span of the....six minutes between you texting me to come here and me arriving to make you mad at me?" you scoffed in disbelief, crossing your own arms back at her.

leah didn't respond at first, instead grabbing her phone and messing around with it. you opened your mouth to say something but she turned the screen to face you before you could, the video of lucy removing the spider from maya's story playing.

"why did you call lucy!" leah huffed again, glare softening slightly into more of a pout as your own frown melted into an amused smile, catching onto what was happening. "leah-" you started, biting down on your lip as she locked her phone again, tossing it on the bed beside her.

"i'm your girlfriend, not lucy! you're supposed to call me to come do things like that for you." she scowled, bottom lip jutting out as you shook your head, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "baby you are terrified of bugs." you laughed, the memories of all the arguments the two of you had back home over whose turn it was to squash a cockroach.

"i am not!" leah scoffed as your smile widened and you shuffled to sit properly on the bed. "yes you are. i love you very dearly but you would have been just as useless as maya or i baby, so we had to call lucy!" you continued to laugh, laying down so your head rested on her thighs.

"i would have tried to kill it for you." leah mumbled, clearly still grumpy as you smiled. "yeah. but you'd have failed, miserably." you patted her leg with a grin as she playfully shoved your forehead, gesturing for you to sit up.

laying down a little more she opened her arms expectantly, your body melting into them as you settled in between her legs, chest pressed against hers. "stop being pouty!" you laughed, using your thumb to tug on her bottom lip, leaning up to kiss her softly.

"you're such a baby." you teased the blonde, pecking her lips a few more times as she frowned and tried to respond. "shut up." leah huffed with a roll of her eyes.

"promise me next time you'll call me." your girlfriend demanded, hugging you tightly inhaling the scent of your perfume, her favourite smell.

"okay baby. i promise next time i'll call you...and lucy." "hey!"

[dreaminofdixon]

One.

Let's start from the beginning... We'll learn a little bit about the protag and where her experience with the previously-dead but currently-undead begins.

No smut...yet. :) We're just getting started, of course!

I stared out the window at the Atlanta city skyline, the events from earlier in the day replaying through my mind like a reel - over and over. The news had been going crazy over the last couple of weeks with talk about people coming back from the dead, with cell phone videos of what had been deemed ‘the walking dead.’ These were people who had supposedly died and were now eating the living - people, animals, anything with a heartbeat - and ripping into their flesh. I hadn’t really encountered it—one of the perks of working from home, I guess. I hadn’t seen just how bad things had gotten until now. Today was the first time I’d ventured out of my home because grocery delivery hadn’t been available. 

To say I was horrified? That is an absolute understatement. 

A couple of my coworkers had told stories in our daily Teams meetings, and I’d always thought they were just stories. But after today I had no doubts that those stories were actual accounts of their experiences.

I looked down at my phone where it sat lifeless on the wooden bath tray and picked it up to check the time. The screen lit up—5% battery, but that wasn’t the problem. No signal. No WiFi. No service. I tapped at the icons, restarted the connection. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.

The breath I hadn’t realized I was holding left me in a slow exhale.

This wasn’t just a bad signal.

I let out a breath and pushed the tray away before grabbing the fluffy, charcoal gray towel and standing from the bath water. The thoughts rushing through my mind were many and all of them were equally terrifying. The water began glugging down the drain and I wrapped myself in the towel on the way out of the bathroom, my fingers mindlessly tapping at the phone screen - the efforts fruitless. 

A little less than a year ago, I’d picked up my life in the PNW and moved down to Georgia for a job. In the months I’d been here, I hadn’t had the time or energy to dedicate to making friends. I’d opted to stay buried in my work, trying to learn everything I could in order to keep climbing that ladder. And aside from the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the accompanying fan, the silence was something I’d grown accustomed to. I was perfectly fine being a loner. I didn’t need anyone or anything else to keep me going except electricity. 

So when I didn’t hear those two very familiar, very specific sounds, my breath hitched.

The silence was too thick, too unnatural.

I moved toward the light switch, heart pounding.

If the power was out, this wasn’t just some storm knocking out a cell tower. This was something worse.

I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat and closed my eyes as I flipped the switch. Honestly, I didn’t even need to open them to realize that the light hadn’t turned on. There was no question. The power had been shut off, unfortunately not due to something as simple as an unpaid bill. I pressed my forehead against the wall, forcing down the panic rising in my chest. I had no family here. No friends. No one to check on me.

And now, the world was ending.

And I was completely, terrifyingly alone.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter One

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : The full first chapter. For anyone that missed the first sneak peak, this is going to be a vampire fic, so it's going to have smut, dark themes, and blood mentions. I've been reading a lot of gothic novels lately so there's a bit of inspo from that in here. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

Chapter One

It was official; you'd lost your fucking mind.

You’d been standing outside the building for five minutes now, the paperwork tucked in your coat pocket feeling heavier by the second. Were you sure that you wanted to do this? Could you really give up a year of your life to serve a vampire?

What other choice did you have?

A lithe and pale figure watched from behind the tinted, UV proof glass while you changed your mind a dozen times over. After a few more minutes, the sun finally disappeared into the New York skyline, plunging the street into shadow.

The door opened.

The figure called your name, and you stepped forward, almost mesmerised by the lilting, lyrical tone of her voice. You shook your head a little, trying to keep your wits about you. 

You took in the sight of her as she held open the door; taller than you with a willowy figure, long white hair down to her hips, and eyes of pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You’d seen enough vampires to tell one by sight.

Your small suitcase was clutched in your hand, the few possessions that meant anything to you had been hastily packed before you’d headed to New York, and now felt like all you had left in the world. She glanced at the suitcase with disdain, but said nothing.

“Do you have the paperwork?” She asked, the soft but icy sound of her voice sending a shiver up your spine. You nodded and she held out her hand expectantly, waiting while you fished the folded mess of documents from your coat. She gave the contract a cursory glance, making sure you’d signed every dotted line, before; “good. And are you sure you understand everything that this position entails and what will be required of you?”

You nodded again.

“Speak up,” she prompted. “This is your last chance to ask questions.”

Despite the impatience on her face, you took a moment. Only minutes ago you’d had at least half a dozen questions about the job and the mysterious vampire who had hired you.

“What happened to the last person who took this job?” Her eyebrow rose, obviously not expecting that question. “The contract is for a year, but I’ve seen this job advertised three times in the last ten months.”

“There are a lot of people who mistakenly believe that they can do what is required of them. Many have come to work for Mr Russo, and many have disappointed him,” she shrugged.

“What happened to them?”

“The same thing that will happen to you if you breach your contract; immediate dismissal with no severance,” she explained, slowly starting to step towards the elevator. “During your time here, everything will be provided for you and you will only be paid once your term of service is completed.”

“A million dollars,” even though that was the amount in black and white on the contract, it still didn’t seem real to you.

“Yes,” she pressed the call button, putting an obvious timer on this conversation. “Like I said, this is your last chance to ask questions. Once I take you upstairs, your contract will officially begin, and you will forfeit the agreed upon rights.” 

You swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat and nodded, knowing you had no choice. You needed the money and a year wasn’t that long if you really thought about it. 

The elevator doors slid open and you took one last deep breath before stepping inside.

“What floor are we going to?” You asked, not wanting to stand in silence.

“The penthouse,” she answered, allowing another moment of quiet before adding; “you’ll find that Mr Russo has been more than generous with your living quarters, far more generous than most.”

“Do a lot of vampires do this? Hire people to feed from, I mean?” 

“For those that can afford it, or those with particular... tastes, it’s quite common, yes,” she replied offhandedly, not even bothering to look at you, knowing that it didn’t matter anymore; it was too late for you to change your mind.

“And which is Mr Russo?” You dared to ask, which was enough to earn a glance from her.

“Both,” she answered coldly, “as you no doubt saw in the advertisement, Mr Russo is very particular, and you’d do well to remember that. He is a man who likes everything in its place.”

Your lips parted, more comments and questions about your mysterious employer on your tongue, but they were cut off by the opening of the elevator doors. She led you out into the penthouse; a large open-plan living and kitchen area, with an open fireplace and wrap-around sofa, decorated in dark colours and dark-stained wood.

“Leave your suitcase there,” she instructed. “You won’t need it.”

You did as you were told, speechless as you took in the huge space in front of you. The windows drew your attention; tinted and obviously UV proof, but spanning from floor to ceiling, giving an amazing view of Central Park.

“This is the main area of the penthouse,” she started, as if she was a tour guide, reeling off facts that she no longer found interesting. “You may use this area as you see fit during daylight hours, but between 9pm and 6am it is off-limits. You will clean up after yourself.”

You nodded, following her as she slowly started towards the kitchen, leaving your suitcase at the elevator.

“All food will be provided, and should not be left in this kitchen area. You have your own private kitchen in your quarters. As per your contract, you will keep to the list of acceptable foods, and will receive grocery deliveries once a week on Fridays.” She stopped for a moment, letting you get a look at the main kitchen.

While there didn’t seem to be much in the way of food in the main kitchen, there was a large wine rack, filled with bottles. But it was the small glass-fronted refrigerator that caught your attention. That was where he would keep your blood. Suddenly it all started to feel very real to you.

If your guide cared, she didn’t bother to show it. She started to move again, and you followed after.

“Behind that door,” she pointed, “are Mr Russo’s rooms. You are forbidden from entering. Any breach of that rule will result in your immediate dismissal.”

You nodded, eyes lingering on the door, wondering if he was behind it right now, if he was listening in to everything being said. The thought caused your heart to beat a little faster and, that, you were certain she did notice. She led you away, towards the other end of the apartment.

“Through that door is Mr Russo’s library, you may use it as you see fit during daylight hours,” she didn’t linger or allow you to look inside, so you decided that was the first place you would explore once you were alone.

“And this,” she pushed a door open, “is your private suite.”

The door led to a small corridor with three doors. You continued to follow her. 

“Your kitchen,” she pushed open the first door and let you glance inside before moving to the door on the opposite side of the hallway, “your bathroom.” Again, she only gave you a second before moving to the door at the end of the hallway. “And this is your bedroom. For your privacy, the door can be locked. Though once you’ve slept here, no vampire will be able to enter without permission.” 

You were almost speechless as you stepped into the room, immediately noticing the floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the corner of the room, giving you amazing views of Central Park and the city. The room contained a large bed, a sofa and TV, as well as a small gym area in the corner. There was a wardrobe, the doors of which had been strategically left open so you could see that it had already been filled with clothes for you. Beyond that, there was a desk and several mirrors, and everything was decorated with the same dark palette as the rest of the penthouse. 

“As per your contract, you are expected to remain clean and healthy at all times,” she continued while you slowly stepped around the room, cautiously running your fingers over the desk and opening drawers. “Mr Russo requires that you shower at least once every day and that you wear only the clothes provided. If the clothes provided are not to your tastes, reasonable adjustments to the wardrobe can be made.”

You opened a drawer and felt heat rise in your cheeks when you realised that it was filled with silk and lace lingerie sets. Closing the drawer, you decided to look elsewhere, moving towards the nightstand. There was a silk sleep mask beside the lamp, with your initials sewn into the fabric.

“You will not leave the penthouse without permission. Any attempt to do so will result in your immediate dismissal,” again, on paper, it had sounded easy but now you weren’t so sure. “Part of remaining clean for Mr Russo means that you will forgo sex for the duration of your contract, and you will not allow anyone to touch you in a sexual way. However, Mr Russo understands that this can be... difficult for someone your age, so he has provided everything you need to keep yourself... satisfied.”

Your confused glance was met by a raised eyebrow and the slightest dip of her head, indicating the drawer which, stupidly, you opened without hesitation.

“Oh...” you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting but a drawer full of sex toys certainly wasn’t it. Your cheeks got hotter and your heart raced in your chest.

“I would suggest getting that under control, your embarrassment is quite distracting to vampires,” she stated before leaving the room. You quickly pushed the drawer of toys closed and followed after her. 

She led you into the kitchen, a clean and sterile looking room with everything you’d ever need to cook for yourself. Waving at the only chair at the small table, she instructed you to sit, take your coat off and roll up your sleeve.

“For the first week, I will assist you in drawing blood and showing you how to store it, after that it will become your responsibility. You will do this at least once a day, and it is your job to ensure that Mr Russo never goes without,” she explained, opening a drawer and removing what she needed.

You felt queasy the moment the needle punctured the skin, and you were sure she scoffed when you looked away from the sight of blood. Clearly, she didn’t think you were going to last in your new job.

“While your contract is in effect, Mr Russo is the only vampire who may drink your blood,” she continued to list rules and stipulations. 

“And he’ll only drink it like this? He won’t -” you hesitated, trying to decide if the question could be seen as offensive to a vampire.

“It is, legally speaking, entirely up to you whether or not you would allow Mr Russo to feed from you directly,” which, of course was something you knew - since vampires revealed themselves to the world, lots of safe-measures had been put in place to protect humans from being involuntarily fed upon. “However, Mr Russo prefers to feed this way, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

After almost ten minutes she pulled the needle from your arm and began to explain how to seal the blood before handing you a bottle of supplements and a glass of water. 

“Take one of those every day after bleeding, they will help your body replace what you’ve given.” She watched as you took one of the supplements without questions and then led you back out into the main area of the apartment, showing you how the blood was to be stored in the fridge, with the day's date clearly marked on the jar.

“Now, you should go shower and change into the clothes provided. I can either dispose of what you’re wearing or it can be placed in storage with your other things until your contract is complete.”

“Wait - storage?” You asked, your heart skipping a beat.

“As per your contract, everything is provided -”

“I get that, but... you’re saying I can’t keep my things? What about my phone?” Sure, you’d read the contract, but you’d never realised that that was what it meant.

“Mr Russo is a very private man, your phone or other electronic devices would be a security risk,” she answered sharply. “If you wish to terminate your contract -”

“No - no, it’s fine. As long as they’re kept safe.” As much as you hated it, you knew the alternative was worse. No, you could live without your phone and laptop for a year if it meant earning a million dollars, if it meant finally being free.

Without hesitation, you removed your phone from your pocket and handed it to her. She seemed almost amused that it was already turned off, and quickly slid it into her own pocket.

She nodded and started to walk away. “Leave anything you want put into storage by the elevator.”

It was then that you realised that she was about to leave you all alone and you’d have no more chances to ask her questions.

“When will I meet Mr Russo?” You asked as she pressed the call button.

“That depends on Mr Russo,” she shrugged, “you may never meet him if he doesn’t wish it. He’ll decide when he returns to New York tomorrow. For now, I’d suggest you spend your time getting comfortable. A year is a long time for warmbloods...”

The elevator doors slid open and she carried your suitcase inside.

“I’ll be back after sunset tomorrow to draw more blood.”

It wasn’t until she was gone that you realised you’d never even gotten her name.

Alone, you remained in the kitchen for a few minutes, half expecting her to come back to explain more rules but, when she didn’t, you decided to explore.

It felt strange and you didn’t dare touch anything, practically creeping around the apartment, even though you were fairly certain that you were all alone now. You got yourself familiar with the main living area, taking a moment to enjoy the view from the windows before heading for the door that led to Mr Russo’s library.

Whatever thoughts you had about it, you weren’t expecting what you found behind that door. The book cases covered two of the walls and, in the corner of the room sat a grand piano. There was a worn looking leather sofa and, towards the back of the room, you realised that there was a set of shelves filled with vinyl records. Suddenly, being stuck in this apartment for a whole year didn’t seem like enough time. 

There was a strange mix of old and new about the room, things that made you wonder about the sort of person your new employer was. How old was he? How long had he been a vampire? 

You decided that you were definitely going to spend a lot of time in the library but, for tonight, you settled on taking a battered looking copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from a shelf, hoping that no one would mind if you took it back to your room.

While it wasn’t getting late, it had been a long day and you were still feeling a little shaky, so you decided to do as instructed and have a shower before changing into one of the silken pairs of pyjamas that had been provided. Once you’d neatly folded and piled your old clothes by the elevator, you returned to your bedroom.

Paranoia had you checking around the room, beneath the bed and in the wardrobe, before you finally felt safe enough to lock yourself in. While it had been your plan to read until you fell asleep, you were too distracted by thoughts of home; had anyone noticed that you were gone yet? Were they looking for you? Had they been trying to call?

The only thing that you knew for certain was that no one would find you here. And, once you’d completed your year and had your million dollars, no one would find you ever again.

The next morning you realised why you’d been provided a sleep mask; as stunning as the floor to ceiling windows were, the moment the sun rose your room was filled with light. Grumbling, your hand reached for your phone on the night stand before you remembered exactly where you were and that you no longer had your phone.

There was a clock in the kitchen, on the wall above the small table where you sat and had breakfast, telling you that it was far too early to be awake. 

After breakfast you showered and decided to spend the day getting used to your surroundings, starting with the bedroom. 

The contents of the wardrobe left you speechless. Even the leggings and jeans were expensive brands, and some of the ball gowns... honestly, you didn’t even know why they were in there, but you’d spent enough time attending balls and gala’s back home to know that each was easily worth tens of thousands of dollars. Some of the garments felt a little more questionable; corsets and dresses that would probably reveal far more than you were comfortable with.

And the shoes.

You’d never seen so many pairs of shoes. Everything ranging from cute sneakers, to thigh-high boots with heels so big you’d break your neck if you fell over in them. Every kind of shoe for every sort of occasion, and they were all stunning.

Then, in the drawers, you had your more everyday items; underwear, tee-shirts, leggings. And, again, it seemed like no expense had been spared. Admittedly when you finally changed out of the pyjamas, it felt a little bit weird to put on underwear that you hadn’t bought for yourself, and weirder still to think about how soft the lace felt on your skin.

You picked out a pair of jeggings, an oversized sweater and a pair of Uggs to wear before continuing to search through your room. There was everything you could think that you might want or need, with the exception of a laptop or phone. (And you were very mindful about ignoring the drawer of sex toys, not even wanting to think about it.)

It took you almost the whole day to get through it all and find where everything was. Once you were done, you decided to cook dinner; a simple pasta in sauce with some bread. You hadn’t even stepped out of your suite and into the main apartment, you’d almost managed to forget that anything existed outside of your bubble until the sudden knock on the suite's door. 

You opened the door to find her standing there, remembering she had promised to return at sunset.

“Have you found everything to your liking so far?” She asked as she stepped past you and made her way into the kitchen. 

“Everything is fine,” you told her, following after. “I did have a few... questions about some things?”

She indicated that you take a seat and moved to the cupboard that contains the equipment for drawing blood. You rolled up your sleeve without being asked.

“Yes?” She prompted.

“In the wardrobe, there are ball gowns?” More statement than question and she looked at you with a raised eyebrow until you clarified; “why?”

“Mr Russo occasionally likes to host parties or attend events in the city,” she answered, piercing your skin with the needle. “If he decides he enjoys your company, he may ask you to attend with him.”

“Oh,” you decided not to ask the ridiculous follow up and instead change direction completely. “And, while I’m here I’m not allowed a phone or the internet?”

“As I told you yesterday, Mr Russo is a very private man. If you wish to contact loved ones, I can -”

“No, it’s fine,” you quickly cut her off. “What if there’s... I don’t know, an emergency? Or something I need?”

For a second she paused, the slightest look of realisation on her face, as if she’d just remembered something. 

“By the elevator, there’s an intercom. You can use it to contact me or, if I’m not available, you can contact the doorman.”

Which, of course, brought you to the next awkward question.

“... you never told me your name.”

“Lissa,” she quickly responded, off-handedly, almost dismissively, like she thought you’d never need it. 

Once she was finished drawing blood, you followed her out into the main area of the penthouse and over to the fridge where, to your surprise, yesterday’s blood was gone.

“Is -” you started to ask, glancing towards that foreboding door that was off-limits to you, “- is Mr Russo here?”

“He’s back in the city, yes.” 

You took that to mean that he wasn’t in, so you decided not to ask any more questions - what had she told you yesterday? That he’d decide whether he wanted to meet you when he got back. Well, he was back now and, obviously, he didn’t.

Lissa asked if you needed anything desperately and you told her you didn’t; she didn’t exactly make it seem like she was interested, more that she felt obligated.

The next few days passed in much the same way; you’d spend your afternoons exploring the penthouse, trying to get some idea of what Mr Russo was like. Then Lissa would help you draw blood and, by the end of the first week, you no longer needed her assistance. Every morning you checked the fridge and found it empty. He was there, in the penthouse. But, as the days passed, you started to think you’d never cross paths and maybe that was by design.

Maybe that was for the best, maybe it would be easier to get through the year without meeting him. You could just pretend that the penthouse was yours.

But it seemed like a lonely way to live, especially once Lissa no longer had a reason to visit. You weren’t used to space or privacy, not like this. You took to muttering to yourself, moving from room to room of the penthouse just to get a little bit of variety in your life.

The first day you were completely left alone, you decided to start the morning with a run on the treadmill. It was raining outside but you tried to picture what it would be like to run through the winding paths of Central Park, all the way to the fountain. Then, after showering, you rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen to find all the ingredients you needed to make chocolate muffins.

By the time the sun started to set, you were quietly impressed with how well you’d managed to distract yourself. But it was only one day, and you had over three-hundred and fifty more to fill. You made yourself some dinner, drew some blood and took it out to the fridge for Mr Russo, whenever he decided to get it.

Then, you ended up on the sofa.

Initially you’d only wanted to sit down for a few minutes, feeling tired and a little bit unsteady after putting today’s blood in the fridge. You had a feeling that you might have drawn a little too much, and you found your eyes drifting shut. 

The alarm on your watch woke you, set to remind you every night when it was approaching 9pm so you could retire to your suite, as per the rules. You felt groggy as your eyes opened, taking a second to sharpen.

And there he was, sitting on the opposite side of the wrap-around sofa, a glass in his hand, dark eyes set on you.

You sat up quickly - so quickly that it made you feel dizzy.

Your cheeks warmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or nausea.

If he cared about your display of discomfort, he certainly didn’t show it. In fact, for a moment you were sure you saw a flicker of a smirk cross his lips. For a second you found yourself staring, taking in the sight of him; dark suit, dark hair, and even darker eyes. He was stunning, even by vampire standards.

“I’m sorry, I -” you started, flustered. You didn’t even know what you were apologising for. It wasn’t like you’d broken any of his rules.

“So you’re the new one,” his voice didn’t sound like you thought it would. For the look of him, you’d imagined a smooth but commanding tone, instead there was something rough to it.

“Yes, sir,” you answered, quickly introducing yourself to him rather than addressing what exactly he meant by the new one.

“Drink that,” he instructed and you noticed the glass of orange juice on the table. “It’ll help with the blood loss.”

Your cheeks warmed a fraction, embarrassed that he’d figured out why you were sleeping on the sofa. (Just how long had he been sitting watching you sleep, anyway?)

You gave a muttered thank you before reaching for the glass and slowly starting to drink. You’d forgotten to take your supplement too and that probably wasn’t helping.

“So, what are you running from?”

“I'm sorry?” You asked, not understanding the question. 

“You've agreed to spend a year living in the home of a man you've never met - a vampire, no less - so, what are you running from?” He looked at you as if he could look through you, as if he expect a lie and he’d be able to catch you in it

“I’m not running,” you answered, forcing yourself to sit a little straighter, despite the light-headedness. “I just didn’t want to be at home anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Does it matter?” You answered flippantly before realising that that wasn’t the best way to talk to your new employer. “I mean - I already signed all of your contracts, so does it make a difference?”

“It does if I end up with your parents at the door screaming about how I spirited away their daughter and have her under my thrall so I can drain her blood.”

“Has - has that happened before?” There was something about his face, his eyes, it made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious. “Things like this are legal, so it’s not like they could complain...”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

It was only then that you realised what was in his glass, the dark viscous liquid he was gently swirling. He was sitting and having this conversation with you while cradling a glass of your blood.

“I’m not avoiding it,” you decided to tell him, “I just don’t want to answer it. I appreciate how this could look to some people, but I can promise you my family won’t be an issue. They don’t even know that I’m here and they have no way of finding me.”

“So, not running, escaping,” he stated like he didn’t want a response and already knew he was going to get one. And, finally, he lifted his glass and took a slow drink..

You didn’t want to watch him drink, but you found that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, watching the gentle bob of his throat and the way he licked his lips after draining half the glass. When he caught you looking, you dropped your attention to your own glass and took a slow drink.

“I’m not your first am I?” 

Sputtering, you almost choked on your drink and, for some reason, your mind immediately went to the drawer of toys in your bedroom. Your cheeks continued to warm as the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk.

“My first what?”

“Vampire.”

“No. I mean, I’ve never -” you took a second, trying to regain your composure. “I’ve met other vampires, I’ve just never let them...”

He lifted the glass and cocked an eyebrow before taking a drink. This time when he drank, you let him see you watching, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. Again, his tongue wiped away any trace of your blood from his lips and he looked oddly satisfied.

“Do you like it here? Are you settling in?” He asked, and you were starting to realise he was trying to get a measure of you. “Are your rooms to your liking?”

“Yes, you have a lovely home,” you answered before taking an awkward drink. You weren’t sure what else to say about it because, outside of the library, there wasn’t much to the penthouse. In fact, once you started thinking about it, you couldn’t help but realise that it seemed a little cold and lonely. But, perhaps it was different in his rooms, perhaps that was where he’d made his penthouse into a home.

“You like the library,” a statement more than a question.

“Yes, I - how did you know?” Had he been spying on you? Watching you?

“My copy of Dorian Gray,” he stated softly, and you felt your breath catch, “it doesn’t seem to be where I left it.”

“It’s in my room,” you answered, worried that you might have already done something wrong - you couldn’t afford to lose this job, not after only a week. “No one told me that I couldn’t take it out of the library, I just wanted something to read in bed and I -”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement. “You can take as many books from the library as you want, as long as they’re returned undamaged.”

It seemed to mean a lot to him and, perhaps, you should have asked why but, instead, you found yourself feeling indignant.

“I’d never damage a book,” you told him, “especially one that didn’t belong to me.”

Again, he seemed more amused than fazed by your response. “So, you like to read?”

You nodded.

“Why?” His eyes stayed on you, staring through you, right to your soul. At least, that was how it felt. Your lips parted, but you didn’t have an answer for him. Why did anyone like to read? “Escapism? Perhaps to imagine a better life? Or is it love and fantasies of fictional men who will treat you better than anyone in the real world that you enjoy?”

“Is that why you have all those books? To fantasise about fictional men?” you found yourself responding, trying desperately to ignore the heat burning through your cheeks.

He let out a laugh, a deep and dark sound that sent a shiver up your spine. The smirk on his lips grew and, for a moment, he just watched you before shrugging.

“Sometimes men, sometimes women,” he admitted with ease, lifting his glass and draining it, leaving nothing but a pinkish stain on the inside of the glass. “I like you,” he decided and you weren’t sure if he meant you or your blood. “This is going to be fun.”

With that, he got to his feet and all you could do was watch, getting some idea of his height and how he held himself once he was standing. He moved with the confidence of a predator who knew his own strength even if others couldn’t see it, and you knew immediately that you shouldn’t underestimate him.

“You should return to your rooms,” he told you, turning and heading for the kitchen to get rid of his empty glass. “I wouldn’t want Lissa finding out that you’ve already broken your contract.”

For a second you weren’t sure what he meant, but then you saw the time. Twenty past nine. He’d kept you talking for almost half an hour. (Could he really fire you for that when he was the reason?)

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the time, I -” you got to your feet so quickly that you almost fell back down

“I’m joking,” it hadn’t sounded like a joke. He glanced back towards you, offering something of a smile. “You should go back to your rooms and rest, though. And tomorrow, take more care when you’re drawing blood. I wouldn’t want you fainting.”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before moving towards the elevator and slipping inside once the doors opened.

For a few seconds, you stood, at a loss over what had just happened, before quickly making your way back to your own rooms.

CHAPTER TWO

End Notes : Sooo... there it is. I honestly hate starting new fics because I always feel like they start a little slow. I'm not sure what the posting schedule will look like for this one, I'm hoping once a week (on Friday evenings) but I'll post an update or something if that changes.

Thanks for checking this out, I know it's a bit of a departure from Catch Me if You Can. Have a wonderful weekend.

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

[foreficfandom]

POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (1/2)

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader)

Overlords are common sinners that boast many indentured servants to their name. Some also focus on physical territory. Some, like Alastor, don't bother. After all, radio knows little physical limitations.

Every Overlord had their own method of gaining prowess. Know one knows how Alastor became so dangerous. The strongest of the lords. Possibly stronger than some goetia royalty.

You weren't sure, either, but you had an inkling.

Because unbeknownst to anyone, you weren't some common sinner soul.

You were unique. A being originating far from this Christian realm of Heaven and Hell. You were undying, or a reincarnation, or a demigod. But you kept on the down low, 'cause attention would have meant trouble.

You could feel that Alastor's magic was a dark, bloody thing, nestled deep in his chest and hooked tightly like barbed wire. It tasted like sacrifices. It smelled like ultraviolet. And you knew it was borrowed, almost seeing the leash around his neck out of the corner of your eye.

Through a shared interest in the Hazbin Hotel, you and Alastor became acquaintances. Months later, you were proper friends. You could tell that Alastor valued the kind and pure of heart, even if he also believed them pitiful. Because they reminded him of a pleasant, happier life. A hidden part of him wanted to believe in their hope and love.

He thought you were just another sinner soul, and you didn't give him a reason to know any better. You had a job as part of the hotel staff. Their accountant, or security, or maintenance. Or their head concierge, guest service agent, auditor, what have you. Something vital to the business, but nothing glamorous. Labor has always been your most successful mask.

He was growing to love again. His mortal self might have been more recipient of affections and bonds, but decades living in hell has twisted him, and you could see him despair over the lump in his throat. His defeat at the hands of Adam proved his limits. You felt him writhe for weeks afterwards, and you let him reap what he sowed.

Curious, you sneaked away one evening and drew from your well of power to step through the fabric of time, finding yourself on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to watch a young Alastor drink the blood from a bloody corpse, and spitting it over his shoulder. Some loa watched this bastardized libation from across the crossroads, but what answered was far more malevolent.

Alastor agreed to a very dangerous exchange. He now had hold over magic impressive enough for a mortal, but you knew it to be a relatively bum deal compared to true power. He would hunger constantly for flesh just to feed its energy, which was a cleverly hidden clause to curse him further through devilish consumption. His shadow sprouted antlers and a maw of sharp teeth.

For two decades, Alastor hunted and ate. Always male victims, usually white men, individuals some might damn as monsters themselves - the abusers, the genociders, the murderously entitled. What was once a scared young man grew hollow and fat on the power.

You've seen enough. Stepping through once more, you joined Alastor in cooking an orzo for shrove Tuesday. Sharpening your gaze, you watched his reflection on the shiny metal surface of a pot, and saw the stitches embedded in his face, pulling tight and vicious.

You nonchalantly asked, "How did you become so proficient at the kitchen knife?"

"Well, I was taught that one could eat, or they could eat well," he replied in a sing-song voice. "And practice makes perfect! Hunger is truly the best teacher."

The meat he was pairing was pork, but you knew he's served human flesh for dinner at least once before. You didn't say anything, because they'd grow suspicious at how you could possibly know from just the smell.

Alastor allowed only you to join him in cooking, partly because he favored you so much more, also because you were a right hand at making a meal. You didn't mention that millennia of existence made one a right hand at any skill.

And tonight, he would begin to see it.

Leaving the broth to simmer, you grabbed a small pairing knife and one of the tomatoes. Instead of simply coring and slicing, you inserted 0.013'' of carbon, chromium, and manganese right between where the molecular cells of epidermis ended at the pericarp. In a single momentum of both your knife and the tomato, the skin was perfectly peeled within two rotations.

Alastor wasn't even looking at you. But he froze over the cutting board, rictus smile sharp.

You haven't even used magic yet.

Both the tomato epidermis and its flayed flesh were completely free of any trace of the other, so in one hand, you ignited the skin to transmogrify into a tiny figurine made out of its glycerin wax. In the other, the tomato was sacrificed in a hole of light-bending void for its animal equivalent - the tiny heart of some small animal, possibly a bird or an amphibian, beating calmly as if alive.

Alastor slowly turned his head to watch as a miniature wax replica of himself held the heart in both shaking hands, before doubling over to devour it whole, its relative size and gore very reminiscent of a large, juicy tomato.

A picture perfect snapshot of his fifth or sixth murder while alive. Some world war veteran that still longed for the battlefield and had exercised his frustration upon his mother and younger siblings. The man might have been rotten, but his warrior's blood had burned hot and nourished Alastor's gaping void particularly well.

(NEXT)

[witchygagirlwrites]

Us Again-Part 1

Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x Reader (nicknamed Tink)

With 6 months to go before he’s home for good Mouse never expected that call even knowing it was a possibility. You were hurt, bad but alive. The complications aren’t apparent until you wake up

Warnings: Mention of a wreck, injuries received from the wreck

“So, how much longer you got Gerwitz?” Ronalds asked Mouse as the two of them walked through camp. Mouse grinned “Six months and I’m out for good” Ronalds nodded “Eager to get home to that pretty wife of yours?” Mouse raised an eyebrow “Tread carefully there man, fine line talking about her”

Ronalds laughed and slapped his shoulder “Easy man, not saying anything bad. I just see the difference in you after you talk to her and when you came back from that last leave I knew that was it. You’re ready to be home with her full time” Mouse nodded “I am, I regret having signed the six years now but for some reason that woman has stuck with me. It’s been hell.”

Being married to a detective that was in the top unit in Chicago while he was halfway around the world in active service was definitely not the easiest thing anyone could do but the two of you had made it work. When he’d first brought up reenlisting the two of you had been together for over a year, knocking on the door of two. He’d seen the terror in your eyes but you supported it. 

The day the two of you got married it was a small ceremony with the unit, a few from fifty one and med and your brother. He’d never been happier than that day. The first two years he’d been back in the army they’d kept him close to home but the last four he’d been gone a lot more but the two of you made it work. 

Phone calls, emails, facetime calls and he came home every time he got offered a leave to see you for however long he could.  The last time he’d made it stateside on leave you and he had discussed things and he’d decided to ride out his final contract and get out. He wanted to be home full time with you. He had quite a few offers on the job front so that was no longer an issue.

“I’m sure she’s ready to have you home too” Ronalds told him. Officer Abson’s voice grabbed both of their attention. “Yes sir?” his eyes landed on Mouse “Gerwitz, you need to come with me” Ronalds looked at him and shrugged. Wasn’t like either of them could argue with their C.O.

Mouse fell in step with Abson “What is this about sir?” Abson led him to one of the meeting halls. When they stepped in Chaplain Monroe was inside and Mouse had to force his feet to move, had to remind himself to stay standing, force air into his lungs. “Chaplain” he greeted and Monroe motioned to a chair “Maybe you should have a seat”

Mouse shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest “I’d rather stand” Everyone knew your job, knew there was just as big of a risk as one day having to deliver a death notice to him as there was a death notice to you but fuck he was down to six months. He would be home in six months. If something happened to you this close to the end? He’d never forgive himself.

“Is she dead?” he asked, swallowing down the lump of emotions in his throat threatening to spill over at the mere thought that he’d lost you. “She isn’t dead son” Officer Abson assured him. He nodded slowly as Chaplain Monroe explained “Jay Halstead, your secondary point of contact and a Sergeant Hank Voight went through the channels needed to contact us. Your wife was injured in the line of duty. She’s currently hospitalized in Gaffney Chicago Medical Center. This warrants a leave of compassion. We’ll get you on the next plane headed out”

He nodded slowly, trying to force more air into his lungs. Severely injured. What the hell did that even mean? You had a living will, they couldn’t keep you on life support over seventy two hours if it was needed. They only had a certain amount of time to bring you back if your heart stopped. He knew all of this, it made sense but right now the only thoughts going through his head was what if you were gone by the time he got there?

“You can use the phone in my office to call home” Officer Abson offered and he nodded numbly “Thank you sir” Chaplain Monroe offered a small smile “I’ll be praying for your wife son” Mouse wanted to ask him where was god when you got hurt but knew you’d smack him behind the head for being snarky towards compassion so instead he nodded “Thank you” and turned to walk out.

Jay paced the floor outside of your room. He was waiting on the phone call but when the number flashed across his screen he still nearly threw the damned phone. “Hello” he answered and heard Mouse take a shuddered breath “Is she alive Jay? They told me they’re gonna get me on the next plane out but is Tink still going to be there when I get home?”

Jay ran a hand down his face, trying to keep his voice steady, despite the tremor in his hands. “Her vitals are stable. Will and Connor both said it looks promising” “Promising? What the hell does that mean Jay? What happened?” “There was a wreck, she was on a case…the suspect hit her…her car flipped a few times” Jay swallowed hard, remembering the shape you were in when they found you.

“What are they doing Jay?” Mouse asked and Jay sighed “They’re doing scans Greg, a lot of scans.” “Ok, I’ll be home as soon as I can. Please don’t leave her, please” “I won’t, you have my word” Jay told Mouse goodbye and hung up. He stared at the phone for a moment and let out a slow breath. 

How the hell was he supposed to handle this? You were fighting for your life. You were his best friend’s wife, his wife’s best friend and one of his closest friends. All because some asshole decided he wouldn’t face the fact that he’d been trafficking girls and god knows you’d never back down from anything.

He heard footsteps and looked up to Voight walking up to him “That Mouse?” he nodded “They’re um they’re getting him on a plane” he nodded “That’s good, that’s real good” “Hank, what do we do if she dies before he gets here?” he asked and Voight shook his head “Don’t Jay..she’s strong, she can beat this”

“I hope you’re right,” Jay muttered, staring at the door leading to your room. Hailey hadn’t left from next to your bed since they’d gotten you to a room. 

When you woke up, everything hurt. Your left arm was in a cast, your head felt fuzzy and there was a pretty blonde woman who looked really upset next to your bed. She was wearing jeans,a dark green shirt with a badge at her waist. “Are you ok?” you asked in a small voice and when she lifted her head the light caught her blue eyes, a smile slipping onto her face “You’re awake” you nodded slowly “Yeah?”

“I’ll get Will” she offered so you nodded again “Ok, who’s Will?” she laughed “Tink, not funny” you raised an eyebrow “Who’s Tink?” her smile quickly dropped “Y/N…please stop teasing me” 

“I’m not teasing you…I don’t know the name Will or the name Y/N or Tink” you whispered and her eyes widened “Oh god. Do you know me?” you shook your head and saw tears spring to her eyes so you quickly said “I’m sorry!” and she reached a hand tentatively out “It’s ok sweetie, it’s ok. I’m going to go get Jay and Will. We’ll figure this out” “Ok” you replied as she started to stand but you stopped her by pulling her hand back. She looked at your face and you smiled slightly “What’s your name?” “Hailey” she replied, tears sliding down her cheeks so you asked quietly “Hailey? Why am I in a hospital?”

“You got hurt, Will is one of your doctors he’ll explain more. Jay is my husband and one of your friends” “Wow, ok” you could feel tears spring to your own eyes, the terror of your situation setting in because if what she was saying was right? What the hell was going on?  “I’m kind of really scared Hailey” you admitted and her hand curled around yours “It’s gonna be ok Tink. I won’t leave you if you don’t want me to” “Please don’t” you begged and she sat back down “In that case, I’ll hit the page button and we’ll go from there”

____________________

After Hailey hit the page button a redheaded man in scrubs and a brunette man wearing jeans a dark Henley and a badge at his side came walking in. “Look who’s awake” the redhead said and Hailey shook her head “She doesn’t know us or her own name Will” ok, redhead is Will. 

“What?” the brunette asked and Hailey nodded then reached for his hand and pulled him closer before turning to you “Tink, this is Jay. He’s my husband. You and him have been friends for a really long time. Will here is his brother actually” by then you were in a full blown panic, tears pouring down your face “Why don’t I remember any of you? Why don’t I remember my own damn name?”

Will touched your hand and your eyes flew to him “Y/N, you need to calm down. I know it’s hard but your body has been through hell. I'll go ahead and order more scans and see what's going on. In the meantime we’ll take it slow, ok?” you nodded “Ok” 

Jay looked damn near as panicked as you felt. Him and Hailey whispered something to each other before Jay turned his attention to you. He approached the bed slowly before sitting on the edge of it. He reached for your hand but stopped halfway, looking at you. You nodded because you felt safe with Hailey. You didn’t know her but she felt safe. He gently took your right hand in his “Y/N Gerwitz is your name but everyone calls you Tink. A man that was in our unit Alvin Olinsky started calling you that because he said you were sweet, short and sassy and always fluttering around fixing stuff. Tink like Tinkerbelle. Anymore you go by it more than your name” 

“Ok, thank you” you whispered and he smiled “Of course sweetheart” you took a deep breath “Unit?” he nodded “You’re a detective, same as me and Hailey” “How did I get hurt?” “There was a case, the perp hit you. You were in a wreck”  

You nodded then looked at Will, “Tests? Can Hailey go with me? If she will?” “Of course I will” she threw in and Will nodded “Of course” Hailey gave you a small smile. “I’m going to step out and talk to Jay then I’ll be right back” “Ok” you watched her walk out then looked at Will “What’s going on?” you knew tears were streaming down your face and he must know you because doctors didn’t look that distressed at patients being upset. 

He grabbed the tissues from next to the bed and helped you to gently wipe your eyes. “I don’t quite know right now but we will figure it out. I promise you”

_____________________

Hailey stepped into the hallway behind Jay and only then did she let herself crumble. She fell into his arms, sobs wracking her body. “Jay she doesn’t remember anything” he rubbed his hands down her back soothingly “I know baby, I know.. Connor and Will are gonna figure it out”

She pulled back and looked up at him, seeing tears in his eyes too “What if they can’t? What if she never remembers us?” then her eyes got big “Oh god, Mouse” he nodded “I’ll handle it, I’ll prepare him the best I can when I pick him up and I’ll talk to everyone else too. You just be with her. She wants you at her side right now so that must mean something good right?”

“Or because I was there when she woke up?” Hailey offered and he shrugged “Either way. You just be with her, I’ll go talk to the team and update them. Then I’ll check when Mouse’s flight lands”  “Ok, I love you” Hailey whispered in a small voice. Jay pressed a kiss to her lips “I love you too, she’s still here. We gotta remember that. The rest we can handle”

The longest flight of Mouse’s life was the one back to Chicago. Every moment that passed felt too long. What if something happened to you while he was in the air? What if Jay had to wait until he landed? What if he lost you?

He met you years ago, when Jay first pulled him into the twenty first for the tech position. He could remember the first time he saw you like it was yesterday. “So, you were in the rangers with Jay?” Adam asked and Mouse smirked at him “Yeah, I could tell you some stories about this guy” Jay laughed “Yeah but ya wont”

Mouse heard a voice coming from the back hallway “Halstead! I need you to roll with me on our C.I.” then you walked around the corner and froze when you spotted him, a grin slipping onto your face “Who’s he? Kinda cute” Jay shook his head and did the introductions between the two of you.

You crossed your arms, holding his eyes “So should I call ya Mouse or Greg?” without thinking he blurted out “You can call me whatever you want. I’ll answer to it” and the smile you gave him? Yeah you owned him then and there.

You were amazing. Tink, the sassy and sweet detective that was always fluttering around helping to fix stuff. You never got annoyed with him, even when Jay did. You brought him into conversations and invited him out. You went out of your way to spend time with him. When he started back going to the gym with Jay, the first time he actually caught you checking him out for a change? Yeah he may have blushed. 

When he asked you out, it was after a case. He’d been so damn nervous he stuttered. He figured that was that, you’d never want to date a man that couldn’t ask you out without stuttering. No, you instead stepped into him and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and told him “I’d love to Greg”

Falling in love with you was as easy as breathing. You were everything to him. The day you told him you loved him the first time was such a simple moment but ingrained into his memory. 

He was in the tech room fixing your radio that had gotten smashed in a takedown a few days before when you came walking into the room behind him. “Greg, did you save it?” he turned to face you and grinned at you “Do I get a kiss for working miracles?” and held up the now fixed radio. You damn near jumped into his arms because you and Jay had a habit of breaking radios to the point it even annoyed Voight. “Thank you! You’re amazing Greg Gerwitz” and pulled him into a kiss. He laughed “Anything for you” you pulled away and took the radio from him with a smile “I love you, you know that right? I hope you know that. If not, now you do” He was speechless for a good twenty seconds before a grin slipped onto his face “You love me?” you nodded and he pulled you back into his arms “I love you too Tink” and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“LANDING IN O’HARE” the voice came over the loudspeaker and he broke himself out of his thoughts. He quickly stood and headed off the plane. 

______________________

Mouse darted through the people around him and spotted Jay. “How is she?” he asked and Jay nodded “She’s awake” Mouse nearly hit his knees with relief “Thank god. Ok, let's go straight to med” ‘Greg, there’s something else” Jay added so he nodded “What?” 

“She doesn’t remember anything?” Mouse asked, looking from Will to Connor. Both of them shook their heads “It’s retrograde amnesia. The trauma from the wreck has blocked her memory. She didn’t even know her own name” 

He let out a shuddered breath “Ok, does she know she’s married?” he looked between the two men then back at Jay who shook his head “I didn’t know how to tell her” “Ok, I’ll um fuck..can I see her?” he stammered and Will nodded “Of course, she’s your wife Mouse” 

____________________

Jay walked in the room first, Mouse could hear him talking to Hailey. Then Mouse walked in. Hailey looked up and smiled “Hey” “Hey Hails” he greeted then his eyes landed on you. Your face was a roadmap of bruises. There were staples in your head, stitches on your cheek and that was just what he could see on your face. Your left arm was casted and you looked like you’d gone through hell.

You smiled slightly “Hey, who’s this?” and he felt his heart crumble. “Um Greg, Greg Gerwitz sweetheart” he told you and your smile got a little more at ease. “Greg…Gerwitz?…ok. Who are you to me?” He looked from Hailey to Jay and back. He didn’t know if he should tell you. It was a lot to spring a husband on someone. 

_______________________

Jay had left a few hours before but Hailey stayed with you. She hadn’t left you far, from what she told you the two of you were really close. When Jay returned however there was another man with him.  He was really good looking, Jesus you couldn’t remember your own name and was checking out some guy but he was. Brown hair that was a little on the longer side but suited him, bright blue eyes and a little bit of scruff covering his jaw and you could see dog tags under his shirt. A soldier? What the hell was a soldier doing here?

“Hey, who’s this?” you asked Jay and saw the man’s face fall. God you were tired of hurting people and from what Will had told you, you’d only woke up the day before. “Um Greg, Greg Gerwitz sweetheart” he replied and you felt your shoulder loosen at his voice. Gerwitz? Jay told you your last name was Gerwitz. “Greg…Gerwitz..ok. Who are you to me?”

He looked from Hailey to Jay and back. Hailey leaned up after a moment and took your hand in hers “Tink, this is gonna be hard to hear ok?” you nodded slowly “Ok” She took a deep breath before saying “Sweetie, Greg is your husband” 

Your eyes flew to him, feeling tears form in your eyes “Husband?” you asked in a small voice and he nodded slowly “Yeah, few years now” you swallowed hard “Oh god, I’m so sorry Greg” it was bad enough not being able to remember Hailey or Jay but what kind of wife couldn’t remember her husband? 

“It's ok, baby you’re alive. Nothing else on earth matters” he assured you but you could see the pain in his eyes like the pain in Hailey’s. You tried to blink away the tears but the moment they started to fall Greg was across the room to your side, he almost slipped his arms around you but stopped. “It’s ok” you whispered and he pulled you into his arms.

You felt a sense of comfort there, like familiarity. You had cried before but it was like the dam broke when you got in his arms. Sobs wracked your body “I don’t remember anything, my life, my job, my friends, you” he rubbed small circles onto your back, trying to be careful of the multiple injuries you had “It’s gonna be ok, we’re gonna figure it out”

A hiccup of a sob escaped you as you looked at him closer then and he smiled “Hey” “Hey” you replied, feeling fresh tears “I’m sorry” “It’s not your fault. Quit apologizing” you touched his dog tags that had fallen loose of his shirt “So, I married a soldier?” he laughed lightly “Long story, we’ll get into it later”  “Ok” you rested your head back against his chest “Do I have any family? Like blood? I’ve only met friends”

You felt him swallow hard and heard his heart start beating faster “We lost your brother a few years back” you felt more tears spring to your eyes for someone you didn’t even remember. “I can’t even remember knowing him, let alone losing him. What the fuck is wrong with me?” he pulled back to look at you “Baby, Jay showed me the car. I’m just happy you’re alive”

You nodded slowly, looking around at Hailey and Jay. Hailey looked so sad, so did Jay. When you’d met more of your unit they’d all had the same reaction. Happy you were alive but that sadness underneath. “Greg, I’m tired” you whispered and he nodded “Of course sweetheart. We’ll let you rest but I’ll be here with you” “Ok” you whispered and watched them walk out.

What were you going to do if you never remembered them?

____________________

Mouse was the last out of the door. Jay turned to face him “How are you?” and he shook his head, swallowing hard “How would you be?” and Jay nodded “We’re here man for everything” “I know, I appreciate it”

“She’ll get it back” Jay spoke low and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure Mouse, Hailey or himself but both of them whispered “I hope you’re right” 

Part 2

@forensicgirl99

@shadotiger9

@elvenpirate51

[totaly-obsessed]

kcc hurt/comfort pls (:

Breaking a Sweat

Kyra Cooney-Cross x reader request

-> Reader struggles to be alone and gets sick, leaving Kyra to look after her

-> Sick reader, also for this anon!

-> I don't know if hurt/comfort fics are my strength - I tried!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

When Kyra transferred to Arsenal at the start of the season it was a joined decision, that she would not live alone – and who to better pair her up than with you?

You were the same age, already knowing each other from the national youth teams and while you were an introvert, Kyra was an extrovert. It was a good match – and Katie obviously did not try to set you up.

She would never do that…

Living together was an adventure, that is for sure. It was Kyra’s job to do all the phone calls while you did all the paperwork for the apartment and while the brunette was obnoxiously loud, you would not change it for the world.

But now it felt lonely when the young Aussie was gone, having been called up to represent her country for the Asian Olympic Qualifiers. Whilst you could not be prouder of your new friend, you missed her.

Most of your teammates were gone as well – they had left for the Nations League. With only a few people in training everyone worked harder than you already did, desperate to get some more minutes on the pitch, representing the club.

Alone again, you struggled.

Cooking for one person? Too much work.

Buying groceries for you alone? Waste of money.

And while you forgot to care for yourself, your teammates noticed. And they tried, they really did try to get you to eat at the cafeteria but you were so focused on training that it was of no use.

Kyra returned from National camp when you had an off day, and she half expected you to have cooked something – your love language being acts of service. But even in front of the door, she could tell that something was wrong.

She could not hear any music, not even the TV running as background noise – highly unusual for you.

Just as fast as she had the door open, it fell shut again, a gust of wind pulling it close. It had gotten cold quickly, and it was not just cold outside, but also in your shared living space. Quite the contrast from Australia where she had been just twenty-four hours ago.

In complete darkness, the young Australian felt for the light switch, and as she pressed it the first thing, she saw was the messy living room. This was even more unlike you, who always tidied up after yourself.

“Y/n?” Her call was met with more silence, but after closing the wide-open windows and turning up the radiator she saw the lump of blankets on the couch move.

“Honey?”

No reaction.

Carefully Kyra pulled off blanket after blanket until she was able to see your face. A very sweaty one. “Shit. Let’s get you up.”

While you normally would have told the girl off for swearing, you did not even react – barely hanging onto her shoulders as she dragged you to the bathtub. She did not need to take your temperature to know that you had a fever – so the water was not as warm as you would like it to be, especially not with your high body temperature.

After wrangling you out of your sweaty clothes and into the bath, Kyra called Steph for help who had also just gotten home.

“Okay, you want to get her as dry as possible, her hair as well. Sit her on a chair when you blow dry it. get her into light clothes, no heavy jumpers. Lots of water, ibuprofen, sleep, and cool rags will do the trick.”

You were bibbering in the tub, your body temperature cooling down significantly – and while it took a while Kyra had managed to dry you off she managed to do it – cooing at you in a desperate attempt to calm you down. While you tried to help, falling over as soon as you moved a centimeter was not much use.

Dressing you in one of her shirts, the young Australian managed to get you into her bed, after deciding that your bedding needed to be changed as sweat clung to it.

“Don’t fall asleep honey – need to drink something first.” As fast as she could Kyra had gotten a water bottle and some crackers, practically force-feeding you until you fell asleep.

After placing a cool rag on your forehead, the brunette decided to clean up as much as she could. Cleaning the living room, and throwing every blanket that she could find, into the washing machine alongside your sweaty clothes left on the bathroom floor.

It terrified her to find you like this.

Once you were back on your feet, the two of you were going to have a serious talk about self-care. It was hard to grasp for her though – you had been just fine living on your own, so what happened?

Leah helped the young midfielder realize that it was not her fault that you had ended up like this – she had shown up at your shared apartment after Steph called her that you were sick.

With most of your teammates gone, you just missed them a lot.

You had gotten lonely, and if possible, Kyra would do anything to prevent this from happening again. Even if she would need to drag you to Australia.

[salternateunreality2]

Sephyrella (Sefikura Cinderella)

Cloud is the prince, Sephiroth is the maiden 💃

Sephiroth gets loose one day thanks to his fairy alien mother 👽, who gives him a lovely black leather dress, beautiful new shoes, and a bowl of pumpkin soup, which gives him the fuel he needs to attend the Nibel Mountains Kingdom Ball for the prince.

He is in love with Prince Cloud, because the LAST time he got loose from the mansion, he almost burned down a village, but was stabbed by the young man. He was still in his alien larva form at that stage, so his beloved didn't know what he was doing, poor thing, so Sephyrella is sure to look super normal and human for the ball.

Great job, buddy! Nailed it!

Cloud falls head over heels for this hot, giant girl, then becomes enraged when she ditches him mid-dance, leaving only her enormous, size 14.5 shoe.

It fell off because Sephyrella was turning to his alien form and his leg got slippery. It's not his fault! He just doesn't have as much practice as Mother at looking human. Not even the thigh-high belts could save him :(

It's ok, Cloud's royal retainer, Zack, found and fetched the shoe before Sephy could take it with him (goodest boy). 🐶

So now Cloud is angrily stomping around the mountains with this slimy boot that's almost as big as him, refusing to give any of the small women the time of day unless they have truly enormous clodhoppers. Claudia is sipping her wine going "what can you do? It's young love" while her advisors are wondering what they did in their past lives to be saddled with so much Strife in this one.

Hojo thought he was doing the world a service, honestly, by hiding his abomination away, but he still MADE Sephiroth, and tormented him into his first larval rage.

Cloud gets to the mansion, and Hojo tries to send him away, but he's so pissed about being slighted that he shoves his way in, yelling for Her to come out and give him a good reason for running away.

Cloud finds the sad Sephy as a gooey alien lump in the basement, crying because he's struggling to transform.

Cloud "impulse control is not my forte" Strife pulls out his sword, but Sephy transforms just in time and pulls on the perfectly-fitting boot.

Cloud is still gonna kill him, but Zack talks him down and they hear him out. They hear about Hojo's experimentation and abuse, find the vampire also locked in the basement who also has large shoes, and decide to set Mother loose as well.

Hojo dies a death worthy of the Brothers Grimm at her hands tentacles ✨

Sephiroth proceeds to follow Cloud around for months and months, and Cloud lets him because hey, it wasn't his fault Hojo brainwashed him the first time OR that he was turning to goo and had to leave the ball, he has no home, and he's really fucking hot. No, Cloud will not elaborate on whether that extends to his alien form or not.

Jenova gets employed as a courtier, and Vincent gets work as a palace guard. They make a really good team, and years after being forced to conceive a child, they realize they quite like each other and get married by Aerith, who also politely convinces Jenova not to Kill All Humans.

After the 51st fake-grumpy rant from Cloud about how annoyingly pretty Sephyrella is, his friends and family stage an intervention, inform him he's in love, and tell him in excruciating detail what he needs to do to gently court Sephyrella.

He ignores all their advice and uses his preferred approach to all problems: blunt force.

Cloud: Seph. Marry me. You're hot and good with swords and I don't hate you.

Sephyrella purrs so loudly it causes a minor earthquake, accepts, and they barely get married before they run off to their honeymoon to, uh, release some built up tension ✨

[ltash]

Chicago

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader 'oneshot' approx 7k words

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Sexual theme, angst

You lived alone in an apartment in a high-rise building in Chicago. The sprawling cityscape, dotted with glimmering lights and towering structures, was both a symbol of your dreams and the weight of your burdens. You worked at a local food chain to make ends meet and pay your college fees, but it was getting harder day by day. Rent increases, rising grocery prices, medical expenses, and college fees all took a toll on you. You were a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes, innocent and pure. You never drank and rarely went to nightclubs. Your focus was on your studies and your job, but life was becoming increasingly difficult.

One evening, after pulling an all-nighter to finish an assignment, you arrived at work a few minutes late. The familiar scent of frying oil and the hum of the kitchen greeted you as you rushed through the door, apron in hand.

The manager, Mr. Thompson, a stern man with a graying mustache and a permanent frown, was waiting for you. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were cold. "Andrea," he called, his voice flat.

You felt a lump in your throat as you approached him. "Yes, Mr. Thompson?"

He glanced at his watch pointedly. "You're late."

You swallowed hard, the weight of your exhaustion pressing down on you. "I'm so sorry, sir. I had an assignment, and I—"

"I don't care," he interrupted, his tone icy. "This isn't the first time. You know the rules. You're fired."

"But sir," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "I really need this job. I have college fees, and rent, and—"

"Not my problem," he cut you off again. "You should have thought of that before being late. Clean out your locker and leave."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood there, stunned. "Please, Mr. Thompson. Just give me one more chance."

He shook his head, unmoved. "No more chances. You're done here."

The words echoed in your mind as you slowly turned and walked towards the back of the kitchen to gather your things. Your coworkers cast sympathetic glances your way, but no one dared to speak up. You stuffed your uniform into your bag and took one last look around the place that had become a second home to you, despite its harsh realities.

As you stepped out into the chilly evening air, the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train. You were jobless in a city that didn't care, with bills piling up and no safety net to catch you. The city lights, once symbols of hope, now seemed like distant stars in a cold, indifferent sky.

Ghost and his team were in the city to terminate Hassan, who was hiding in a nearby building. As night fell, Ghost left his hotel, blending into the city's shadows. He wore his usual uniform: a black windbreaker jacket and blue jeans. A sniper case hung on his shoulders, discreet but unmistakable to those in the know. He was a British Special Air Service operator, and US General Shepherd had given him the order to terminate his target.

While Soap, Price, and Garrick made their way to the adjacent building where Hassan and AQ soldiers were hiding, Ghost entered your building.

You were sad and depressed after being fired. Tears welled in your eyes as you stood in the elevator, a delicate chiffon floral dress hugging your curves. The day's weight pressed down on you, your mind lost in the swirl of worries about rent, college fees, and your future.

Just then, the elevator door slid open, and another man entered. You kept your gaze on the floor, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his skeleton gloves. They were striking and unusual, sending a shiver down your spine. The air felt charged with a strange tension as the doors closed, enclosing the two of you in the small space.

The elevator continued its ascent, each floor ticked off like a countdown to some unknown fate.

His eyes tracked your every small movement, taking in your saddened demeanor. He noticed the tear that you tried to discreetly wipe away, and for a moment, a pang of pity for you registered in his gut. However, he quickly squashed it. He was on a mission, and empathy had no place on the field. Yet, he found himself unable to look away from you, a strange attraction he couldn't quite comprehend.

Ghost let out a sigh, his voice surprisingly soft and calm compared to the usual gravelly tone he used in the field. "Rough day?" he asked, his head slightly tilted, watching you closely.

Your gaze remained fixated on the floor. You didn't have the courage to see who he was. "Yeah," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "You could say that."

He nodded, understanding the weight in your tone. "Sometimes it's like that," he said, his voice still gentle. "But you'll get through it."

You swallowed hard, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. "Thanks," you managed to say, still not looking up. The elevator continued its ascent, the silence now feeling a bit more bearable with his presence.

The ding of the elevator signaled the arrival at your floor. As the doors slid open, you hesitated for a moment, then finally looked up. The man’s face was partially hidden by a hood and a mask with a skull pattern, his eyes dark and intense but not unkind.

"Take care," he said, giving you a small nod.

You nodded back, stepping out of the elevator. "You too," you replied, your voice a bit stronger now. As the doors closed behind you, you felt a strange sense of reassurance, a small spark of hope ignited by a chance encounter with a stranger.

As the elevator doors slid closed, cutting off his view of you, Ghost was left with a pang of... something he couldn't quite place. He mentally reprimanded himself. What the hell was he doing? He had a job, a mission to complete, and he was getting sidetracked by a civilian's problems.

But as he watched the floors climb on the elevator's display, he couldn't shake off the image of your sad face, the sound of your soft voice. It was like a ghost lingering in his mind, refusing to be ignored.

Ghost took a deep breath, trying to refocus. He had been through countless missions, seen and done things that would haunt most people for a lifetime. He was trained to compartmentalize, to set aside distractions and emotions. Yet, something about this brief encounter stuck with him.

He reached his floor and the elevator doors opened with a soft chime. Ghost stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, his senses immediately sharpening as he focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to let anything else interfere with the mission.

As he moved silently down the hallway, his mind returned to the mission briefing. Hassan was a high-value target, and this operation was crucial. But even as he mentally recited the details, a small part of his mind drifted back to you.

Shaking his head, Ghost pushed those thoughts aside. There was no room for distraction. He approached the window at the end of the corridor, checking his surroundings before positioning himself with the sniper rifle. He could see the adjacent building where Soap, Price, and Garrick were already in position.

"Ghost, are you in place?" Price's voice crackled in his earpiece.

"Affirmative," Ghost replied, his voice back to its usual gravelly tone. "In position and ready."

"Good. Let's get this done," Price said, the determination clear in his voice.

Ghost settled into his role, his eyes scanning the building opposite through the scope. His mission took precedence, but somewhere deep down, he knew he wouldn't forget the brief encounter in the elevator. And perhaps, once this was all over, he would find himself wondering about the girl with the sad eyes and the floral dress.

Ghost focused intently on his target, waiting patiently for the signal to take the shot. His thoughts drifted to the girl in the flowery dress, but he quickly shook them off, refocusing on the task at hand.

The streets below were relatively quiet, considering the late hour. A few cars passed by occasionally, and a group of drunk young adults stumbled down the sidewalk, but other than that, the area was still.

In his earpiece, he heard Price's steady voice. "Soap, you got eyes on Hassan?"

"Affirmative," Soap replied. "He's on the move. Heading to the rendezvous point."

Ghost's eyes followed the movement in the building across from him. Through the scope, he spotted Hassan, surrounded by a few AQ soldiers. The tension in the air was palpable as he steadied his breath, preparing for the shot.

"Ghost, you ready?" Price's voice was calm but urgent.

"Ready," Ghost confirmed, his finger poised on the trigger.

"Take the shot," Price commanded.

In that split second, everything fell into place. Ghost's focus was razor-sharp as he squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, a silent symphony of precision. Hassan dropped, the mission objective achieved.

"Target down," Ghost reported, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Good work, Ghost. Soap, Garrick, secure the area," Price instructed.

As his team moved in to secure the building, Ghost allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. The mission was successful. But as he packed up his gear and prepared to exfiltrate, the image of the girl in the elevator crept back into his mind.

You sat on your bed, tears streaming down your face. The landlord had given you a week's notice to leave the apartment because you couldn't pay last month's rent due to your tuition fees. On top of that, your job was gone. You saw the street down the window, knowing you would soon join the homeless community. But how could you survive being homeless? A gorgeous girl like you—it was so dangerous.

You thought it was your end, and you gave up. The weight of despair pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. The idea of ending your life seemed like the only way to escape the overwhelming pain and fear. You decided to go to the roof to perform this deed, hoping for a final release from the relentless pressures and uncertainties.

With slow, heavy steps, you made your way to the elevator, your heart pounding with a mix of dread and resignation. The ride up felt interminable, each floor passing by like a countdown to your final moment.

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out onto the roof. The night air was cool, and the city lights twinkled below, indifferent to your suffering. You walked to the edge, your breath hitching as you looked down.

As you stood there, contemplating the final step, you heard the faint sound of footsteps behind you.

After terminating Hassan, Ghost stood on the top floor, his eyes scanning the city below from the high-rise building. The mission was complete, but his mind wandered back to the brief encounter in the elevator. Suddenly, the ding of the elevator snapped him back to reality, and he saw you stepping out, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Before he could say anything, you headed towards the staircase.

Concerned, he followed after you, moving quickly but silently. He watched as you went and stood near the wall, then moved to the edge. The intent was clear, and his heart raced as he realized what you were planning to do.

"Oi!" he called after you, his thick British accent echoing in the open space. "The hell are ya doing up there?"

You froze, your heart pounding. "Don't come closer or I'll jump," you warned, your voice trembling with fear and determination.

Ghost's mind raced. He knew he had to act quickly. Utilizing his training and stealth skills, he moved with a silent, practiced precision. In a swift, calculated move, he wrapped his arms around you from behind and pulled you close, away from the edge.

You gasped in surprise, your initial reaction one of fear and resistance. "Let go of me!" you cried, struggling against his strong grip.

"Easy," Ghost murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. "I've got you. You're safe now."

You fought for a moment longer before the reality of your situation set in. The warmth and security of his embrace contrasted sharply with the cold, hard edge of the ledge. Slowly, you stopped struggling, collapsing into his arms as the overwhelming emotions took over.

Ghost held you firmly but gently, keeping you anchored. "It's alright," he said softly. "You're not alone in this. We'll find a way to get through it."

Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him, your sobs wracking your body. The despair that had driven you to the edge began to ebb away, replaced by a fragile glimmer of hope.

Ghost guided you to a safer spot on the roof, never letting go of his protective hold. Once you were both seated, he loosened his grip but stayed close, his presence a steady anchor in your storm of emotions.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly, his eyes full of concern.

"Andrea," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Andrea, I'm Ghost," he said, his tone gentle. "You're going to be alright. We'll figure this out together."

He brushed a hand gently across your hair, trying to soothe your sobs. "Just breathe, Andrea," he murmured, his voice gravelly, yet strangely comforting. "In and out. In and out."

As your sobs gradually subsided into soft hiccups, Ghost continued to hold you, his hand moving in gentle, comforting circles across your back. He could feel the tension leaving your body, replaced by a weary exhaustion.

He waited, giving you time to collect yourself, before speaking again. "You mind telling me what brought you up here tonight?" he asked quietly.

"My manager fired me from my job because I showed up late. I have been burning the midnight oil finishing my assignment and juggling between job, studies and work. I couldn't pay my rent last month so I have to leave my apartment within a week." You sobbed softly.

Ghost listened quietly as you explained the series of unfortunate events, his expression remaining stoic but his eyes revealing a flicker of understanding.

"That's a lot to deal with all at once," he responded, his voice still calm and steady. "Anyone would feel overwhelmed in your situation."

"I need to go back to my apartment." You said softly.

Ghost nodded, understanding the urgency in your voice. "Alright, I'll take you there," he said. He stood up, then reached out a hand to help you to your feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. I can." You looked at him, his eyes held a lot of stories.

As you took his hand and stood up, Ghost noticed the look in your eyes, the curiosity and interest that seemed to say you sensed something deeper about him.

He led you towards the staircase leading back downstairs, his hand still supporting you. "This way," he muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind.

As you both made your way through the dimly lit building, Ghost's mind raced with questions.

"So," he asked, breaking the silence, "you were planning to jump because of your current situation?"

"Yes. I was planning to end this misery once and for all." I nervously tucked a hairstrand as I walked with him towards my apartment.

Ghost's eyes narrowed slightly as he heard your response—he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern.

"You'd really consider ending everything over a shitty job and financial troubles?" he asked, his voice a little gruff.

You slowly opened your apartment door to reveal a spacious apartment, tall windows showing the nightlife down. Grey curtains hanging over them. It was lavish to say the least.

Ghost stepped into your apartment, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a cool, calculated gaze.

He turned to look at you, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Nice place," he commented flatly. "Didn't realize a fired worker could afford this level of comfort."

"I wasn't fired until today." You replied closing the door and leaning against it.

"Right," Ghost responded, still looking around the apartment. He noticed the way you leaned against the door, exhaustion and defeat written all over your expression. "But you said you couldn't pay the rent. You're getting evicted, right?"

"Yeah. Soon. Have to say goodbye to my place. I will be homeless sooner or later. My college fee is quite a lot. Either I pay the fees or rent." You sat on the couch in front of him across the coffee table.

Ghost took a seat in a chair across from you, his eyes fixed on you, studying your every movement.

"So why are you still going to college then? If you can't pay the fees or the rent, seems pointless to keep dragging this on," he asked bluntly.

Ghost looked at you with surprise that flickered across his face for a moment, then his expression returned to its usual stoicism. "Criminal Psycology, huh?" he replied, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "And then you'll join the CIA?"

He paused for a moment. "Yeah, coffee would be nice," he said with a brief nod.

You stood up and went towards the coffee maker. After preparing two cups of coffee. You handed him a mug. Your soft fingers brushing his gloved hand subtly.

As your fingers brushed against his gloved hand, Ghost felt a sudden, unexpected rush of warmth.

He took the mug quietly, careful not to react to the contact, though his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours for a brief moment. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice rough.

"You are welcome." You crossed your legs. The skin of your thighs shining in the light. "What were you doing on the roof, Ghost?" You asked.

Ghost's eyes flicked down towards your exposed thighs for a moment before he quickly diverted his gaze back to your face.

"I was... on a mission." he replied, his voice carefully neutral.

"What mission exactly?" You asked.

Ghost took another sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed on yours, as if trying to gauge how much he could reveal. "Can't really say," he said gruffly. "Classified, you know?"

"It's fine. No need to tell me. Are you in the British military, by the way? Your badge says Taskforce." You swirled the coffee gently.

Ghost was a bit taken aback that you had noticed his badge.

"I'm a part of Task Force 141," he confirmed, his voice still guarded. "British army."

"You made a saluting gesture. Thanks for your service Captain." You giggled.

Ghost couldn't help but let out a huff of surprise at your giggling, and for the first time since meeting you, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"It's Lieutenant, actually," he corrected, his voice still gruff but with a hint of amusement. "And you don't need to salute me, lass."

"Lieutenant! Very impressive. Its not easy to be a part of the best elite force. It takes great courage and bravery." You said as you stood up to put the cup on the counter.

Ghost watched you as you walked to the counter, his gaze lingering on the curves of your body as you moved.

He quickly looked away and took another sip of his coffee, trying to ignore the thoughts that were beginning to swirl in his mind. "Don't need no praises, love," he grunted. "Just doing my job."

"So, your mask is part of your job? Isn't it?" You stood near the window and looked at him smiling.

Ghost tensed slightly when you mentioned his mask.

"You're full of questions, aren't ya?" he retorted gruffly, setting the coffee mug down on the table forcefully. "And yeah. The mask is part of the job. Keeps my identity hidden."

You smiled shyly. "How stupid I am that I don't even know the real name of my saviour." You leaned against the glass window.

Ghost's eyes darted up to meet yours, his expression unreadable. He felt a strange mix of annoyance and something else he couldn't quite place.

"Don't need to know my name," he grumbled, shifting in his seat. "Saving you doesn't mean you get to know my life story."

You were so embarrassed. "It's ok." You looked away.

Ghost saw the look of embarrassment on your face and instantly regretted his harsh tone. He often forgot how his bluntness could come off as rude.

He got up from the chair and walked over to where you stood. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "Look at me."

You went to the kitchen and filled yourself a glass of water. Tears were welled up in your eyes. Sitting on the kitchen counter, you started drinking water.

He followed you into the kitchen, noticing the tears welling up in your eyes. It was unlike anything he'd seen before.

He moved towards you, his footsteps quiet against the kitchen tiles. "Hey," he said again, gentler this time. "You alright?"

"Yeah. I am fine. I have always been fine. Never drank, never partied, and never had relationships. I have always been on my own. Fine as hell." You blurted out.

Ghost leaned against the counter opposite you, his dark eyes studying you silently.

"You don't sound fine," he responded, his tone still gruff but not unkind. "Sounds like you're tired of being strong and of being alone."

"Doesn't even matter." You choked on your emotions. You looked at him before you threw your head back, closing your eyes in defeat as you placed your hands on the counter beside you. Your legs slightly parted. You looked absolutely ravishing.

For a moment, Ghost's gaze travelled down towards your legs, parted slightly on the counter, the dress riding higher up your thighs.

"It does matter," he replied gruffly, his voice lower than usual. He clenched his jaw, trying to push down the unexpected attraction he was feeling. "Don't say it doesn't."

You closed your eyes, letting the remaining tears fall. "Some people are broken, and I am one of them. Always in war with myself." You whispered.

Ghost listened to your words, feeling a pang in his chest. He knew that feeling all too well, the constant internal battle with oneself.

He took a step closer to you, his voice quieter than before. "You're not broken," he said, his gaze fixed on your face. "You're just battle-worn."

"I am looking for my blood on people's hands. Those who hurt me were my own. That is why I live here, all alone." I looked at him with my wet eyes.

He slowly reached out and laid a hand gently on your knee, his touch surprisingly tender. "Who hurt you?" he asked, his voice gruff but with a hint of protective anger.

"My own parents, my siblings, nobody is here for me. I am on my own. Left to rott in this city of souls." You whispered.

He moved closer to you, his body suddenly too close to yours. He could almost feel the heat radiating off your skin and smell the faint scent of your perfume. "You're not alone," he said firmly, his voice low. "Not anymore."

He removed his hand from your knee and slowly moved it up your leg, his touch light but electrifying. The feel of your skin under his fingertips was almost intoxicating, awakening feelings he thought he had buried deep down.

His hand reached your inner thigh, the heat from your body seeping through the thin material of your dress, making him want to touch more of you, claim more of you.

He was standing between your legs. You shuddered on his touch. A gasp escaped your lips.

Ghost smirked slightly at the gasp that escaped your lips, the sound sending a jolt straight to his groin. He moved even closer to you, his hips pressing against your inner thighs as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just above your ear.

"You like that, luv?" he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

"What are you doing?" Your shuddering voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled lowly, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. He moved his hand higher, his fingers tracing circles on the sensitive skin of your thigh.

"What does it look like I'm doin?" he asked huskily, his other hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his.

You fell on the counter leaning against your elbows, your eyes dazy, you take shallow breaths looking at him.

He lifted his hand to your face, his fingers tracing the contour of your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "You look perfect like this," he murmured, his voice rougher than ever.

He could sense your inexperience, yet it only made him more attracted to you. You were untouched, pure, and he wanted to be the one to take you, claim you, make you his.

He moved his hand from your cheek to your hair, his fingers threading through your locks, holding your head still as he leaned in even closer. "You're a bloody angel," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

He lowered his mouth to your neck, his lips gently trailing kisses along your skin, his teeth nipping at your pulse point. His hand moved down to your hip, his touch firm and possessive.

He pulled you close, your sensitive spot though a thin fabric away rubbing on the rough fabric of his jeans. You fell completely on the counter, your hips rocked gently, and a scream escaped your lips. Your hands clutched the counter hard.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, his voice hoarse with lust. He moved his head to the side, his lips finding the sweet spot on your neck, his mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses on your skin.

He placed his lips on yours, taking them in a passionate kiss. His hand tugged at the front of your dress as he pulled the front strap gently, losing it. He took off his gloves. His hands glided your outer thighs as he gently peeled off your panties. Down and up smoothly gliding from your legs.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, his breath ragged as he pulled his mouth away from yours. "Beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming over your body, the dress now loosened at the front.

His hands now moved higher to the soft mounds of your breasts teasing and pinching your nipples, his touch more possessive than ever. He lifted you gently, his strength clear, and set you down on the counter, positioning himself between your legs.

He leaned in, his mouth near your ear. "I want to fuck you right here, right now," he growled, his voice like a hot, primal rumble.

He brought his hand to your chin, lifting it up to make you look at him. His intense gaze locked with yours, his eyes dark and hungry. "Say yes," he commanded, his voice a low, gruff murmur. "Say you want me as much as I want you."

"Yes, Sir!" Your voice trembled.

"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and filled with desire. He ran his hands up your sides, rubbing the buds of your nipples, the dress gathering around your hips as he explored every inch of your body.

His hand moved lower, his fingers slipping between your legs, touching you intimately. He felt the heat and dampness between your legs, causing him to draw in a sharp breath. "Fuuuuck," he groaned, his eyes closing briefly.

As Ghost removed the mask, his face was unveiled for the first time to you. Sharp, harsh lines defined his features, a scar running down one side of his face, but somehow, that only added to his rugged attractiveness.

His eyes, a dark stormy grey, met yours, the intensity and raw desire in them clear and unapologetic.

A whimper escaped your lips as you saw him. He pulled your hair back, tilting your head back. His finger rubbing gentle circles around your clit.

He continued to touch you, his fingers circling and rubbing, all the while watching your reactions, a smirk playing on his lips. "You like that, don't you?"

His other hand, still holding your hair, tugged gently, tilting your head backwards even further. He leaned in, his mouth just above yours, his breath hot against your lips. "Answer me," he ordered, his voice a low, guttural rumble.

"Yes!" Your voice broken in desperation.

He captured your lips in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you thoroughly. His hand in your hair tightened, pulling your head back more.

His fingers pushed deep inside you, eliciting a small gasp from your lips.

Your body arched, you let out a throaty scream as you arched your back. Your pussy clenched against his fingers.

The sound of your scream, the feel of you clenching around his fingers, was enough to drive Ghost even further over the edge. He growled, his eyes locked on your face, his breath ragged.

"Ahhh! Fuck." Your moan echoed. His fingers stretched you as he continued moving them in and out.

It drove him wild. He upped his pace, his fingers moving into your pussy faster, deeper, making you moan even louder. The sounds you were making were driving him insane.

"You feel so good," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. "I could do this all bloody night."

His lips moved over your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses. He nipped at your skin, his teeth scraping against your sensitive flesh.

At the same time, his fingers continued their relentless pace in your cunt, his touch becoming rougher, more demanding. He felt your body responding to him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your muscles clenching and trembling.

"Such a needy little cunt for me." He whispered.

His words, rough and guttural, sent a shockwave through you. His hand in your hair tightened once more, and he tugged your head back, exposing your neck to him.

"You like it when I talk like that, huh?" he whispered against your ear, his voice a low, primal growl. "You like being my little needy...thing?"

He felt your body shudder and convulse, your pussy clenching as you came undone under his touch. His eyes, dark and intense, watched your face as you rode out your climax, his lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

His fingers continued to move within you for a few moments more, prolonging your pleasure before he slowly withdrew them. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "Bloody hell," he murmured, "you're bloody perfect."

His eyes widened slightly as he saw the sight of your blood on his fingers. He brought his hand closer to his face, looking at the crimson staining his skin.

His eyes darkened, his expression unreadable, as he looked up at you. "You're a virgin," he stated quietly, his voice a mix of surprise and something else.

You nodded slowly.

He leaned in, his hands on either side of you, trapping you against the counter. "And you want me to be your first?" he asked, his voice soft yet intense.

You nodded again.

He studied your face, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering just above your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "You have no idea what you're asking of me," he whispered, his voice guttural. "I'm not a gentle man."

"It's ok." You whispered.

His eyes darkened at your words, the raw desire in them nearly blazing.

"No, it's not," he replied, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "You're untouched, pure. I'm anything but."

His hands moved to your hips, his grip tight, almost possessive. "You deserve someone gentle, someone who can be tender with you," he continued, his voice gruff yet tinged with reluctance.

"I don't need anyone but you." You whispered

"Don't say that," he said, his voice ragged, almost pleading. "You don't know what you're saying. I'm not the hero in a fairytale, and I'm definitely not the type you take home to Mom."

You slowly sat, "I don't have a mom to take you to her, and I don't care what you do. You already touched me, and I am already so far there is no going back."

Ghost's eyes narrowed as he watched you, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation.

He closed his eyes, his head tilting back as if in defeat. "Damned woman," he muttered, his voice a low, guttural grumble.

"Let me love you." You whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes at your words. Raw, painful vulnerability mixed with something he wouldn't, or couldn't, let himself be loved.

"I don't know how," he muttered, his voice a ragged whisper. He looked at you, a mixture of self-pity and longing in his eyes. "I don't know how to let myself be loved. I don't even know if I deserve it."

"Beating yourself up for taking lives, you were compulsive to do things as a soldier. Its not your fault. Its not easy what you do. It changes you, it makes you a sadist but I saw you beyond that mask when you saved me from committing suicide. This mask doesn't define who you really are. You are just hiding behind it. Hiding from your true self. Ghost."

His eyes widened as you voiced his innermost thoughts, his mind reeling from the raw truth of your words. No one had ever seen him the way you did, had ever come close to understanding the turmoil and guilt that haunted him.

He swallowed hard, his usual aloof and stoic demeanour falling away, replaced by a vulnerability he couldn't hide.

"How can you see me? How can you see through all of this?" he murmured, gesturing to the mask and his military uniform.

"It takes a broken soul to understand another. Though I don't do what you do but I am broken in ways I can't be put back together now." I whispered cupping his face.

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as if savouring the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

"You're not broken," he said, his voice a ragged whisper. "You're just dented, like me. But you've survived. And that's more than a lot of people can say."

"You deserve to be loved like every other human. Don't keep running like that. You can keep running, but you can't hide from your true self. I know your true self may be buried somewhere in you. I will just have to take it out." I whispered.

He opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in them almost too much to bear.

He looked away, his jaw clenching as he tried to suppress the maelstrom of emotions swirling within him.

"You don't know what you're getting into," he warned, his voice a gruff whisper. "If you really knew who I was, the things I've done..."

"If you cannot come to terms with what you do, just leave it or accept the truth. Not many can do what you can. It takes nerves of steel, but someone has to do it and that someone is you. Don't beat yourself cus it's your duty to your country. You are not a war criminal just protecting your country."

He let out a derisive laugh, the sound bitter and humorless.

"Duty," he repeated, the word as foreign on his tongue as a confession. "That's all it is. I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore. It's just kill or be killed, day in, day out."

You slipped down the counter and wore your dress again.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with tension.

"We are done. We cant be together." You said raising your hands in surrender.

His face darkened, a mixture of anger and hurt flaring in his eyes. "Why not?" he demanded, his voice taking on a hard, stubborn edge.

"Cus you cant understand a word I am trying to say." You tried to explain.

His jaw clenched tight, his fist fisting at his side.

"Maybe it's you who doesn't understand," he snapped. "You think you can just waltz in here, talk about love and acceptance, and change me? You don't know the first thing about me. About what I've been through."

"What do you even want from me? Just my body?" You yelled.

He closed the distance between you, his body towering over you, his presence menacing and intense.

"Is that what you think of me?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. "That I only want your body?"

"I want to give you my soul, but you are not accepting." You took a step back.

"I know what I am saying. I cant bicker anymore. I dont have the energy."

His eyes softened slightly at your words, the hardness in his expression giving way to a hint of gentleness.

But the stubborn, closed-off part of him refused to let go. "You're just going to give up?" he asked, his voice a frustrated grumble.

"Yes. Just like you dont wanna be loved." You spat.

His jaw clenched tight at your words, his eyes narrowing.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice harsh and defensive. "It's not that I don't want to be loved. I just..."

He trailed off, his words catching in his throat. He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze.

"Cat got your tongue now?" You jabbed.

He scowled at your jab, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"Shut up, woman," he snapped, his voice gruff and irritable. "You're asking too much of me. You're asking me to open up, to let you in, when I've spent my entire life keeping people out."

"Why did you come here then?" You snapped back.

His expression darkened as if your question had hit a raw nerve.

"I didn't come here for this," he muttered, his voice a low, guttural murmur. "I came here because... because…"

He trailed off, struggling to find the words, his usual icy demeanor faltering slightly.

Because.....?

"Cus I can't stay away from you."

He muttered the words, as if the admission was wrenched from him against his will.

You nearly lunged at him, wrapping your legs and arms arms around him and crashing your lips onto his.

For a moment, he was frozen in surprise, your sudden display of affection catching him off guard.

But then something primal, something primal and possessive, flared within him. He wrapped his arms around you, hauling you closer to him, his mouth claiming yours in a fierce, almost desperate kiss.

He put you on your bed. Tearing your dress apart, he took off his shirt and jacket.

"I need you please. I can't let you go." You pleaded.

"Just take me, rock me, throw me around, have your way. Anything just to be close to you. " Tears welled up in your eyes.

"This won't be soft or gentle," he warned, his voice a ragged whisper. "I'll take what I want, and I won't stop until I'm done."

"Do it." You pleaded.

Part 2 link.

[riordanness]

wildest dreams - [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 1.3K

warnings: none

requested: yes!! (anonymous)

“In your wildest dreams, Jackson,” I scoff, staring down the boy fiercely. My sword in hand, my battle armour on, I was easy to beat this stupid son of Poseidon once and for all.

He grins at me, his smile slightly lopsided. “Okay, Red,” he teases. “Bring it on.”

I roll my eyes at the nickname. He’s been calling me it ever since he came to camp, two years ago. Ever since he found out I was the daughter of Ares, and I lived in a big ugly red cabin with a terrible paint job. I mean, I hate the cabin’s decor as much as the Aphrodite kids, but that doesn’t mean Percy Jackson gets to insult me.

I yell, and charge at him, our swords meeting in midair with a clang. I whirl, aiming for his unprotected side, but he blocks me, sidesteps, jabs at my stomach.

I stumble back, slashing at him, as anger flashes through me. I want to beat him. I have to beat him. This has been going on long enough, and I need to get my revenge.

Two years ago, Percy Jackson came to Camp Half-Blood. On his first proper day here, he tried to drown Clarisse, my older sister, and two of our other siblings. He made a fool out of Ares cabin. Then, later that summer on his stupid lightning bolt quest, he fought our father, the god of war himself, and somehow, he won. He ruined Ares’ reputation completely.

Ever since, I’ve wanted to turn Percy into a Poseidon pancake.

“Come on, y/n!” Adam, my favourite brother, cheers from the side of the arena. “Beat Jackon’s ass!”

“I’m trying!” I shout back, as Percy manages to catch the hilt of my sword in his. He’s stronger than me, and taller. He pushes down, fighting against my strength. Then, as he’s pushing his sword down, he suddenly twists, and I’m forced to let go. My weapon clatters to the ground.

There’s silence from the bleachers. Every camper there, who came to watch us duel, has no idea what to say.

I have a lump in my throat, and I don’t know how it got there. A sudden, overwhelming feeling of defeat grips me, and I send a tearful glare in Percy’s direction.

“I hate you.”

I shove past him, hoping my final words sting him as much as my loss to him stings me.

“You should let this go, you know?”

I glance up in surprise. Leah and I are on stable cleaning duty today, which is an absolutely awful job, in case you were wondering.

“Let what go?” I ask.

She waves her hand aimlessly in the air. “This whole… Percy Jackson thing.”

I raise my eyebrows, disbelieving. “You want me too, what? Forgive him?” I make a sound in my throat that’s almost a gag, almost a growl. “Hell no.”

“Come on!” Leah pleads. She’s the daughter of Athena, with pretty dark skin, dark braids, and warm dark brown eyes. She’s shorter than me, but way smarter and prettier. We arrived at camp almost the same time, three years ago. I’m still not sure why she likes being my friend, but I love Leah.

“Look,” she sighs, leaning against her broom. “I hate Poseidon as much as the next girl, and Jackson isn’t exactly my favourite person.” She grimaces, probably remembering the time Percy messed up and made her team lose at Capture the Flag. I’d won that day, so maybe I should thank Percy for his service.

“But,” Leah continues, “he’s not really a bad person. Like, yeah he’s a total dumbass and annoying and way too cute for his own good–”

“What?” I half groan, half laugh. “No he’s not.” I try to believe it myself.

Leah ignores me. “He’s not worth making your enemy.”

I sigh. “I guess you have a point…” Even saying that feels wrong. I want to hate Percy; I want to get my revenge and prove for once and for all that Ares isn’t lame, that we can be great.

But, Leah is right. There are bigger things to worry about now. There are rumours; Kronos is rising. Luke Castellan is making an army. Camp Half-Blood will be going into war.

I realise my grip on my pitchfork is so tight that my knuckles have turned white. I let go of the pitchfork, watching it fall into the straw on the stable floor and almost disappear.

“Go.” Leah gives me a little shove. “I saw him doing paperwork sorting for Chiron on the porch a little while ago.”

I give her a quick nod, brace myself, break into a sprint, running towards the Big House.

I spot Percy long before I reach the Big House porch. As I near, my footsteps slow to a walk, and I have to force myself to take a deep breath, striving for calm. My temper isn’t easy to control.

“Hey,” I call, taking the front steps two at a time.

Percy half-glances up, looks back down at his pile of letters and documents, then double takes at me. “Y/n?”

I try for a smile, waving at him with my fingers. “What’s kicking?”

“Uh–paperwork,” he replies, looking at me in slight confusion, probably wondering what I’m doing here. “For Chiron?” he adds quickly, then scrunches his nose in a way that almost makes me want to agree with Leah about Percy being cute. Almost.

I nod. “Sounds like torture to me.”

Percy grins wide. “Tell me about it.” He waves the stack of papers in the air as he gets to his feet. He’s only standing half a metre away from me now, closer than we’ve ever been without trying to beat each other up. “I never remember how much I hate being dyslexic until I try doing this.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly having no idea what to say. Percy seems to notice the awkward pause, and frowns uncertainly at me. “Why are you here, y/n? I doubt it was for just a chat.”

I let out my breath slowly. “Uh—yeah. I came to make out—I mean up! Make up.”

Percy tries to hide his smirk, and fails. I feel my jaw ache from clenching it. All my old hatred for this boy bubbles almost out of control, but I fight it, like I fight everything, and this time I win.

“Okay…” Percy muses. “Y/n, the daughter of Ares, god of war, wants peace.” He stresses the last word. “Not to mention I humiliated both her older sister and her father, when I was twelve.”

I grit my teeth and glare at him. “Do you want me to pulverise you, Jackson? Because I will.”

“Oh really?” Percy has an eyebrow raised. “But I thought you came to make up? Or was it out?”

“Why did I let her convince me to do this,” I mutter, already ready to just make a run for it. But no. Leah was right, albeit pretty frustrating and exasperating and extremely embarrassing. I did need to end this somewhat ridiculous rivalry with Percy. And I guess it was now or never, right?

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out before I can change my mind. “I’ve been stupid and selfish and I’m sorry.” I hold my hand out to him. “Friends?”

Percy stares at me, then my outstretched hand for a count of three. At first, I was almost certain he was going to leave me hanging. That would be so like him! But then, he grins, that adorable, dumbass smile I’ve known for so long now.

“I don’t want to be friends, Red,” he says, his words solemn and his tone teasing. “I’m in love with you.”

[another-fanfic-haven]

Perfection

Link to the previous part Word count: 720 And a song :) KMFDM - Megalomaniac

You always aim for perfection, to be the best, to be first, and to be at the top of the line.

And so, you ended here as a mere rookie in the Special Tactics and Rescue Services. You tried to set your place as the someone; the youngest, the smartest, the most courageous. But it all failed. You weren't the youngest - Rebecca was by two years. And who was the smartest? Of course, it was your Captain. Let's not even start with the courage. That list would be too long, and you - at the very bottom of it.

There was one thing you excelled at - technology. Even Brad Vickers, the IT specialist was starstruck by your abilities and how you stayed glued to the screen, seemingly busy, until he noticed you used the devices to chat on Usenet and play Telnet games. All after you completed your job for the day, of course. For an untrained eye, it looked like black magic - letters and symbols flying across the screen with no sense or reason, but for you? It made perfect sense. That was your intention, to stay busy, then go home, hopefully without being scolded. You didn't have much to return to, anyway. A small studio, which you had to share. Brilliant. At least it kept the bills low.

You envied them. The look in your eyes as they returned from their missions, more often than not in soiled uniforms, scratches, and other random injuries. They seemed so proud. So victorious. You wanted that for yourself. Why did they never take you for the missions? Hell! Even Rebecca from the Bravo team was out and about more often than you! And she's just a medic! And you are well. Even if you don't know what part were you playing in the S.T.A.R.S.? An IT guy, perhaps? Computer magician? Or just someone to fill the space, ready to be made redundant on a whim.

And so, your hate and disdain slowly grew within you, making your blood boil, watching them from over your workstation screen, hearing their voices retelling the stories. God. So annoying.

You preferred the silence. If you didn't finish a task during the day, you'd eagerly stay overtime to work in piece, at your own pace, over a cup of coffee.

"What are you doing here so late?" A voice rang behind you. Before you could react, you saw someone's hand resting on the desk, just next to the keyboard you've been typing on. Your body froze - your Captain was right behind you. You ought to be standing up in attention, greeting him properly. Not freeze in place!

"I'm finishing something up, apologies." You managed to utter, feeling a lump forming in your throat. You wanted to disappear at that moment more than anything. To hell with that assignment! Tomorrow's another day.

Albert straightened up, leaning his body weight over your chair. You heard him smirk, then... felt a pat on the shoulder? His hand lingered just a while too long, but oddly not uncomfortably.

"Good job. Don't overwork yourself." He stated the last phrase seeming like a command.

You sat there for a moment longer, frozen. You just got praised? It certainly sounded like it.

You heard him chuckle, probably shaking his head. He probably stood a couple of steps away now, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes locked on your posture from behind these dark glasses.

You were too shy to look up, maybe for the better. You just heard him hurry back into office, disappearing into the distance, stopping for a moment.

"Get some rest. It's an order, rookie." His voice carried through the deserted office before his steps disappeared around the corner. The way he pronounced your nickname, there was a hint of kindness instead of the usual snicker or a jab from your colleagues.

You nodded frantically, not sure whether he saw it or not.

You looked around the office - the buzz of the lights filling the silence, creating an even more lonely feel to the room. You turned your workstation, cleaned up the mess of papers on your desk, and turned to the exit.

That was one hell of an evening now, was it? Perhaps that cold captain is not that bad after all.