#rolling around on the floor having a fucking heart attack!!!!!!!!!!!

[rasberrybabez]

Little Killer

Simon “Ghost” Riley, also known as the infamous serial killer Ghost. You were supposed to be his next victim, but he just can’t break a birdie like you, can he?

But you can definitely break a few of his bones.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Tags: Slight hurt/Caretaking, dom/sub relations, smut (eventually), serial killer Simon so minor gore, blood, dark humor, size difference.

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt. 3 (hopefully! ❤️)

xoxo-Razz.writes

“…ya’ needa be more careful who ya’ bring home, birdie.”

Those words. Those ten, simple little words that almost sound concerned make you drop the box of pasta on the floor.

What have you done?

Simon is already standing, and you are too. Except only one of you is moving. Simon, creeping closer. He’s in no rush, stretching and groaning as he stands from the couch, rolling out sore muscles and a few broken bones, cursing as a bandage pulls at his side.

Then he’s turning towards you.

You should run. Really, definitely, truly run. Because if that man is who you think he is, who you know he is, then you are fucked. Dead.

And you should definitely not be standing, wide eyed and bare footed in a pile of dry penne.

Simon grins.

“Cat gotcha’ tongue, birdie? Look like you’ve seen… a ghost.”

Yep, okay, running now.

You bolt, as fast as you can. Where? No idea, but you’re running for your life. Out of the kitchen, throwing open the door into the hallway, and sprinting. Panting, very close to screaming, but you can’t waste your breath. Into the bedroom, where you can throw open your window. Call the police, just shut the door-

The door flies open and yeah, you scream. Forget saving your breath, you won’t have any when he slits your throat like-

“Calm down, birdie…”

His voice is deep as you run to the window. Simon isn’t running, following you across the small room with heavy footsteps, and a steady pace. No rush, he knows you can’t outrun him. He knows that you can’t get the window open fast enough, because you can’t. Damn thing won’t budge.

You’re panicking, breathing starting to speed up, hyperventilating as your panicked hands pound against the glass. The metal frame starts to budge, and your fists ball up, trying to force it open. Stupid fucking small and tight windows-

Large hands wrap around your wrists, and you’re yanked back.

The scream you let out is warranted.

Simon drags you backwards, your body flailing and screaming in his arms. Struggling, clawing at the thick and meaty arms that hold you, strong fingers now gripping your waist. With that many veins, you just need a few good slice of your nails, right?

Wrong.

He drags you, unaffected by the way you’re fighting, like a doll out of your room. You’re screaming, kicking, clawing and crying, desperately trying to break free. He’s tugging you back to the kitchen, hoisting you up and over his shoulder with a grunt, before tossing you onto the couch.

You yelp in surprise, momentarily shocked by the fact that this man, serial killer and all, previously hit by a car, had the decency and strength to toss you onto the couch.

Well, maybe not decency. And that thought makes you immediately scramble for the edge of the sofa, desperately reaching for something, anything.

Definitely not the hand that grasps yours, pulling you back onto the couch.

“Calm down, bird… yer’ makin a mess of yerself.”

You freeze, eyes snapping up to the man who’s holding your hands in his. Dwarfed by the scarred, thick fingers that enclose yours, gingerly moving you back onto the couch. You’re scared, because what the fuck is this guy playing at? Toying with you before he kills you? Teasing your heart just to make sure you have a heart attack before dying?

He scoffs at the confused and still scared expression on your face.

“Look atcha’ birdie… all flushed n’ cute like that. You’re gonna wear yerself into a tizzy if ya keep it going… take a breath. Can’t have ma’ pretty bird passin out on me.”

You swallow, but do as he says, taking in a shaky breath. There’s something about his voice, too sweet. Too condescending, undercut with that rough demand you don’t dare try and ignore, especially not from a serial killer.

He takes a step forwards, chuckling, running his hand down the side of your face, a breadth away. You still shiver, flinching a little bit. His hand grabs your chin more aggressively, snapping your neck to the side to look at him. No more chuckling, no more smiles no matter how sinister.

His eyes are dark, his glare hardened as he bends down to meet your eyes, lips centimeters apart. And God, they are beautiful lips… soft pink and plush, like the only unblemished part of his flesh. No scars and no marks, imagine how soft it would be if you just-

No, no no? What are you thinking! Serial killer, serial killer, serial killer that wants to kill you-

“Ya know how long I tracked ya down, birdie? Kept tabs on yer car and yer schedule to and from work… had to make sure you were perfect for me… next perfect little lass for my collection…”

He leans down, closer to your ear, lips brushing I to crest and trailing down to your neck. Not quite touching the skin, just teasing the hairs on your neck with that plush lower lip. You shiver, still trembling.

“Then imagine my surprise, little bird… when the lass I’ve been tracking’ turns around and goes and snatches up ma’ mind… can’t think of nothin’ else. Just her pretty lil skirts when she walks home from work… tiny lil top when it’s sunny out… god, birdie… you really messed up my mind, aintcha?”

You can’t breathe. Can’t speak, can’t move. He’s moving closer, the hand not on your chin moving down to your hands, thumb running over your knuckles. You wince, hissing softly at the touch. Your knuckles are bruised, a little bit bloodied from banging on your window. And with the adrenaline from earlier, it didn’t matter until he made you realize.

Made you feel something.

He tsks, and it finally snaps your gaze up. His eyes fall to your knuckles, letting go of your chin and taking your hands in his. You should be running, you should be fighting for your life. Hell, the cops should already be here, but no. Why didn’t you call police?

Why can’t you think straight around this man?

”Gone and hurt yourself birdie… now that won’t do. Can’t have any blood stainin’ those pretty little hands… leave that to me.”

You yelp a little as he tugs you forward by your waist, hands tightening as he picks you up. With a gasp, you’re thrown over his shoulder again, and he’s walking back to your bedroom. You can’t process it, the whole situation. You can’t make sense of it all.

He’s a serial killer. You were, are, for all you know, his next victim.

Then why is he pulling out the emergency kit from your bedside table? Why is he throwing you on the bed and kneeling on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his?

“Look atcha’… all scared and confused. Like a lil baby deer, all silly lookin’. Don’t worry birdie… we’ll get ya cleaned up nice.”

You whimper as he starts to wrap your hands in bandaids, wiping down the blood with an antiseptic pad and sticking on bandages in silence. You’re trembling, and as soon as he finishes with one hand, he runs a hand over your thigh. He gives you a look, like you’re some disobedient child, but you try to stop shaking anyways.

You swallow, silence stretching over you as your ever racing heart finally starts to slow. You take in his appearance, Simon, studying his concentration on your hand. Like he’s got a one track mind, and all he cares about is fixing his pretty bird’s hands up right.

You don’t know it, but that’s exactly what he wants.

See, he really didn’t want to actually get hit by your car. When he started tracking you, mapping out his next victim, there was something about you that was… different. He normally went for loners, women with no family ties in their life. Early to mid-thirties, on the poorer side, someone nobody would miss, as sick as it is.

But you?

You were younger. Twenties, a pretty little dove compared to Simon. And sure, you were lonely. No family, not really… no boyfriend, no friends. An old flat that cost less than half of his motel rate. And yet, despite it all, you were happy.

A cheery little thing, you were. In and out of your job at the supermarket with a smile, stickers decorating your name badge. Flowers to ever woman on Mother’s Day and carrying bags out to people’s cars when your shift was over twenty minutes ago.

Because damnit, his bird was a better person than he would ever be.

But if Simon can’t fix his soul, adding a nice, pretty clean one to his life might balance it. Simon knows he doesn’t deserve you, hell it probably would’ve been better if he just slit your throat then and there. But he can’t risk tainting that pretty little neck with red. Simon doesn’t deserve you.

But a selfish man takes what he wants anyways.

So he took you. Or, well, you took him. Another reason he justifies keeping you, because technically you’re the one that took him into your house. Offered to feed him and made all his wounds look pretty with those little white bandages, his cuts all cute with the soft pink bandaids you own. He doesn’t care what bandaids he wears, because it was your pretty little fingers that put them on him.

He didn’t want to really get hit. He wanted the same routine, except this time, he’d just take you. Bring you with him and plop you down in his apartment, and hold you there until you started to like him too. Because he’d never force his bird to do something she didn’t want, so he’d just have to show her every reason to want it. Every reason to want him.

“…are you going to kill me?”

Your soft voice snaps Simon out of his trance, his eyes snapping up to you. Soft skin, soft thighs, soft everything about you. Simon was head over heels with his pretty bird, her hair mused and her face a mess of mascara and lip gloss. A wreck, a panicked little wreck like a tiny dove trying to break free.

you weren’t going to be free of him for a while.

“Kill you? Birdie, I any gonna touch a pretty little hair on your head unless ya let me. Doesn’t mean you’re gonna get away from me, I’ll just have ya keep ya until you learn to stay.”

You swallow, hard, and Simon watches the way your throat bobs. Slowly, he rises from his knees, taking a step closer to you, invading your personal space. He tilts your head up, a finger under your chin, and god those eyes… just the look in those eyes makes his cock chub in his pants. Because what would they look like full of tears? Tears of pleasure, the pleasure only he could bring to his baby bird…

“You look so pretty birdie… you like it, don’t you? You like that little feelin’… knowin it’s wrong… but you can’t help it.”

His hand moves up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ears. He’s already looked around the house, the living room, your room. He’s seen what he needs to, he’s seen the dark romance books that you tuck away into the back corners of your shelves. The worn covers and torn pages, well loved and well read.

He knew from before his hunt started, that his little bird wouldn’t mind it eventually. She’d come around to him, he’d open her eyes to the man he is. Yeah, he’s a dirty soul. A dirty man.

But that’s the only type of man that’ll protect such a perfect, innocent little dove like her.

“Tell me, bird. What are you feeling?”

You swallow again. You shouldn’t be this turned on… Simon knows it, you know it too. The slight hum, the electric buzz between the two of you. The towering man in front of you who could snap your neck with a little twist of his wrist.

A man that for some reason, you were insanely attracted to. Insane, definitely insane.

But you look up at him nonetheless.

“…I-I feel… I feel like I-I shouldn’t want this.”

Simon grins, bending down to lean over you. Slowly, dwarfing your form, he presses you into the bed. His hands move to cage your head against the sheets, your heart spread out like a halo, like wings of a dove behind your head.

“No, Birdie. Ya shouldn’t.”

And with that, his lips crash to yours.

[d-lanx]

SIR!!!

[fatecantstopme]

Help Me Remember

Pairing: Dean Winchester x wife!reader

Summary: Your memories have been taken from you and it's up to Dean to get them back.

Warnings: Angsty af, memory loss, canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (M & F receiving), light face fucking, unprotected sex (P in V), biting (minimal), dirty talk.

Three Weeks Ago

"God almighty, what is that smell?"

You were doing your best to avoid inhaling too deeply--the stench uncomfortably strong. "Rotting flesh."

"Dead body?" Dean asked.

You nodded. "Several, I think."

"Great." Dean stepped in front of you, the instinct to protect you always foremost in his mind. He stepped through the open doorway, quickly enveloped by darkness.

You heard him grunt lowly and you stepped forward, trying to see through the darkness, but even your flashlight didn't penetrate it much. "Dean?"

When he didn't respond, you felt a tightening in your chest. "Dean?" you called again, a little louder.

The silence was deafening--sending cold chills down your back as you stepped farther into the room. "Babe? Answer me."

You took another step forward and your foot collided with something sturdy on the floor in front of you. You trained your flashlight downwards and inhaled sharply as the light illuminated a body at your feet. "Dean!"

You dropped to your knees beside him to check for a pulse, foolishly opening yourself up to attack in such a vulnerable moment.

The last sound you heard was a dark cackle coming from your right just before you were plunged into complete darkness.

Dean awoke with a low groan, rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing in his head. It took him several moments to get his bearings and remember where he was. As soon as the memories clicked in his mind, he called out your name. You didn't respond and he felt a cold desperation wrap around his heart.

"(Y/N)!" he yelled as he pulled himself off the floor. "Sweetheart? Where are you?"

He was met with complete silence, making his blood run cold. He couldn't find the flashlight he'd been carrying, so he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it into the darkness around him.

He immediately noticed the stench from earlier had dissipated, as had the total darkness that surrounded him in the moments before he'd lost consciousness. His flashlight had barely cut through the blackness, but his phone was able to light up the majority of the room around him with relative ease.

The room was completely empty. Not a single rotting corpse to be seen. No cause for the smell from earlier, nor any sign of what had caused the room to be plunged into complete darkness. More importantly, there was no sign of you.

Dean immediately ran from the room, hurriedly searching the rest of the abandoned home in the hopes of finding you passed out like he had been. When he'd searched every room to no avail, his panic had risen to untenable levels.

He called your phone, but it immediately went to voicemail. He left a frantic message before hanging up and calling Sam.

His brother answered on the second ring. "Dean? Everything okay?"

"Is (Y/N) with you?"

Sam could hear the panic in Dean's voice, causing his heart to race. "No...she was with you on that hunt in Colorado."

"I can't find her anywhere."

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

"I mean, I got knocked out and when I woke up she was gone. I've searched the whole damn house--she's gone, Sam!"

"Okay, breathe. She wouldn't leave you, so she's gotta be there somewhere."

"Well something knocked me out, Sam--and whatever the hell it was had to have taken (Y/N/N)."

"That doesn't make sense, Dean. You said it was a ghost--a basic haunting."

"Yeah that's what we thought it was! Clearly we were wrong."

"Alright, alright," Sam said in a soothing voice. "I'll pack a bag and head your way--we'll find her."

Dean let out a pained sound. "Hurry."

"I will."

**********

Present

You groaned in annoyance, rolling over in bed to slam your hand on the snooze of your alarm. When the incessant noise stopped, you sighed quietly, staring at the ceiling as light filtered in through the window.

You wanted to get out of bed and go to work about as much as you wanted to get hit by a car, but unfortunately the bills wouldn't pay themselves.

You dragged yourself out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before getting ready for work. Thirty minutes later, you were grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

When you reached the office, you sat in your car for a few minutes, gathering whatever strength you had to get out of your car and walk through those doors. You hated your job--this office life was simply not for you. It was boring, but the paycheck was decent and you didn't have any other options.

You'd only had the job for a few weeks--it would be embarrassing to quit so soon after starting. Besides, the work was easy and your coworkers were nice enough.

You sighed quietly before getting out of the car and heading into the office building. You were greeted by several of your coworkers and you said your good mornings as you made your way to your office.

The day passed by uneventfully, just as every single day of the past few weeks seemed to. When 5pm rolled around, you packed up your things and left for the day. You decided to stop and get Chinese food on your way home--the urge to cook about as far away as the country of China was.

After picking up dinner, you made your way home. As you pulled into your driveway, you noticed an old black muscle car parked in front of your neighbor's house. You thought it odd given your neighbor was out of town, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came as your stomach grumbled hungrily.

You grabbed your things and headed inside, dropping your keys and purse by the front door. You tugged your shoes off, silently cursing whoever created high heels. You sat your food on the kitchen island and went to the fridge to grab a beer.

You plopped down at the island, quickly pulling the containers of delicious food from the bag. You groaned happily as you took a bite of food--finally sating the grumbling of your stomach.

Mid-bite, you heard a noise upstairs, causing you to freeze. You listened closely, almost certain there was someone in your house. You grabbed a large knife from the knife block on the counter and made your way slowly towards the stairs.

You went up them as quietly as you could, stopping on the landing to listen for more noises. You heard movement at the end of the hall, where your office was. You made your way toward the room, holding the knife in front of you.

When you rounded the corner, you saw a man standing in your office, looking through your desk. You steeled yourself before stepping fully into the room, yelling "hey!" as you entered.

The man looked up at you and froze, eyes flicking between your face and the knife in your hand. "Woah, easy there, sweetheart."

"Who are you and why are you in my house?"

The man looked slightly confused. "It's me, (Y/N)."

"How the hell do you know my name?"

The man started to come around to the front of your desk and you stepped towards him, brandishing the knife in what you hoped was a menacing manner. The man was significantly larger than you, but you didn't feel the fear you expected to feel. You felt oddly certain you could hold your own against him in a fight--which made zero sense to you. You'd never been in a fight in your life.

"Easy, (Y/N). Just put the knife down and we can talk."

"You broke into my house, asshole. No way am I putting down this knife."

His hands were still up in the air, but he didn't seem any more afraid of you than you were of him. "Okay, sweetheart, just relax. I can explain."

"Stop calling me that--I don't know you."

The man looked hurt by your words, but he seemed to shrug them off. "Sorry, sweet--shit. Sorry." He slowly lowered his hands, waiting for you to make a move. When you didn't, he lowered them completely. "My name is Dean Winchester."

He waited for a moment, hoping to see a flash of recognition on your face--but your expression remained blank. It was like a stab to the heart, but he continued. "Your name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You're 33 years old. Your parents' names are Lily and Carter. You were born in New Mexico, but you spent most of your formative years in London. You came back to the U.S. after the death of your parents when you were 19. We met a couple years later on a hunt in Arkansas. We've been inseparable ever since."

The hand holding the knife was shaking almost uncontrollably. There was no way he could know any of those things--you didn't talk about your parents or your childhood with anyone. Hell, you barely mentioned the existence of a personal life.

"How do you know all of that? I don't talk about my family with anyone."

"You did with me."

"But I don't know you--I've never seen you before in my life."

"Yes you have...you just don't remember."

"Excuse me?"

Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Three weeks ago, you and I were on a hunt in Colorado. It seemed like a routine hunt...but something went wrong. I was knocked unconscious and you disappeared. I've spent the last three weeks searching for you."

"I've never been hunting a day in my life."

"Look, I know it's confusing and I understand why you don't believe me, but I swear to you, it's the truth."

Much to your surprise, every instinct in your body seemed to believe him...to believe this man you'd never seen before, to trust the man who'd broken into your home, to believe the insane story he was telling you.

You slowly lowered the knife and exhaled shakily. "I don't understand what's going on, but my gut instinct is to trust you."

Dean exhaled gratefully. "You can trust me."

"If you're fucking with me--" you raised the knife for emphasis, "I swear I will beat the shit out of you."

Dean laughed softly. "I'd expect nothing less."

You shot him an odd look and shook your head. "You hungry? I have Chinese food downstairs."

"Sure. I could eat."

You nodded towards the door. "You first sunshine."

He walked ahead of you, making his way down to the kitchen with you in tow. He sat down at the island and you sat across from him, setting the knife on the counter beside you.

"Want a beer?" you asked.

"Absolutely."

You pointed at the fridge. "Help yourself."

Once he had his beverage, he sat back down, eyes watching you intently. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, so you called him out on it.

"It's just...hard to see you like this."

"I'm sure it is. It's uncomfortable for me too."

He winced. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I've just really missed you."

You finally took a moment to really take in his features. You'd be lying if you said he wasn't the most attractive man you'd ever seen, but what really drew you in were his eyes. Sure they were a beautiful shade of green, but it was the warmth in them that made you feel comfortable. It was clear to you this Dean Winchester guy cared about you, even if you had zero clue as to why.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he answered.

"What am I to you?"

Dean inhaled sharply and his gaze drifted to the countertop in front of him. It was clear he wasn't sure how to answer that question--or if he should answer it. "I'm...I'm not sure I should answer that."

"I'm a big girl, Dean. Just tell me."

He looked back up at you, but when he opened his mouth, he didn't answer your question. "What do you remember of your life?"

"What?"

"Just tell me what you remember."

"Everything you said about my life was true. My name, my childhood, my parents...their deaths. I remember all of that. I remember moving back to the U.S....but I don't remember meeting you and I certainly don't remember hunting."

"So what have you been doing for the past 14 years?"

You closed your eyes for a moment, the memories infinitely more clear than the ones from your childhood. "I went to college and got a degree in marketing. Dated off and on, but no one had long-term potential. I had a few shitty jobs before finally landing the one at my current firm. I've been there a couple weeks, but I've got a corner office, a good paycheck, and decent coworkers."

"And do you like it? Marketing?"

You paused, considering your options before deciding to answer honestly. "It's boring, in all honesty, but it pays the bills."

"Do you ever think maybe you're meant for something more?"

You stared at him in surprise. You didn't know how he could possibly know that...you'd never shared that particular thought with anyone. You'd always felt that way--for as long as you could remember. "Yes," you whispered. "How did you know that?"

Dean smiled at you. "Because you are meant for more, (Y/N/N). You've spent the last 14 years doing more--you've saved countless lives. Hell, you've helped save the entire planet more than once."

You laughed loudly, thinking he must be joking. When you noticed his expression was completely serious, your laughter died instantly. "You--you can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious."

You scoffed. "No offense, Dean, but I've never saved anyone--let alone the entire planet. I think that's something I would remember."

He gave you a sad smile, pain lacing his gorgeous features. "There's so much you don't remember, (Y/N/N)."

The pain on his face matched the tone of his voice--and it sent a piercing pain into your heart. A pain you couldn't possibly begin to understand. "What else don't I remember?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think you're ready for all of that, sweetheart."

This time, you didn't correct him. The pet name made your chest ache--and you had a feeling this was a common term of endearment from him. It made you want to understand the nature of your relationship. "Then just tell me one thing. What am I to you?"

Dean exhaled slowly, brilliant green eyes fluttering closed. He was desperately trying to remain objective, but it was nearly impossible. He felt like he owed you in some way and he knew he couldn't lie. His eyes met yours once again and you were stunned by the depths of emotion swimming in those green orbs.

"I feel like I owe you the truth, but I don't want you to freak out. So just...please just let me talk before you respond."

You nodded and waited for him to continue.

"Like I said before, we met a few years after you came back to the states. About 11 years ago, to be exact. I remember the first time I saw you like it was yesterday. You were so beautiful--almost painfully so. I felt drawn to you immediately, but you wanted nothing to do with me. I suppose it only made me want you more." He chuckled fondly at the memory. "You were pure fire back then. No one could control you, not that I'd ever dare to try. I think I fell in love almost immediately. You were everything I'd ever wanted, but I uh--I had a bit of a reputation in the community. A not-so-nice reputation when it came to the ladies...and unfortunately for me, you were well-aware of it."

Dean shook his head sadly. "I still don't know why, but you decided to stay with me and Sam--my brother. The three of us hunted together and sometime during the year that followed, I managed to win you over. You were crazy enough to fall in love with me--and we've been together ever since." He paused. "So to answer your question, (Y/N), you're the love of my life. My best friend, my partner, my confidante, my whole world. You're the woman I vowed to spend the rest of my life with and I'll be damned if I don't make good on that promise."

You sat in stunned silence, unsure how to feel about his revelation. One thing was for sure, you knew he was being honest. Every fiber of your being told you he loved you--every instinct you had screamed that he meant every word he said. It nearly broke your heart to have no memory of the feelings he was referring to...you couldn't reciprocate his words. As far as you were concerned, he was a stranger to you. You had no idea how to respond--nothing you could have said would have comforted him.

After several moments of silence, you finally looked up at Dean, meeting his teary gaze. "I believe you," you whispered.

Surprise lit up the handsome man's face. He hadn't been sure how you'd respond, but he hadn't thought you'd believe a word he said. "I meant every word, (Y/N/N)."

"I'm sorry I don't remember," you murmured sadly.

He offered you a small smile. "It's alright, sweetheart. I'm gonna find a way to get your memories back--to get our lives back."

"How?"

"If you're okay with it, we'll go see a friend of mine. She might be able to help."

You might be crazy for being willing to go with this strange man...but your gut told you there was no other choice. You hated the life you lived and if there was even a chance the life Dean was describing was real, you had to take it. "I'm in."

Dean smiled warmly. "That's my girl."

**********

Dean didn't explain who exactly you were going to see, but he did tell you it was quite a distance away. As such, you'd have to stop in a motel along the way.

Dean kept the conversations in the car away from the life--from hunting. He wasn't ready to explain all of that yet, especially if there was even the slightest chance you would run away screaming. He needed you to trust him and mentioning monsters wasn't likely to keep things calm.

It was late at night when he finally pulled off into a roadside motel. "It's not the Ritz, but it'll do for a night," Dean commented.

You offered him a smile and followed him into the dingy room. You tossed your bag onto the bed nearest the door and Dean immediately picked it up and moved it to the other bed. "No way in hell are you sleeping by the door, sweetheart."

You looked a little surprised, but simply shrugged your agreement.

Dean winced. "Sorry--I just worry about your safety, that's all."

You smiled. "It's alright. I get it."

He tossed his bag on the bed and sat down to take off his boots. "You can get the first shower."

"Alright, thanks." You grabbed your stuff and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

Dean made a call to Sam as soon as the door to the bathroom was closed. He'd already called his brother and informed him that he'd found you and told him where you were headed. Sam was already on his way to you, speeding along the highway in your direction.

"Hey Sammy."

"Hey Dean. How is she?"

"She's okay. She's in the shower right now. Where you at?"

"Probably an hour out now. What motel did you stop at?"

Dean gave him the location and room number. "Call me when you get here and I'll let you in."

"Have you told her I'm coming yet?"

"I mentioned you earlier...but I'm trying to keep her as calm as possible. I don't want her to freak out."

Sam sighed. "Alright, but you might wanna mention it before I get there."

"Yeah, yeah. I will. See you soon."

20 minutes after the call ended, you came out of the bathroom, feeling reasonably clean. You'd spent more time in the shower than you'd needed to, if only to try and calm your racing mind. A lot had happened in the last five hours and you were mentally and emotionally exhausted.

When you came out of the bathroom, you collapsed on the musty-smelling bed and sighed.

"I know it's not a great place, but maybe you'll be able to get some sleep. I'm sure you're tired."

"Very."

Dean smiled sadly. "I'm gonna take a shower real quick, okay?"

You nodded and rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the rock-hard bed.

Dean eyed you warily before stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door.

You closed your eyes and fell asleep with shocking ease. Mental exhaustion was clearly a great cure for insomnia.

When Dean came out of the shower, he fully expected you to still be awake. He wanted to let you know Sam was on the way so you wouldn't be freaked out by his arrival. Unfortunately, you were clearly sound asleep and he didn't want to wake you. You looked too peaceful to disturb.

**********

You awoke sometime in the early hours of the morning, bladder throbbing uncomfortably. You got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, failing to notice the large figure lying on the couch near the bathroom door.

Your movement woke Sam up and he decided he needed to use the bathroom too. He stood up and stretched, waiting for you to come back out.

When you came out of the bathroom, you caught sight of a large male figure standing near the door. You quickly assessed him and realized it wasn't Dean--the man was too tall. Without thinking, you lunged towards him, fist connecting with the side of his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

He fell back into the small dining table, forcing it against the wall with a loud noise. The commotion was enough to wake up Dean, who shot out of bed ready to fight. It took him only a moment to realize what had happened.

You lunged towards Sam again, who held up his hands to block your attack. Dean jumped towards you and yelled your name, pulling you to a stop.

"It's okay! It's okay!" Dean insisted. "It's just Sam!"

You were breathing heavily, but you lowered your fists. "Who the hell is Sam?"

"My brother!"

Your mind cleared slightly as you remembered Dean mentioning Sam's name earlier in the evening. "Oh shit," you muttered.

Dean turned on the light and Sam rubbed his jaw woefully. "Nice swing, (Y/N/N).

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said softly. "I didn't mean to--I just reacted."

"Well it was a good shot either way," Sam said with a pained chuckle.

Dean laughed softly. "At least your instincts are still strong."

You winced a smile. "Let me go get some ice."

Dean stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm. "I'll go get it. Stay inside."

You could tell he was worried about your safety and it made you wonder what he wasn't telling you.

Sam sat down at the table and continued to rub his jaw. "It really is good to see you, (Y/N). Despite the punch."

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I didn't know you would be here."

"I figured that out," he said with a light chuckle. "Don't worry about it. It was a solid punch."

Dean came back in with a full ice bucket. He handed the bucket to Sam and chuckled. "Damn dude, she got you good."

You winced, feeling terrible for hurting him.

Dean noticed your discomfort and turned to you with a gentle smile. "It's alright, sweetheart. He's had a hell of a lot worse. He'll be fine."

Sam nodded his agreement. "He's not wrong. I'm alright."

You punched Dean in the arm in annoyance.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You could have told me he was coming!"

"You were asleep! I didn't wanna wake you."

You sighed. "Alright fine, but quit keeping things from me, Dean."

He nodded, rubbing his arm. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"I'm going back to sleep. Let me know when it's time to go."

The brothers watched you crawl back into bed and Dean let out a soft sigh. "I think I'm too awake to sleep now."

"Same," Sam muttered.

The two sat at the table in silence, allowing you to get a couple more hours of sleep before it was time to head back out on the road.

**********

"So who exactly are we going to see?" you asked curiously.

Sam shot his brother a look from the backseat of the car. Dean glared at him in the rearview mirror and the younger man stayed silent.

"A friend of ours from when we were kids," Dean answered. "Her name is Missouri."

"Missouri...hmm. Do I know her?"

Dean nodded.

"How can she help me?"

"She's uh...well she's really..."

"Perceptive," Sam finished for him.

"Yeah, perceptive."

You gave Dean an odd look. "Okay then."

"Just...trust me, okay? She's the best there is. She can help."

Two words remained unsaid, living only deep in Dean's heart. I hope.

When the car pulled up in front of the house, Missouri immediately knew who it was. She met the three of you at the front door, a smile on her face.

"What do I owe the pleasure of a visit from all three Winchesters?"

Dean froze for a moment, which didn't go unnoticed by Missouri. Nor did you miss her use of the words "three Winchesters".

You shot Dean a silent reproachful look and Missouri tsked loudly. "Dean Winchester, what did you do?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't do anything, Missouri. I swear."

Missouri's gaze landed on your face, her expression softening instantly. "Oh honey..."

Her expression frightened you, as did her extremely perceptive gaze. It felt as though she was looking directly through you.

"Well come in you three. It's cold out here."

The three of you followed the older woman into her home. She gestured for you all to sit in the living room while she went to the kitchen to make some tea.

"Why did she call me a Winchester?" you asked Dean in hushed tones.

Sam gave his brother an 'I told you so' look and waited for his response.

Dean sighed. "I wasn't completely honest with you yesterday," he admitted. "(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was your name, until six years ago."

"What happened six years ago?" You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it.

"We got married," he answered softly. "You decided to change your name...and you've been (Y/N) Winchester ever since."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to freak you out. I'd already unloaded a lot of information on you. It's hard to look your wife in the eyes and realize she doesn't remember you--it's even harder to tell her what she means to you."

"But you told me how much you loved me...why couldn't you admit we're married?"

Dean shook his head. "I really don't know, sweetheart. I think I was scared you would run. It had been so hard to find you and I didn't want to risk losing you again."

Tears welled in your eyes and you placed a soft, comforting hand on his arm. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean."

He looked up at you, expression matching your own. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, though he desperately wanted to kiss your lips instead.

"Tea, everyone," Missouri stated as she entered the living room.

You immediately took the cup she offered you gratefully. "Thank you."

She nodded at you, giving you a warm smile. "Now I know you boys don't like tea, but there's no alcohol in this house."

"I'll take a cup, Missouri," Sam said.

She handed him a cup and gave Dean a stern look. You had a feeling the expression had nothing to do with his not liking tea.

"Now why don't you boys tell me what brings you all the way out here."

Dean sighed. "You mean you don't already know?"

"Dean!" Sam scolded.

"Oh I imagine it has something to do with (Y/N)'s memories, but I'd like to hear it from you."

Surprise lit up your face. "How did you--?"

"I see your husband left a few things out, didn't he? Do you want to share, Dean?"

Dean winced and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, well--umm...Missouri is--well, she's psychic."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

"Psychic," Dean repeated.

You turned to look at Sam and he simply nodded. Your gaze shifted back to Missouri who gave you another sad smile.

"It's true, honey. That's why I know about your missing memories. I can see the block in your mind...and the fake memories replacing your real ones."

"Fake memories? What do you mean fake memories?"

"How did your parents die?" Missouri asked seemingly from nowhere.

"A car accident," you answered in confusion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dean and Sam exchange glances. Missouri sighed quietly and shook her head.

You tried to catch Dean's gaze, but he kept his eyes trained on the floor in front of him, suddenly fascinated with the pattern of the rug.

"Are you saying my parents didn't die in a car accident?"

"No, dear. They did not," Missouri answered.

"But I remember--" you fell silent as Missouri's words came back to you...'fake memories'. You shook your head. "I don't understand."

Missouri gave you a pitying look. "When you were 19 years old, your parents were murdered by something inhuman. A creature known as a ghoul. The ghoul appeared to you as your mother after it had killed her in an attempt to kill you, but you realized it wasn't your mother. You grabbed a wooden candlestick off the mantle and bashed the creature's head in, managing to kill it without even knowing what it was."

You were frozen in your seat, caught somewhere between disbelief and utter terror. You pushed the terror down, allowing the disbelief to prevail. You jumped out of your seat and yelled, "You people are crazy! Ghouls don't exist!"

Dean stood up and grabbed your arm to keep you from running. "Ghouls are very real, (Y/N). That experience changed your life forever. From that moment on, you knew the things that go bump in the night were real...that they murdered innocent people all over the world. It's why you came back here...to find answers and learn how to hunt them."

You shook your head vehemently. "No, no, that's not possible. They died in a car accident!"

Dean turned you to face him completely. "We met on a vampire hunt in Arkansas. Sam and I had identified the case and we ran into you early on in the hunt. You more than proved your abilities during that case and I asked you to come hunt with us. I didn't want you to keep going alone--it was too risky."

"What are you talking about?" you cried. "Vampires aren't real! None of this is real...it can't be real." Your knees turned to jelly and you would have fallen to the floor if Dean hadn't been holding onto you. He pulled you into him and you sobbed into his chest, finally allowing your tumultuous emotions out.

Dean held you tightly, tears of his own threatening to fall. He didn't know how to make you believe any of this--it sounded insane to him and he'd been raised in the life. He had a hard enough time convincing people who had literally seen a monster that they were real--this was so much worse. You couldn't remember all the monsters you'd killed in your life, so why would you ever believe a word any of them said?

"We might seem crazy, (Y/N), but I think if you allow yourself to believe it for even a moment, you may find it's not as crazy as it sounds," Missouri said gently.

You sniffled softly and turned to look into her eyes. You were still wrapped in Dean's arms--it made you feel incredibly safe, despite the situation. You focused on that feeling and tried to relax your breathing. Every single part of you was certain Dean would die to protect you...if that was true, then the love he had for you was real too. If his love was real, then so was your relationship--your marriage. If all of this was true, then maybe what he was telling you was true...maybe monsters really were real.

Missouri saw the moment you began to believe them--your eyes showed your emotions, but it was your mind that gave you away. She could sense your belief, just as she could sense the false memories swirling around in your mind.

"A witch," she said softly.

Dean's entire body went rigid. "What?"

"The missing memories and the replacements...it's the work of a witch. An extremely powerful one at that."

"Are you sure?" Dean whispered.

Missouri shot him a glare that told him exactly how certain she was.

"A witch?" you questioned softly, pulling away from Dean to look at his face.

"My least favorite type of monster."

"Witches are monsters?" you asked.

"Most of them," he responded.

"This kind of magic is dark," Missouri muttered. "Messing with someone's memories...it's very dangerous magic. The skill needed to not only block out the real memories but replace them indicates this is a very old witch. This type of magic isn't common these days."

"Demons?" Sam asked.

Missouri shook her head. "Older."

"Demons?" you squeaked out. "Demons are real too?"

Dean rubbed your arms comfortingly. "Yeah, sweetheart, but we don't need to worry about that right now, okay?"

You exhaled shakily. "How do I know what memories are real and which ones aren't?"

Missouri stood up and took your hands, forcing Dean to release you. She looked into your eyes, gaze extremely focused. After several moments she spoke. "Your childhood is intact up until your parents' deaths. Everything else up until three weeks ago is a false memory."

"Fourteen years?" you gasped. "Fourteen years of my life is a lie?"

Dean could see you start to spiral, instinctively reaching for you to try to ground you. "Baby, baby, hey--hey...focus on me, okay? Everything's gonna be okay."

Your eyes met his and your breathing began to slow once again. His warm gaze brought you back to earth, calming you in a way only he could. You felt calm--you felt safe. "Thank you," you whispered.

He pulled you into him for a tight a hug, placing his lips to the top of your head. "I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."

Both Sam and Missouri felt as though they were intruding on a private moment. Missouri gestured for Sam to follow her out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked softly.

You looked up at him. "I think so. It's--it's a lot to take in."

"I know, sweetheart. I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but everything we've told you is true."

"What happened three weeks ago, Dean?"

"What I told you before was true, but I left out a few details. We were on a hunt...a routine haunting. At least that's what we thought it was. When we got there, it was dark inside and it smelled like rotting corpses. It was strange, but not exactly out of the ordinary for a haunting. I went into a room ahead of you and I was knocked unconscious by something--I don't even remember what it was. When I woke up, you were gone."

"Could a--a witch do that?"

Dean nodded. "Easily. Especially if they're as powerful as Missouri thinks they are."

"So what do we do?"

"We find a way to restore your memories...then we hunt this witch down and find out why they targeted you."

"What if we can't?"

"Oh we'll find the witch. Don't worry."

You shook your head. "What if we can't get my memories back?"

Dean's expression betrayed his fear, if only for a second. "There has to be a way. There has to."

"There is," Missouri stated as she reentered the room with Sam in tow. "But it won't be pleasant."

"Can you do it?" Dean asked.

"I'm a psychic, Dean, not a witch."

Dean looked crestfallen.

"But I know someone who can help."

Dean looked back up. "Who?"

"Her name is Bethelia Logan. She's a very old, very powerful witch."

"Absolutely not!" Dean yelled instantly. "I'm not taking (Y/N) to a witch."

"Don't yell at me, child. Do you want her memories back or not?"

Dean started to argue again, but you placed a gentle hand to his chest, silencing him. "Do you trust her?"

Missouri nodded. "I would never send you to someone I didn't trust." She pointed at Dean. "You should know that."

Dean looked down in shame. He hated witches--hated them with everything in his soul. His hatred existed long before this moment...but now that he knew a witch had stolen your memories? He'd kill every witch on earth if he could.

"Where can we find this Bethelia Logan?" Sam asked.

"She lives in the mountains of Montana. Partially for the nature and partially for the privacy. She's not particularly friendly to strangers, but if you tell her I sent you, she'll help you."

"Are you sure she'll help us?" Dean asked.

"I'll send her a message. She'll help."

Dean looked down at you, wanting the decision to be yours and yours alone.

"You have her address?" you asked, a resigned smile on your face.

Missouri gave Dean the address and wished him luck. She said her goodbyes to the boys before sending them out the door. She stopped you before you could leave, wanting to say something in private.

"You are a strong woman, (Y/N). I have always thought that. You will need all your strength to get through this, if you choose to go through with it."

"What do you mean, 'if'?"

"The magic used to take your memories was very powerful black magic...and it will take very powerful black magic to reverse it. Such magic is dangerous for the user and for the person it is used on."

Realization dawned on your face. "Will I survive it?"

Missouri's expression softened, sadness darkening her gaze. "I don't know, honey, but it will likely be the most painful experience of your life. Which is why it must be your choice to go through with it. Yours, (Y/N)--yours alone."

You looked towards the Impala where Dean and Sam waited for you. You turned back to look at Missouri, a soft sigh leaving your lips. "Thank you for telling me."

"I love those boys like family, just as I love you, but Dean isn't like a normal man. He loves more deeply than anyone I have ever known--there isn't anything he wouldn't do for you. Don't tell him what I've told you, (Y/N). He won't let you make this choice on your own if you do...not because he doesn't trust you, but because he doesn't want to lose you."

Tears filled your eyes as you regarded the older woman. "I don't know how to explain it, but I know how much he loves me. I know what he would do for me. I need to remember why--desperately."

Missouri sighed quietly. "You've always loved that boy more than he believes he deserves, but in truth, he deserves all of your love. I've never met two people more perfect for one another--even if you never remember your lives together, I know you will love him that much again."

You nodded, allowing her words to wash over you. You knew in your heart she was right--you could see yourself falling in love with him, so it didn't surprise you that she believed it too. "Thank you, Missouri. For everything."

"You are so welcome, (Y/N) Winchester. Now go--and be safe."

You gave her a tight hug before walking away to join your husband and his brother on what would turn out to be the most harrowing journey of your life.

**********

It was a 16 hour drive from Missouri's home to Bethelia's home in Montana. You were quiet for most of the ride, reflecting on everything that had happened, as well as Missouri's final words to you. You half-listened to Sam and Dean's conversation, but your mind was elsewhere. You knew you had an important decision to make--one you apparently had to make entirely on your own.

Dean noticed your quiet demeanor and it worried him more than he cared to admit. He had to wonder what Missouri had said to you before you'd left, but he didn't want to press you for answers.

"Sweetheart, why don't you get some sleep?" Dean suggested softly. "I'm gonna drive through the night."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" you asked softly.

"We do it all the time. Don't worry," he assured you.

Sam nodded his agreement. "If he gets tired, I'll take over."

"Over my cold dead corpse," Dean grumbled.

You laughed lightly and Sam rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'll try and get some sleep."

You turned your body slightly, leaning your head against the car window. You tried to get comfortable, but the cold metal and freezing window made that impossible.

Dean noticed your discomfort, watching you shift back and forth for several minutes. "Hey baby," he said softly, getting your attention. You turned to look in his direction.

"Come here, use my shoulder." You looked up at him and he offered you a gentle smile. "I can tell you're uncomfortable."

You angled your body to lean across the seat, resting your head on his shoulder. You sighed softly, finally finding a comfortable position. You were asleep within minutes. Dean glanced down at you and smiled before placing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

Sam watched the interaction from the backseat, a mixture of sadness and joy weighing on him. He was glad Dean had found you, but he was terrified of what would happen when they made it to Montana. Sam wasn't stupid...and he knew a lot more about magic than his brother did. He knew it was going to be extremely dangerous to try and fix your memories, and he worried it wouldn't end well. He didn't want to mention his concerns to Dean as he didn't want to scare him. He knew exactly what his brother was like when someone he loved was in danger.

You awoke several hours later to rays of morning sun shining through the windshield. Your head was still resting against Dean's shoulder and he felt you stir slowly.

"Good morning beautiful," Dean whispered softly.

You looked up at him with a smile. "Mornin'." You pulled yourself up into a sitting position and stretched.

You felt Dean's gaze on you, so you turned to look at him. "What?"

"Nothin'."

You raised your eyebrows. "Then why're you looking at me like that?"

He smiled. "You're just so beautiful," he said softly. "I can't help but stare."

You blushed and looked away from him. "Not this early in the morning," you mumbled.

He chuckled lightly. "Nice try, sweetheart. You're beautiful 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. 366 during leap year." He shot you a wink, which only caused your blush to deepen.

"You're too much," you giggled softly.

He reached over and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. "You're just right."

"What did I do to deserve you?" you asked softly.

Surprise lit up his handsome face. "Deserve me? Other way around, baby."

You shook your head. "I don't think so."

He glanced over at you again. "There's a lot you don't remember, (Y/N/N). Trust me when I say I'm the one who doesn't deserve you."

"That's not what Missouri thinks."

"Huh?"

"She told me you think you don't deserve me, but she said you deserve all the love I have to give. She thinks very highly of you, you know."

The look of surprise covered his face again. "I think highly of her too."

You smiled, reaching across to grab his hand. He looked over at you with a smile. "I can see why I fell in love with you."

His heart skipped a beat, hearing your words had a profound effect on him. "I'm still not sure how I won you over, but I'll always be grateful for your love."

You leaned across the seat and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I can't wait to remember everything," you whispered.

He shot you a warm smile, but it quickly faded to sadness.

"Dean?" you murmured.

"I know what we're going to do is extremely dangerous. I'm no fool, (Y/N/N)...I know Missouri warned you. I don't want you to do anything out of some sort of obligation to me, okay? I would rather die than lose you."

You touched his cheek gently. "I didn't want to worry you."

"I know. I'm willing to bet she told you not to tell me anyway."

Your mirthless chuckle was confirmation enough. "For the record, any decision I make is because it's what I want to do...and I need you to respect my decision."

Tears welled in his eyes, but he nodded. "I'll try."

You shook your head. "It's not a request, Dean."

He sighed. "I know you can't remember...but I'm not good at these types of situations. I tend to be a little reckless when someone I love is at risk."

"Missouri may have mentioned that too."

Dean chuckled. "Of course she did."

Sam began to stir in the backseat, a loud yawn alerting you both to his consciousness. "We there yet?" he mumbled.

Dean laughed. "We've still got another 4 hours or so."

"You want me to drive?"

"No one but my baby gets to drive Baby."

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Did you just call the car 'Baby'?" you asked.

"The three things I love most in this world are, you, Sammy, and this car."

You laughed heartily, rekindling Sam's laughter and sparking Dean's laughter. You might not be able to remember it, but you knew deep in your soul that these two people were your family--and somehow you loved them even without the memories to back it up.

**********

It was mid-afternoon when the three of you finally pulled up in front of a small house in middle-of-nowhere Montana.

"Do you think Missouri called her?" Dean asked.

"We better hope so," you murmured, pointing at the various signs in the yard warning people not to trespass.

"Yikes," Sam muttered.

Dean sighed and got out of the car, you and Sam following close behind. Before Dean could raise his hand to knock on the front door, it opened to reveal a surprisingly young-looking woman.

"Can you read?" the woman snapped.

"Missouri Moseley sent us," Sam said quickly.

The woman's expression softened immediately. "Well why didn't you say so? Come in, come in!"

You followed her inside and she gestured for you to have a seat in her small living room. The three of you sat down beside each other on the small couch.

"I'm Bethelia," the woman said as she sat in a chair across from you. "You must be the Winchesters."

The three of you nodded.

Bethelia looked at you closely. "I see you've been touched by black magic."

You nodded slowly. "So I've been told."

"Can you help her?" Dean asked.

Bethelia hummed quietly. "I can, but I am not certain you'll want me to."

"Missouri warned me it would dangerous."

She nodded. "This type of magic is very strong. I cannot guarantee you will survive."

Dean froze beside you and you blindly reached out to grab his hand. You squeezed it reassuringly. "What do I have to do?"

"(Y/N/N)," Dean pleaded.

Bethelia watched you carefully. "You have to be willing to risk everything to retrieve your memories. As you are now, you can make new memories with the ones you love, even if you cannot remember the past. But if you choose to work with me, your life may be forfeit."

You'd spent every waking hour since leaving Missouri's thinking about what you would do. Now, faced with the question, you found you knew your answer without a shadow of a doubt. "I'm willing to risk it."

"(Y/N/N)," Dean pleaded a second time. "You said it yourself--we can make new memories...we can fall in love all over again."

You turned to look into your husband's bright green eyes, both of which swirled with emotions the depths of which you couldn't even begin to understand. "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

Bethelia rose, immediately understanding what you needed. Sam took a second longer, but quickly followed Bethelia from the room, leaving you and Dean alone.

Dean immediately rose from his seat and began to pace. "You can't do this, (Y/N). It's not worth the risk."

"It's my decision, Dean. I don't need your permission, but I would like your support."

"I can't give you that--I can't...I can't lose you."

You stood up and grabbed his hands, stopping him in front of you. "I know it's hard, but it's worth it to me--it's worth the risk. I need to remember, Dean. It's my life and if the last few days are anything to go by, then I'd give anything to remember the last eleven years with you. Anything."

He looked down at you, finally allowing the tears to slide down his face. Your heart broke as you took in his pained expression, fear evident in his gaze. "I want to remember everything about you--every moment, every heartbreak, every painful memory, every joyful second, every loving embrace. I want to remember what it's like to love you--and be loved by you."

You reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks, and you found yourself wishing you could take away his pain. You didn't want to die, but you didn't want to live a lie--you needed the truth and the only way to get that was to restore your memories.

"I need to remember."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into your palm. He would have traded places with you in a heartbeat, sold his soul to save you, set fire to the world to keep you out of harm's way...but he couldn't do any of those things. He was powerless to protect you and it was killing him.

"I know you're strong," he whispered. "but baby, I'm terrified."

"I know," you murmured. "I know."

You rose up on your tiptoes, gently pulling his face down to yours. You pressed your lips to his in a heated kiss--a kiss you tried to infuse with every complicated emotion you'd felt in the last several days. His body instinctively melted into yours like you were made for each other--like you'd done it a thousand times before.

When you separated, he leaned his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours. "I need you to trust me," you whispered.

Dean closed his eyes. "I trust you."

You exhaled shakily as you pulled away from him. It was killing him, but he couldn't make this decision for you--all he could do was give you the one thing you asked for.

"I support whatever decision you make...and I love you," he said softly. "I'll always love you."

You hadn't really expected him to support you, so hearing him say those words gave you an added boost of strength you didn't know you needed. You touched his cheek one last time before walking away in search of Bethelia.

"You are ready," the witch said from the doorway, her words a confirmation, not a query.

You nodded. "Let's do this."

Sam went to his brother's side, giving him a reassuring clap on the back. There wasn't really anything for him to say, but his presence was enough to calm Dean.

Bethelia turned to address the two men. "No matter what happens, you must not interrupt the spell. If you do, you risk her mind as well as her life. Do you understand?"

They both nodded.

"It will be painful," she said to you.

"I know," you whispered.

She simply nodded and gestured for you to follow. She guided you to a dimly lit room filled with hundreds of candles. The room was obviously home to a large amount of spell work, but much of the space had been cleared to make room for a large mat in the center of the floor.

"Lie down, (Y/N)."

You did as she asked, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

"You may wait in the hall," Bethelia addressed Sam and Dean. "Do not cross the threshold. Do not interrupt the spell. Do nothing."

You turned to make eye contact with Dean. "I'll be alright."

He nodded, desperate to believe you. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know," you whispered back.

"Let's begin," Bethelia said, silencing any further conversation.

You closed your eyes and sent out a silent prayer to any deity who might be listening--a prayer for strength, for survival. It was the last coherent thought you had before your mind was overwhelmed with a blinding pain you couldn't describe.

Sam and Dean watched from outside the room as you writhed in pain, cries of agony ripped from your throat as Bethelia worked her magic.

"I can't watch this," Dean gasped out, turning on his heels and practically running for the front door.

Even outside, he could hear your screams--each one like a knife to his heart. He didn't know how long he stood there, he had long since lost count of your screams, the seconds between them all but disappearing.

Sam had remained inside, standing watch over you as best he could. Much like Dean, his chest ached with each of your screams--he hated seeing you in so much pain.

After what felt like an eternity, silence fell on the small home--a silence more deafening than any scream. Dean waited for a few moments before running back into the house, terrified of what he would find.

When your limp body came into view, he tried to enter the room--tried to reach you, but Sam grabbed him and held him back. "Dean, you can't! She's not done!"

Dean struggled against his brother's hold, every instinct dying to go to you. He watched in terror as you remained still as death, not a single sound escaping your sweet lips.

"(Y/N/N)..." he whimpered.

Bethelia's chanting had ceased, her small form kneeling beside your body as if waiting for something.

Unbeknownst to anyone in the home, a war was raging inside your mind--a battle between who you were and who you believed yourself to be. Memories were fighting for their rightful place in your mind--false and real, a distinction your fragile psyche couldn't make.

The only thing you knew for sure was your name: (Y/N) Winchester. You knew it with the same conviction that you knew gravity was real. Your certainty gave way to another: Dean Winchester was the love of your life. Flashes of moments from the past few days flew through your mind, but the ones you focused on where the memories you didn't recall.

You saw the joyful moments filled with laughter and jokes, the painful moments filled with tears and loss, the passionate moments with nothing between your bodies but sweat and desire, and the loving moments that grounded you--kept you from giving up even when life was unbearable.

You felt his love for you wash over you in waves, drowning you in an ocean of passion you didn't wish to escape from. But then you felt your love for him, the depths of which you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Whatever you'd imagined you'd felt for him paled in comparison to reality--he was tied to your soul so completely you wondered how it was possible to have lived without his memory for more than a moment.

As these memories and emotions solidified within you, the false memories began to fade away, replaced by the real ones that had been locked away in the darkest recesses of your mind. Millions of memories flooded your mind, filling the gaps in your life, making you whole once more.

Dean, Sam, and Bethelia watched in silence, waiting for something to happen. Dean wasn't even certain you were breathing, but he was terrified to ask...he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Bethelia began to look more and more crestfallen as time went on, the minutes ticking by in painful silence. Sam's gaze was focused on her, praying her expression would turn hopeful once again.

Dean's gaze, on the other hand, was focused entirely on you--on your face. He was looking for any sign of movement, of life...anything to calm his aching heart.

An hour had passed since the spell had begun...twenty minutes of silence had stretched on after your screams had ended. They were the longest twenty minutes of Dean's life.

He had begun to lose hope--fearing the worst, but afraid to voice it. Suddenly, you gasped for air, bolting upright as you sucked in gulps of oxygen. Dean ran to you, breaking free of his brother's relaxed grip--not giving a damn if he was allowed to enter the room or not.

He dropped to his knees beside you, reaching out to grab your face. "(Y/N)? Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

Your eyes met his and his breath caught in his chest. Those sweet (y/e/c) eyes he loved so much were full of recognition--full of love. "Dean," you whispered hoarsely.

He wrapped you in a hug so tightly you thought he might squeeze every ounce of air from your lungs, but you couldn't be bothered to care. You were squeezing him back just as tightly, feeling at home in his arms.

He leaned back to look at your face again, brushing your hair back to see you more clearly. He hadn't realized how different you'd looked when your memories were gone--not until this moment. As he looked at you, he noticed all the little things he hadn't taken the time to pay attention to before. Your skin seemed to glow with love and warmth, your eyes sparkled more brilliantly than they had in the past few days, and your smile was bright enough to pierce through any darkness.

"Baby?" he asked tentatively, needing to hear the confirmation from your lips.

"I remember," you whispered softly, leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

He wrapped his arms around you again, tugging you close, and kissing you with as much passion as he could muster. The moment was so pure, so full of love, that both Sam and Bethelia were moved by it. The love the two of you shared was beyond what an average person would ever experience--incomprehensible to most.

When you finally separated, Dean leaned his forehead against yours. "You scared me for a minute," he admitted.

"I told you I'd be okay," you murmured. "Have a little faith, my love."

He smiled. "God I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Dean finally pulled away from you and rose to his feet. He took your hand in his and helped you up, your body still weak from the intensity of the spell.

You smiled warmly at the two people standing a few feet away. "Hey Sammy. Miss me?"

Sam grinned and stepped forward to wrap you in a hug. "Of course I did."

When he stepped back, you addressed Bethelia. "I can't thank you enough."

Bethelia smiled and gestured between you and Dean. "This right here? This is thanks enough. It has been a long time since I've witnessed a love this pure. I feel honored to have been able to witness it again."

You looked up at Dean as he smiled down at you. He kissed your forehead and you leaned into him. "I feel honored to be able to experience it--especially knowing what it's like to live without it."

"I know the feeling," he murmured.

"Not to bring the mood down, but I remember what happened in Colorado," you said softly.

Sam and Dean looked at you, both waiting to hear what you recalled.

"I saw you on the floor--unconscious--and I let my guard down. I was terrified you were dead...that's when she got me."

"The witch," Dean stated quietly.

You nodded. "She knew my name--knew yours too. All she told me was she wanted you to pay. She didn't explain what she meant."

"Why the hell did she target you if she wanted me to pay?"

"She had to have known what losing me would do to you--that it would hurt you more deeply than anything she could ever have done to you directly."

Dean felt a mixture of sorrow and anger. No one was going to get away with hurting you, not as long as he drew breath.

"All I remember after that was the pain...so much pain. Then I woke up in a house in a city I've never lived in before with a whole life I didn't remember. But as far as I was concerned, that was my life. It felt so real--up until the day you waltzed in."

Dean reached out and touched your face. "Anyone who dares hurt you is destined for a short life."

You'd known he'd want to kill the witch, and to be honest, you didn't blame him. Hunting monsters was your life--and this witch certainly counted as one. "We'll find her Dean."

"Damn right we will. I'll put a bullet right through her skull. See how she likes having her mind messed with."

You placed a gentle hand to your husband's arm, trying to calm him. "For now, let's just focus on the good things. I have my memories back and I'm with you. That's what matters."

Dean nodded and offered you a weak smile. "You're right, baby. You're right."

You turned to Bethelia with a smile, thanking her once again, as did Sam and Dean. You were surprised when Dean gave the witch a hug--he wasn't an affectionate man by nature, especially with strangers, but she'd saved your life in his estimation...so she got a pass.

"You're the only witch I've ever liked," Dean commented as the three of you prepared to leave.

Bethelia laughed. "There are others like me out there, I can assure you. We're not all monsters, hunter."

Dean nodded. "Perhaps not."

You grabbed his hand and tugged it gently as you started toward the Impala. "Come on, handsome. It's time to go."

The three of you piled into the car, waving goodbye to Bethelia as you pulled away.

"I'm so ready to go home," you mumbled with a yawn.

"Me too, baby."

"Me three," Sam added.

"Do you want to stop at a motel to rest?" you asked softly.

Dean's gaze rested on your face, drinking it in like he was scared he'd forget it. "Not a chance, sweetheart. I wanna get you home as quickly as possible."

The hungry look in his eyes belied his hidden meaning and you silently hoped Sam didn't notice. "Try not to drive too fast," you teased.

"I would never," he said in mock offense. He pressed firmly on the accelerator and the Impala shot down the road at an assuredly illegal speed.

You laughed and shook your head, knowing full-well Dean would get you home in one piece, even if it was a little faster than it should be.

**********

Fourteen hours later, you were back home in your beloved bunker in Lawrence, Kansas. What should have taken nearly sixteen hours, was shortened by Dean's intense desire to get home.

"Oh I missed this place," you said with a smile as you entered.

"You didn't even remember it existed until a few hours ago," Dean chided.

"I missed it without even knowing what I was missing...kinda like I missed you," you teased back.

He smiled, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. "Not nearly as much as I missed you."

You leaned back into him. "That could be because you actually remembered me."

"There's not a chance in hell I could forget you." He pressed gentle kisses to your neck down to your shoulder.

"As happy as I am to have you back," Sam interrupted. "Could you two get a room?" His voice was light and teasing, which made you laugh.

"Oh come on, Sammy--it's nothing you haven't seen before," Dean said with a grin. "Just a man loving his gorgeous wife."

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. "I'll go get my noise canceling headphones. You two have fun getting reacquainted."

You watched Sam walk off towards his bedroom, a small smile playing on your face.

"So you think we should get...reacquainted?" Dean murmured against the shell of your ear.

"Aren't you exhausted from all the driving?"

"I'm never too tired for you, baby."

You turned around to face him, leaning into his strong body. "I think you should take me to bed then, Mr. Winchester."

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Winchester." Dean slipped his arms under your round bottom, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He held you closely as he carried you towards your shared bedroom.

As he made his way to your room, you spent every second pressing kisses to his face sweetly, tangling your fingers in his short hair.

"You better stop that or I might take you right here on the table," he growled lowly.

"It's not like we haven't before," you giggled.

Dean groaned. "I don't wanna scar Sam for life--otherwise, I'd have you on every surface in this damn bunker."

"Maybe later then," you murmured as you kissed his neck affectionately.

Dean moved more quickly, the need to get you into his bed becoming overwhelming. As soon as he made it into the bedroom, he kicked the door closed, pressing you against it as he attached his lips to yours hungrily.

You gasped slightly before returning his passionate kiss. You tugged on his jacket, silently begging him to remove it. He pulled away just long enough to rip his jacket and flannel off before kissing you again.

His strong hands slid up under your shirt, moving upwards to tug it off over your head. His lithe fingers unsnapped your bra with practiced ease and pulled it forward to reveal the swell of your breasts.

"I've missed these," he murmured, lips immediately finding their home between the valley of your breasts. He took his time nipping and sucking at each one, playing with your nipples just the way you liked.

Your fingers dug into his scalp as you held him close to you, reveling in the feeling of his lips on your body. Your core pulsed with aching need, but you ignored it as best you could. You didn't want to rush him...not after all this time apart.

Dean loved how soft you felt against his toned form--he couldn't describe how much he'd missed touching you so intimately. This wasn't the first time the two of you had been torn apart from each other, but it had been the toughest time for him.

He felt your soft hands clutching at his shirt, desperate to remove it. Dean smirked against your skin before turning around and tossing you onto the bed. He tugged his shirt off over his head and threw it across the room, giving you a clear view of his impressive torso.

He started to climb onto the bed, but you stopped him. "Pants too, please."

He chuckled. "Impatient, are we?"

You shook your head. "I just want to see your perfect body on display--just for me."

He raised his eyebrows, but did as you asked, removing his pants slowly, eyes locked on yours.

You could see his hard member straining against his boxers, practically begging to be touched. You crawled across the bed, coming closer to him, eyes trained on your target.

"Whatcha doin' baby?"

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, tongue darting out to dampen your lips. "Wanna taste you."

Dean exhaled sharply, but there was no way he was going to say no to your request. He watched as you rolled over onto your back, head hanging off the edge of the bed. His breath caught in his chest as he realized your intentions. "You sure?" he whispered.

You grinned cheekily. "Come on pretty boy--use me."

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, quickly ridding himself of his last article of clothing. He gripped his large cock tightly in his right hand and stepped forward. He tapped against your mouth gently. "Open wide, sweetheart."

You happily obliged, mouth opening as wide as you could to accommodate his size. He slid slowly into your warm, wet mouth, groaning softly at the feeling.

You made a little noise of pleasure, wrapping your hands around his muscular thighs to get more comfortable and pull him even closer to you.

Dean's motions started out slow, but he quickly lost himself in the feeling of you, listening to the delicious sounds you were making. Within moments, he'd begun fucking your face properly, obscene sounds escaping his lips.

"Fuck--that's it baby. S-so good for me."

You moaned happily, fingers digging into his skin as you continued to take him deep in your throat. He leaned forward to grab at your breasts, massaging them and pinching your nipples as he thrust, which only increased your enjoyment.

Dean felt his orgasm quickly approaching, but he wasn't ready to cum just yet. He eased his cock out of your mouth and took a step back, chuckling softly at your whine.

"Don't worry, baby--I'm nowhere near done." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your messy lips before rising back up to his full height. "Get comfortable, sweetheart--it's my turn."

You quickly rotated your body so your head rested comfortably on the pillows at the head of the bed. Dean wasted no time joining you on the bed, quickly unsnapping your jeans before pulling them off along with your panties.

He wedged himself between your legs, lowering himself to lie flat on the bed. He inhaled deeply, face mere inches from your aching pussy.

"You smell delicious, baby--can't wait to taste you."

Dean's tongue slipped out of his mouth, running a thick stripe up your pussy before sliding between your lips to begin his assault.

Your hips shot off the bed, causing Dean to lay his arm across your abdomen to hold you in place. He didn't want you to be able to squirm away while he gave you as much pleasure as he could.

Your fingers entwined in his hair as he ate you out like it was the last thing he'd ever do. It felt so incredibly good and your moans of pleasure spurred him on.

"D--feels s-so good."

He moaned into your core, the vibrations making you cry out in pleasure. He sped up his ministrations, years of practice with you making him an expert on your body.

"So close," you whimpered.

Dean slipped two fingers inside of you, curling them to press against your g-spot rapidly. Within moments, your orgasm crashed into you with violent intensity, hips jacking off the bed despite Dean's attempts to hold you in place. He kept up with your movements, not stopping until you pulled him up by his hair.

He licked his lips with a smirk, enjoying the lingering taste of you. His normally bright green eyes were dark with arousal as he looked at your blissed out face. He hovered over you, eyes scanning your face as if to memorize every inch of it, before leaning down to kiss you deeply.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you. You loved the feeling of his strong body against yours, enjoying the warmth emanating from his heated skin.

"I need you, (Y/N/N)," he whispered against your lips. "Please."

"Wanna feel you inside me, Dean--make me forget my own name."

He growled lowly. "I can do that for you, baby. Only thing you'll be able to say is my name."

You moaned softly, lifting your hips to press against his, earning a sharp inhale from his lips. He slipped his cock in between your folds, entering you completely with one harsh thrust.

You cried out at the feeling of fullness, slight pain mixing with the pleasure. No matter how many times you'd made love to this man, he never failed to make you feel incredible. Every time was like the first time in the first few moments, before quickly morphing into an unforgettable experience with someone who knew your body better than you did.

"Move baby--please," you begged.

He always waited for a few moments, never wanting to cause you any undue pain, but as soon as those words left your mouth, he began to thrust into you in earnest.

"Shit, sweetheart--missed this sweet little pussy. Squeezing me so good, feels like heaven."

"Harder, Dean--please."

Dean shifted his body to give you what you needed, thrusts now deeper and faster than before. His fingers dug into your hips so tightly that bruises were sure to appear.

Your moans reverberated throughout the room, spurring Dean on. His own noises were absolutely sinful--and you loved hearing them. Your nails dug into his muscular back, trying desperately to ground yourself in the sea of pleasure.

You felt your orgasm approaching and you voiced as much to Dean, who was already well-aware.

"Want you to cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you make a mess on my cock."

You whimpered, clinging to him tightly as he continued his measured thrusts. "Dean..."

"I've got you, gorgeous. Let go for me."

You cried out in pleasure as your second orgasm washed over you, body shaking beneath his, waves of pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Dean worked you through your high, waiting until your body stopped shaking before gently rolling you onto your stomach. You tried to lift your hips to accommodate him, but he gently pressed you back down into the mattress.

"I've got this baby girl, just get comfortable."

He slid into you, laying his body on top of you, covering you like a heated blanket. The angle of his thrusts instantly sent you spiraling--body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart--how's this pussy still so fuckin' tight?" he growled in your ear.

You were clenching him tightly, intense pleasure slamming into your core with each thrust he made. You could hardly breathe--the pleasure already so blinding.

"You're close again, aren't you? I can feel it, baby," Dean murmured against your neck.

You couldn't do anything other than moan and whine as he fucked you deeper into the mattress. He was right--you were on the brink of another blinding orgasm.

"I wanna fill this sweet pussy up, baby--but I can't do that until you cum for me."

You whimpered softly, Dean's thrusts continuing.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

"Don't stop--" you gasped.

Dean continued his motions, not changing a single thing. He knew you were close--all you needed was a little push. His lips were so close to your shoulder, brushing softly against your skin. On a particularly hard thrust, Dean bit into your shoulder blade, drawing a scream of pleasure from your throat as you came around him.

He slowed his motions, not quite ready to cum, but not wanting to stop. He kissed the bite mark gently, making sure you felt his love for you in each kiss.

When you'd come down from your high, Dean eased you onto your back, cock still buried deep inside you. He began slow, gentle thrusts, waiting for you to refocus on him.

After several moments, your eyes finally met his and he smiled warmly. "There you are."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I'm right here, baby."

"Want you to fill me up," you begged softly.

Dean groaned. "You keep squeezing me and looking at me like that and I'm a goner."

You gave him a weak smile and clenched your pussy as tightly as you could. He gasped softly, hips stuttering slightly.

"Cum for me, Dean--please."

"Gonna f-fill you up, baby...s-so close."

You wrapped your weak legs around him, holding him against you. You placed a gentle palm against his cheek, forcing him to continue looking at your loving expression.

His thrusts had become sloppy and his breathing labored. A few more thrusts and he exploded inside of you, cries of pleasure leaving his lips as he filled you up. His spend leaked out of you as his thrusts began to slow to a halt, lips pressing into your sweaty skin in gentle kisses.

"I love you," he whispered repeatedly. "So, so much."

Finally, Dean collapsed on top of you, softening member still inside of you. The two of you laid like that for several minutes, entangled together comfortably. You held him tightly, almost afraid to let go.

Dean slowly began to lift himself off of you, leaving you cold and empty. You whimpered softly, reaching for him as he got off the bed.

He turned to you and smiled. "I'm coming right back, baby. I promise."

He moved slowly towards the sink in the corner of the room before returning with a warm, wet washcloth to clean your mixed spends from between your legs. Each touch made you shiver, but his gentle voice grounded you.

"I've got you, baby. Almost done."

Once he'd finished, he tossed the washcloth across the room before crawling back into bed with you. He laid down beside you and tugged you into him. You angled your body to lay your head on his chest.

The two of you laid in silence for so long you began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. He had to be tired after that drive and the exertion of your love making, so you didn't blame him.

Just as you began to drift off to sleep yourself, you heard Dean's soft voice. “Babe? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you said softly.

“Do you want that normal, apple pie kinda life?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head against his chest. “Absolutely not."

“Really? Not even a little?”

You looked up at him, expression softening. “Not even a little. I happen to love our life. I love living in a weird underground bunker. I love driving all over god’s green earth in our ancient Impala. I love staying in seedy motels and eating shitty diner food. I love saving people and hunting monsters. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

“Because I get to do it all with you.”

He smiled at you, gaze exceptionally tender.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better than this beautiful, messy life of ours.”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly. “I love you so damn much, baby.”

“I love you too, Dean Winchester. Always.”

You settled back against his warm chest, listening to the solid beating of his heart. You knew tomorrow would bring another battle, another problem to solve, but for right now, you were exactly where you needed to be--in the arms of the man you loved with all your soul, feeling safe and loved...finally home.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

A/N: A new smutty one-shot. I tried. I don't think it's good. But let me know what you think.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Avenger female reader

Warning: smut

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 4200+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

Tony Stark had invited Charles Xavier and his X-men to an annual gala he held in New York. There were many reasons for that. The Avengers and X-men worked together during difficult missions and unexpected alien threats. Also, he wanted to prove to regular citizens and high-profile politicians that mutants were not the enemy. This was the perfect opportunity for both groups to strengthen their bonds and work relationships. 

That’s how Logan had found himself, in a fancy all-black tux, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. His glare could kill anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t fond of these gatherings, and yet here he was. His eyes were searching for any threat, ready to fight anyone who would seem too suspicious to him.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know,” Hank chuckled when he approached Logan at the bar. “Nobody forced you to come here.”

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped on his whisky. “I know how important these things are,” he growled. “Charles wanted me to be here, so I’m here.” 

“Uh-huh,” Hank rolled his eyes. He ordered a drink. When the bartender had given him the drink with shaking hands, he had to chuckle. Some people were spooked by his blue fur and beasty look. “Isn’t it because you are waiting for a certain someone?” 

Logan sighed, defeated. Hank knew damn well that his friend had built some connection with a certain female Avenger. There was no denying he was waiting for her. “You really wanna go there, furball?” He tried to avoid the question. 

“Oh, come on, Logan. Everyone can see how you are smitten with that woman,” he chuckled. “It’s kinda nice.”

“I am not smitten,” he denied. Fuck, but even Charles constantly made comments and teased him about it. “By the way, shut your mouth, McCoy. I don’t want to hear shit from you. You’ve been eyeing that reporter from News 1.” 

That made Hank roar with laughter. He sipped his drink and turned to the crowd, watching people mingle around, talk and drink. “I’m not denying that. She’s pretty, we like to talk about science. You, on the other hand, keep denying everything. But we are not blind.”

Logan wanted to throw the drink at Hank. He would, if they’d be back in the mansion. He opened his mouth to snap back at him. But the energy shifted to the grand stairs. Logan’s eyes travelled there, wanting to know what the fuss was about.

Yelena Belova and Y/N Y/L/N walked down the stairs with linked arms. Both looked beautiful in their evening gowns and perfect hair. Yelena had a green satin dress. Y/N chose a sparkling black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, with a slit on her left thigh. 

Oh, if he could, Logan would drool like a dog. It was one thing when she wore that damn tight suit during missions, but this made him hard instantly. Fuck. Maybe this was the day he would have a heart attack. And she’d be the cause of it.

His blood started to boil when many men gave her attention. Once the women left the stairs, they were surrounded by testosterone. Yelena was a pretty lady, too. He had to admit that. Y/N was something different. She felt like a dream, a secret naughty fantasy that he wanted to come to life. 

“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a fly,” Hank said. 

Logan drank the rest of the whisky in one go, eyes never leaving Y/N’s figure on the main floor. Hell, even her teammates danced around her. Where did this jealousy come from? 

He thought about the day they met. It was an accidental mission, where the Avengers were also present. While Charles and Captain Amerika talked after the finished mission, Logan’s eyes were focused on the woman who caught his attention. 

Their first interaction was amusing. Y/N tried to save his ass when a group of soldiers surrounded him. Logan was on the ground, guns pointed at every piece of his body when she came out of nowhere, shooting down the soldiers, snapping their necks with bare hands. Her kicks were strong, her punches were deadly. 

Once the threat was eliminated, she turned and looked down at Logan. “Are you done napping?” she asked him with a grin. 

He huffed. “I had it under control,” he huffed. He got up on his legs, the adamantium claws had already retracted back to his skin. Y/N watched it happen like a hawk but didn’t comment on it. 

“Of course. You almost got killed by ten men. Yeah, you had it under control.” 

“I can’t die, princess,” he squinted at her. “It wouldn’t be the first time a firing squad would try to kill me. In the end, it would always just tickle.”

Y/N tilted her head. A smile played on her lips. “Well, if you are done bragging, let’s move. There is still more to come and I would like to be in bed with a book in my hand by ten.” 

That was just their first interaction. And with that, something bloomed between them. Friendship? Or was it something more? Every mission became exciting. He couldn’t keep the dumb smile on his face once he saw her in the field.

Logan ordered another whisky. A grin spread on his lips when he thought back to their first meeting. He learnt her name later. First, it was just her last name. Rogers barked orders when he said it. Her first name came at a different time when they all shared the same coms for better communication. 

“She’s coming here,” Hank warned him, which brought Logan back to reality. 

With every step, he could notice more details about her. The material of the dress, how deep her cleavage was, how her breasts popped out, the red lips, the earrings, the fact that she was like a fucking angel. All she needed was wings. And, she was coming to him alone. Fucking finally. 

“Wolverine,” she purred his name. “I can’t believe you are here. Who put a gun to your head and forced you to attend this magical evening?” There was a teasing smile on her lips. 

Don’t look at her tits, he thought. Don’t look at the tits that want to spill out of that dress. Fuck!

“I heard there was an open bar,” he said. “So I decided to come and drink Stark’s liquor.” 

She licked her lips, suppressing her chuckle. “No other reason?” I raised a brow. “See your friends, swoon ladies or play pool with the boys?”

See me?

He kicked in the rest of the drink and put the glass on the bar. His eyes noticed the crowd gathering in the middle of the hall. A slow music started to play, inviting everyone to dance. Logan’s hand reached forward. It was now or never. “Or I came here to dance with ya, princess.” 

One second and her hand slipped into his. “Oh, so you dance, you say? Lead the way.” 

Logan proudly walked her into the crowd of dancing people. One hand rested on her lower back, other held her right hand. He knew what he was doing. After all, this was the first dance of his life. Y/N was impressed by that. They started to dance to the string music. 

He sniffed her sweet perfume, the shampoo she used. That woman would be the death of him, Logan was sure of it. They kept dancing, not talking. His eyes were on her, locked in a gaze. He had been close to her before but not like this. She was like a magnet, pulling him closer to her. Her lips inviting, her touch soft. 

The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to spill out what was going through his mind. “You look beautiful tonight,” he admitted. “Fuck, you look beautiful every time I see ya.”

She chuckled. “Even in my suit during a fight?” she raised a brow. 

“Hell yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Princess, when you walk to the field in that suit, fighting fearlessly, I have trouble focusing. Once you did a trick with your thighs, choking an enemy with them, I almost lost it there.” 

Y/N’s hand left his. She brushed it up his arm and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, so that’s the effect I have on you, eh?” she teased the Canadian. “Care to say more?”

Logan’s hand joined the other on her lower back. He pressed her closer to his body. The height difference was evident between them. Even with her high heels, she was shorter than him. “Fishing for compliments?” 

“From you? Yes,” she smiled. 

He moved closer to her, leaning. In his mind, he was ready to press his lips against her. He needed to kiss her like he needed to breathe. This was his chance to taste her.

A third hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, Logan,” they heard someone say their names. The moment was ruined. He wasn’t able to kiss her like he wanted. On the other hand, he wanted to slash anyone who interrupted them.

With a growl, he pushed away, eyes finding Captain Rogers, accompanied by Hank. “What?” he asked them grumpily. He didn’t care it was rude. They ruined something special. 

“We need you in the conference room,” said Steve. “We have a situation.” 

Y/N sighed, stepping away from Logan’s hold. “What’s going on?” she switched to a work mode. She gave Hank a polite smile to acknowledge his presence. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted us about Trash industries,” said Steve. “Come, we’ll show you.” 

“Charles?” Logan’s eyes shifted to Hank. 

“Already with Stark,” he said. 

All four of them walked together from the grand hall. Yelena and Sam joined them on the stairs. The blonde woman was yapping about being taken away from a cute woman and a fine drink. 

“I just fucking got here. Already some shit is happening,” she kept cursing under her nose.

Logan kept close to Y/N. He missed her body being so close to his. He hoped they'd be able to continue. The conversation was intriguing. He remained by her side while walking through the hallway and to the upper levels of the compound. 

Her fingers brushed against his hand. It wasn’t an accident. No. Her fingers purposefully stroked the top of his hand. Instantly, his fingers moved. His pinkie hooked around hers for a second. It was a mutual sign. 

The group entered the conference room, meeting the rest of the Avengers and Charles. One by one they took a seat except Logan. He stayed on his feet, a step away from Y/N’s seat. A hologram appeared in the middle of the table. 

“We got a new location on Trask Industries, but this time, these fuckers had decided to work with some Hydra scums,” Tony started to talk, showing footage they managed to get from satellites. “Or so it appears. we are not quite sure.” 

“The public wouldn’t like that,” Charles commented. “They try to present themselves as a serious robotic corporation. Why would they jeopardise their public status if they start working with a public enemy?”

“That is trying to hunt down mutants and annihilate them,” Y/N commented. “Don’t want to imagine what’s going on behind closed doors. It can’t be nice.”

“Is it really Hydra?” Natasha asked. 

“It appears,” Steve chimed in. “Or something adjacent.” 

“So what? We’re just gonna sit here and wait for more details?” Logan scoffed. “The longer we wait, the more work they get done. I say to strike and kill them all.” 

Y/N licked her lower lip and grinned under her nose.

“We need a strategy, Logan,” said Charles.

“Not everyone can get sliced and heal with a snap of fingers,” Tony added sarcastically. “Chill, wolvie. Besides, we’ve sent Vision to have a look at the place. He’s a droid, a powerful one made out of vibranium.” 

Y/N turned her head to Tony. “That doesn’t mean he’s indestructible in this world,” she frowned. “New weapons are being developed every day to destroy mutants, to stop the Avengers. I hope Wanda went with him. They are stronger together.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course, she’s with him. Do you think I’d be able to stop her? I’m not crazy.” 

“Trask Industries are still working on the damn sentinel program,” Hank stepped into the conversation. “With Hydra’s help, who knows what they’ll be able to create together. The thought alone is scary.” 

Tony ended the hologram. Steve took the word. “I know we are supposed to be here at the gala, but I suggest a good night's sleep and be ready. If you’d like, we have spare rooms in here for you. You can stay here for the night if we need to leave.” 

When Steve said that, Y/N gently turned her head to the side, wondering what Logan would say to that. 

“I’ll gladly accept the offer,” Hank smiled. “At least I’d get to talk to Bruce for a little while and have a look at his labs. I’ll also alert the others at school.” 

“Howlett?” Tony raised a brow. 

Logan’s eyes moved from Y/N’s exposed shoulders to Hank and then to Tony. “Sure, why not? At least I don’t have to drive from place to place.” 

“I guess we are staying,” Charles smiled. “Thank you for your accommodation.” 

The meeting ended. Natasha and Yelena went back to the gala. Y/N talked to Hank for a few more minutes while he was waiting for Bruce. Steve and Tony took Charles back to the grand hall. Logan waited outside the conference room. Because no one was present, he took a cigar out of his jacket and lit it up. Three puffs later Y/N stepped out of the conference room with Hank. 

“Already smoking?” Hank sighed. 

“So what? Got a problem with that, bub?” 

“Always the charmer,” Hank shook his head. “Nice evening, Y/N. I’ll see you later,” he said once he saw Banner approaching the group. 

The moment Logan and Y/N were alone, they faced one another. “Are you heading back to the gala?” Logan asked. 

She hummed, thinking about it. “I’m not feeling like going back there. Honestly, those fancy parties are not my cup of tea. Wanna grab a drink in our lounge room? Stark has the fanciest shit there. You’re gonna love it.” 

Logan smiled at her. “Lead the way, princess.”

. . .

The lights were dimmed in the lounge room. Logan was nursing an expensive drink Y/N poured him. He made faces, eyed the liquid, humming and nodding. “This is some good shit,” said after a while. “Wealthy people can afford stuff like this. Also, Charles prohibited any alcohol at school.” 

Y/N chuckled, sitting in an armchair with her drink. “It makes sense. It’s a school. Of course, he doesn’t want any alcohol there. Does he let you smoke?” 

He huffed. “That he ain’t gonna do shit about it. No matter how much he threatens to turn me into a six-year-old girl.” 

“Aw, that’s adorable. I’d like to see that,” she put a wide smile on her face as she sipped her drink. “Maybe I’d brush your hair, put pink ribbons in it.”

Logan kicked the drink in and stood up from the couch. His eyes noticed a few photos around the place - from parties and group shots to professional photos of the team. They were like a family. What mostly caught his attention was Y/N. She was an Avenger, part of a superhero team. He huffed. Fuck, she was a damn Avenger. 

“What?” she questioned. A second later, she was by his side, eyes on the same photo of the team. “That was after Ultron almost annihilated the whole world. We celebrated our survival. Stark puked into his helmet,” she laughed. 

“Disgusting,” he frowned. “I must say, you look like one happy family,” he commented. 

Y/N hummed. “Maybe,” she shrugged. “I love them all to death.”

“But?” he raised a brow. 

She shrugged. “Will I sound ungrateful if I say I hate being in the spotlight?” she made a face. “I can’t do photoshoots, the damn galas and shit forever. I hate attention. I’d rather be like you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “Teaching mutant kids, living life out of the spotlight. Even though it’s not easy, in my eyes, it’s simpler. Not have to deal with this shitshow.” 

Logan’s fingers found her hair. He brushed them away from her face. His mouth opened, ready to say something - anything - but instead, he grabbed her by the neck, pulled her closer to his body and crashed his lips against her. It was like an invincible string, pulling them together. He couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t slow, gentle. Quite the opposite. Logan’s tongue explored her mouth, tasting every corner he could reach. It was hungry, possessive. One hand held her tightly around her waist while the other slipped from her neck, down her back until it reached her ass, taking as much of her cheek into his palm. 

Both arms wrapped around his neck. A moan escaped her lips when the kisses moved to her jaw and down to her exposed neck. 

“I need to have you,” Logan growled between the kisses. “Fuck, pretty baby.” 

“My room,” she sighed. “We can’t give Stark or Rogers a heart attack if we do it here. Although, it would be funny.” 

Logan pushed away, staring into her eyes. He went back for her lips, only to bite her lower lip, pulling at it. “Lead the way, princess,” he growled. “And hurry, or I will take you here, where anyone can see us.”

Y/N grabbed him by the hand, taking him away from the lounge room. Logan moved her to his side and kept a hand on her smaller back. He needed to feel her, to be sure she was real and not a damn dream.

It took them a good three minutes to get to her room on the upper levels. The moment she closed the door, her hands were on Logan’s jacket, taking it off, letting it fall on the floor. Both of them stepped on it, not caring. His lips smashed against hers, all tongue and teeth. Grunts and moans echoed around them as they moved closer to the bed. 

“I wanna rip this dress off,” he said, hands grabbing both of her covered breasts into his palms, squeezing them. 

Y/N undid his tie. “No,” she chuckled, unbuttoning his white shirt. “Too fucking expensive. Here,” her fingers quickly found the zipper on her left side. She pulled it down and the dress loosened. That was Logan’s sign to pull down on it. 

“Fuck, princess,” his eyes rolled when she stood there in nothing but a black lacy thong. Her breasts were on full display, nipples stiff, just for his eyes. “Fucking perfect.” 

Before he could latch onto her hardened nipples, she forced the white button-up down off his body, hand grabbing onto his muscles, fingers brushing over some of the hair on his chest. She stood on her tiptoes to find his lips in another hungry kiss. 

His tongue dove into her mouth, caressing hers in the process. He felt her hands moving down to his belt, unfastening it. “Impatient?” his voice hoarse.

She pushed him onto her bed. He fell with a loud thud. The adamantium bones almost broke it in the process. “Shit, sorry,” she gasped, forgetting about his weight. But instantly, she climbed on top of him. Y/N pressed her breasts onto his chest as she needed to kiss him again and again. 

Logan switched it up, rolling them so she was under his body. “Now, let me ravish you before I give you my cock,” he said, lips already trailing kissed down her chest, over her breasts. His mouth took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, biting it. Her other nipple was teased by his thumb and index finger. 

“Fuck, Logan,” she whimpered. 

His mouth then travelled south. His tongue left a wet trail down her stomach to the hem of her thong. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, taking her leg up in the air, kissing it from the thigh up to her ankle. “I should leave these heels on, darlin’. So fucking sexy. Fuck, and I will.” 

Y/N huffed. “Logan, please, I want your mouth on me.” 

“Ah, already begging. I love it,” he grinned. He put her leg on his shoulder. His fingers brushed down down her leg to her clothed pussy. With two fingers he brushed her over her hidden folds and clit. She practically purred. “Pretty sound.” 

“Come on, Logan, do something.” Y/N was becoming frustrated. He kept teasing her, rubbing circles over her clit. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Not now.” 

A dark laughter escaped his throat. “Patience, darlin’.” He moved the thong to the side, exposing her pussy to the cold air. He saw her clench around nothing. “What a pretty pussy, princess. So wet and ready for me.” And he buried two fingers inside her heat. 

Y/N moaned once his two thick fingers penetrated her. “Shit. Ah.” 

He pulled them out and put them straight into his mouth, tasting her. “Delicious,” hummed. “I’m gonna feast on you. Not now. Now, I need to feel you around my cock, princess.” 

Logan grabbed her thong and pulled it off her legs, leaving her completely exposed to his eyes. He made sure to leave those heels on. “Fucking gorgeous.” He stood up to get rid of his pants. 

The moment he unzipped them, she knew he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Shit, Logan, commando?” she raised a brow. His length was already hard, ready for attention. The tip of his cock was angry red, already leaking precum. 

She was ready to reach for him, take his cock into her mouth and guide it into her mouth. Logan was faster. He pushed her back on the bed, shaking his head. “No, no, darlin’. I’m gonna fuck you now. And next time, I will let you have a taste of me.” 

“Next time?” she smiled. 

Logan leaned closer, his head above hers. “You think this a one-time thing? Oh, pretty girl. No, no.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Good,” she gave him a bright smile. 

He pumped his length a few times before he positioned his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inside until her hungry pussy took him all in. He cursed, groaned when her walls clenched around him. Once he was buried to the hilt, Y/N sank her nails into his chest, leaving red trails down to his belly button. They immediately disappeared, healed.

“Feel so good, princess. So tight,” he moaned as he started to move. At first slow, enjoying every stroke, watching her face like a hawk. He loved how her eyes rolled, how she gasped for air with each thrust or how she squeezed her breasts. She was fucking perfect. 

His thrusts fastened. He watched her breasts bounce as she kept fucking her. His grunts were louder, more vocal. Logan’s right hand found her neck. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it. And that move made her clench hard around his cock. “Shit, Y/N,” he called her name. “Keep doing that and I will fucking cum inside you.”

Logan’s other hand sneaked between their bodies and found her clit. He started to rub it slowly, changing the movements. 

“P-please,” she gasped. “I need to cum, Logan.”

He smiled. “Yeah, pretty girl? Gonna cum around my cock?”

Y/N nodded, moaning and shaking under him. “Please, please,” she begged. 

“Come on, princess. Cum around my cock. Squeeze me with your sweet pussy,” he demanded. “Wanna feel you when you cum. Shit… Ah… Fuck…”

A few more flickers of his finger was what she needed to reach her peak. Her mouth formed a perfect O, her voice suddenly gone when the wave of pleasure hit her body like a train. Her back arched as he helped her through her orgasm. 

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he grunted. “Milk me dry.” 

A few more thrusts and he spilt inside her. His hot cum painted her walls. He growled like an animal, trying to prolong his climax with every movement. His body shook and then he stopped, panting. 

His eyes found hers. There was a post-orgasmic haze in them. A smile played on her lips. She was perfect, beautiful. Logan quickly leaned down and stole a kiss from her.

“Damn, princess,” he chuckled. “Such a good girl.” 

Those words made her clench around his length again. He grinned. “You like it when I call ya a good girl? Good to know.” Slowly, he pulled her semi-hard cock out of her and rolled next to her, catching his breath. 

Y/N rolled to him, resting her leg over his body. Her fingers drew patterns on his chest, moving through the hair delicately. “This was fun,” she smiled. “It’s been a while since I had a good orgasm.” 

He raised a brow. “Next time, I’ll make you cum on my fingers,” he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips on her fingers. “Then on my tongue and around my cock,” he hummed. “I will fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

She grinned. “Is that a promise?” 

“Fuck yeah, princess.” 

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, part 9

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

part one , part two , part three , part four , part five , part six , part seven , part eight , part ten

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: a half-day in the life of a normal couple! you attend jane's wedding. the reception gets messy

word count: 15.1k words

warnings: slightly proofread! i wrote this in one sitting ... don't judge too hard

author's note: okay y'all i know this is a heavy chapter but like ... we love to see it, right?

content warning: mentions of death, angst at the end, suggestive content, kissing, vulgar language, let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

“Did you fuck the Colonel?”

“Excuse me?” you blink at your computer screen, swiveling in your chair to look at your co-worker, Alivia. You point at the large, digital clock in the room. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“Okay? And?” Alivia pushes away from her desk, her chair scraping across the floor. Your brows furrow.

You look around, unsure of what the fuck is happening. It is your first day back from the Summit, having spent the travel day off thanks to the General, and you could barely focus on the task at hand since your body is still so deliciously sore from Caleb. You even wore a turtleneck to work today since your neck is just covered in love bites and hickeys from Caleb. When he said he wasn’t going to leave a spot untouched, he meant it! Even the skin of your thighs and breasts are covered in the dark purple and red marks, none of them having lightened up just yet.

“You fucked him, didn’t you? Diana will not shut up about it in the break room—”

“Why the fuck is she talking about it?” you lean forward and grab Alivia’s wrist, irritation flashing across your face. “She doesn’t know shit!” you whisper yell. Alivia smirks at you, laying her free hand on top of yours, her fingernails mischievously  scratching your skin.

“So it’s true!” she lowers her voice. You roll your eyes and begin to pull away when she drags you back to her. “You did fuck him!”

“So what if I did?” you nervously laugh, trying to cover your ass as best as you can. “It’s not like he’s going to walk in here and point to me and declare his love for me—” you turn in your chair, making a big movement with your arm, and face the door where Caleb stands, his Colonel hat tucked under his arm, “—motherfucker! You scared me!” 

“Language,” his voice is half-amused, his stoic face almost breaking. Almost.

Alivia looks between you two, a smirk forming on her face. You glance at her smug reaction and roll your eyes, listening to the awkward scrapes of her chair legs as she moves back to her desk. Remaining in your seat, you watch as Caleb crosses the office space. Every step makes your heart either skip a beat or speed up, no in between. If he gets any closer, you may just have a heart attack and die in his arms.

There are worse fates out there, though, so it doesn’t seem too bad.

His Evol helps guide an empty chair to your side, sitting down in it. He places his cap on your desk, right next to the picture of you and your parents at your college graduation. He tilts his head to the side, corner of his lips quirking up for a split second before falling.

“And what can I do to help you out today, Colonel Caleb?” your voice is sweet yet there is a underlying desire for him veiled behind every word. His purple eyes fix on yours, the air becoming thin between the two of you.

“I was wondering if a certain translator could help me out with a small project,” he leans back in the chair, manspreading. It takes everything in you to not look down at his lap. You force a smile onto your lips, eyes memorizing every detail of Caleb’s face all over again, you know, just in case anything changed from this morning.

“What language is it?” you ask, feeling your chair slowly move closer to his.

“Does it matter?” he counters with a perked up eyebrow.

Ah, so that’s why he’s here. He just wants to see you. How sweet! Maybe a visit to his office won’t be too bad, no?

Alivia’s, who watches from the side, jaw drops. Her eyes won’t leave you two, watching how you don’t push back against the Colonel pulling you closer. To her, this is like a teenage drama where the. Two main characters are finally getting together. It’s thrilling! It’s so painfully obvious, too, that you two are flirting. She should file a complaint to HR, right? No! That would mean that her and the other translators will lose their only source of entertainment. She can’t risk it!

The woman turns to her computer and opens up the Fleet’s messaging board. She furiously types as you and Caleb gaze into each others eyes, his hands now boldly resting on your thighs. She presses the ‘send’ button and your computer dings.

Do you dare to break away from the Colonel’s gaze? You have always been so defiant, haven’t you?

You angle your face away, feeling Caleb’s gaze burn into the side of your face. Alivia’s notification hangs in the corner of your screen. Her words make you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips. Caleb squeezes your thighs, drawing your attention back to him. His brows knit together, slight annoyance written all over his face.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. You don’t immediately reply. Instead you slightly push your chair back and cross one leg over the other. His hands leave your thighs. Caleb matches your posture, crossing his arms over his decorated chest. “Your Colonel asked you something.”

Oh my goodness…you will definitely be asking him to say that to you later when you’re alone.

“Us translators are thinking of going on a strike, Colonel Caleb,” your tone is light, playful yet serious, “our working conditions are horrendous. Just absolutely atrocious.”

“Oh?”

“Yes sir,” you smirk, watching as Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. Oh, how you love teasing him at work…something that just started thirty seconds ago but still! You are enjoying it so much so far! Who knew that you can hold so much power with a few simple words?

“Is there anything that I can do to make your working conditions…better?”

Is there a hidden tone of lust in his voice? Oh, Caleb, you dirty dog!

“We would like more paid vacation days, more time off, better chairs because these ones just fucking suck — you know what? Scratch that, we want better offices. Ones with windows, please,” you lean forward, suddenly dropping your playful flirting and becoming quite serious. Caleb picks up on this and straightens his posture, listening intently. “Are you writing this down? I feel like you should be writing this down—”

“I’ll remember it,” Caleb sneaks in a wink, liking how you have slowly inched closer to him. The tips of his gloved hands rest against your bare knees, skirt slowly riding up from your posture.

“Don’t forget the coffee machine!” Alivia calls out from behind you. You turn around and nod, giving her a thumbs up, before turning back to Caleb.

“And we want a badass coffee machine. Non-negotiable. Preferably one that does espresso. We’re all kind of addicted down here,” you lean in and whisper the last part, nudging Caleb’s arm. A quiet chuckle emits from his throat but never leaves his mouth, his eyes looking down at you. 

Caleb always knew you were charming. Even as kids, you were able to talk your parents out of a long grounding with simple reasoning and light manipulation. You knew exactly when to pull out your puppy dog eyes and when to make your voice just raspy enough to make it seem like you were about to cry. He would watch your artistry at work go down from outside your house and through the large window that showcases the living room inside your house. The curtains were drawn open as you put on your show, the young boy in awe of how well you handled the situation. Hell! They even gave you money to go have fun at the arcade with him and her when you were done! Needless to say, you’re a genius mastermind!

“Is that all?” he asks, hiding the smile that threatens to break across his face.

“I…I think so,” you slowly nod, racking your brain’s rolodex of notes to figure out if there is indeed anything that you are missing. Nope! You’re good. You give Caleb one final nod, one that he copies, and adjust yourself in your seat, fixing your pencil skirt so your legs have some breathing room.

“I’ll talk with my supervisors,” Caleb feeds into the dramatics of your threat to go on strike. He pushes back into the chair, puffing his chest out a bit just for you sake (and it works), before standing up. “I do need to borrow you for a project, though.”

You open your mouth to protest but are quickly shut up by Caleb grabbing your belongings, plucking them from the desk as if they are his. All you can do is blink and watch as he slips them into your bag. The Colonel places his hat on his head and finally turns to you, flicking his head towards the door.

“Come on,” he places your bag in your lap, because a Colonel simply cannot hold a lower ranking person’s belongings, and heads for the door.

“Nice touch, Colonel, very nice,” you roll your eyes at him. You purse your lips and wrap your fingers around the straps of your bag. You glare at the back of his head, his broad shoulders slipping out of view. 

After a couple of moments, because of course you’re going to make him wait a minute or two, you stand from your chair. Alivia is quick when she approaches your side, looking up at you with big eyes. She slaps your arms and back, pushing you towards the doors. You want to protest before you’re pushed out into the hallway.

“Go get us that coffee machine!” Alivia smiles. She slams the door in your face. You blink at the metal material and feel something tap the back of your hand. You turn and look up at Caleb, who looks down at you with big and glowing purple eyes, the orange and bronze color more vibrant than usual today.

Or maybe it’s because whenever you look at him, the world becomes more vibrant and full of life. The song that birds sing become more romantic in tone than playful. You suddenly don’t mind the fact that he has control over your work life and home life.

After all, you aren’t the same woman you were two months ago.

Caleb leans down, his breath hot on the side of your face. Your heart flutters. The heat from his body mixes in with yours. You ignore the world that has you surrounded, the other Fleet officers and employees can keep their comments to themselves and shove it! You’re with Caleb…that’s all that matters.

“We’re taking another day off for…work reasons…I hope that’s okay with you,” his voice is low in your ear. It itches your brain in just the right way, the rasp and gravel from his volume drawing you closer to him. You look up when he pulls away from you and bat your eyelashes at him. Caleb’s eyes slightly darken for a brief moment before they revert to their usual bright and light appearance. You nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

The Colonel slips past you, his Evol gently pushing you with him to keep up because the man can be very impatient at times and this just happens to be one of those moments. Your feet scuff the dark floor, stumbling over each other as you’re taken to the same elevator you were brought in when you met Caleb for the second time. You step inside, Caleb standing to the side of you with his hands behind his back. You tilt your head to look up at him, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

He’s so tall. And so, so broad. His hair is a bit shaggy towards the back, the length definitely growing past its usual short length. His hands are obscenely large in his black leather gloves. You watch as he reaches out and pokes a button, one that will lead you to the officers’ special parking garage. As he moves back in place, you catch a glimpse of his neck. Just barely over the collar of his dress shirt is a glimpse of a hickey, one that you gave him the night before when he pretended to be asleep, taking up the entirety of your bed like it was his own.

“Do I have something on my face?” Caleb asks, just barely glancing over at you as the elevator slowly moves downward. You shake your head no, looking forward and at the silver elevator doors.

“No, not on your face,” you play it off as cool as you can, unable to contain the playful smirk that passes on your face. “There is a little something on your neck, though.”

Caleb’s chuckle is a puff if air. The elevator doors slide open. He turns to you, tilting his head to the side. There is a playfulness behind his eyes. It’s matched with a hint of desire, maybe even a challenge if you’re up for it. Without another word, you step out of the elevator and into the unknown, yet very well lit, parking garage.

It’s your second time inside since Caleb drove you to work this morning. The walls are white with blue and black lines running across the perimeter. The ground is smooth yet touch enough for the car tires to have some friction to hold onto. There is no trash, as one would expect to see in any other parking garage in the world, and there are no tire marks on the ground. You look around, narrowing your eyes as you think back to this morning, trying to remember what direction Caleb parked in.

Caleb watches you, making sure to tilt his face away from the parking garage’s security cameras so he can fully smile at you without the pressure of the Fleet breathing down his neck. He matches the pace of your steps, remaining close behind and ready to guide you if you move in the wrong direction. His amethyst eyes follow as you slow down. Your head swivels back and forth, looking at both sides of the garage. He continues at his pace, though, and walks closer to you, a faint whiff of your spiced perfume hitting his nose.

You hesitate in your step, feeling his chest collide with your back. A gasp flies from your lips. Caleb presses his hands on top of your shoulders, his warmth seeping into your skin through the layer of leather and the fabric of your turtle neck sweater. Goosebumps form under his touch, chills running down your spine. He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, slowly angling your body to the right side of the garage.

“This way, pretty bird,” he whispers into your ear. He lingers, not wanting to pull away, to forever remain attached to you. Your body perfectly fits his. Whenever he touches you, sparks ignite between your bodies.

To him, you are like the sun. Bright and beautiful with a strong gravitational pull that he’ll never be able to escape. Maybe you’re like a black hole and he has passed the point of no return, ready to be pulled apart at the atomic level, to be spaghettified. Caleb will go through the grueling process if it means that he’ll forever remain at your side (and inside you) for the rest of your lives.

You flake away from his touch, having to put some distance between you two before the camera capture a video that is not safe for work. Your heart pounds inside your chest, the tips of your ears a bright pink color. Your feet carry you away from him and in the direction he turned you in, your eyes soon capturing sight of his car. Making a beeline for it, you reach the passenger side door, hand resting on the handle, desperately needing to get inside.

Your gaze darts to him. He saunters towards the car, keys floating above the palm of his hand. Your face falls. He’s teasing you. How dare he! Removing your hand from the door’s handle, you cross your arms over your chest and pop a hip out. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips. He rounds the car and slips into your proximity once again, his cologne filling your nostrils.

Your lips part, back pressed against the door of the car. Caleb reaches beside you, his fingers looping into the car door’s handle. He leans down, the brim of his cat now shadowing your faces from the cameras. You gulp. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. The corner of his lips tugs up into a sly smirk. He pulls against the door, propping it ajar as your body is moved into his.

Fuck, he’s intoxicating.

“Your place or mine?” Caleb asks you in a low voice. His left hand twitches, fighting the urge to reach out and cup your face, to bring your lips to his in a kiss that he will fully surrender himself into.

“Yours,” you breathe the words out, your eyes fixated on his lips. He nods and guides you away from the door, fully opening and helping you inside, placing your bag into the backseat of the car. You immediately move to fix your skirt, finding a spot that’s comfortable in his expensive car.

A gentle blue light remains around the edges of the war, woven into the material, looking seamless in its design. You smile at it, always liking how it looks, and listen as the driver’s side door opens, the car dipping when he gets inside. You glance at him with a warm smile, knees locked together and angled towards him just the way he likes it (as he informed you this morning, of course). You reach behind you, Caleb getting settled in at your side and ignites the engine to life, and grab a tube of chapstick from your bag, slowly applying it to your lips.

Caleb finally returns your smile, placing his Colonel’s hat in your lap. He reaches over, his hand gripping the seatbelt. The side of his face hovers next to yours as he weaves it across your body, locking the metal piece in place. Before he can pull away, you close the minuscule distance and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Caleb freezes. His smile grows wider and his face goes warm. You cup the side of his face, the one that isn’t facing you, and bring his head back to yours. His face grows more and more pink with every kiss that you give him. He melts into you, fully giving in as the scent of your chapstick fills the car. He tilts his face to the side, quietly chuckling.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, eyes flickering to you.

“Oh? Did I?” you scrunch your face at him, giggling. “Allow me to remedy that!” You press a few more kisses to the side of his face, purposefully missing his lips no matter how hard he tries to get you to press your lips to his. Once you’re done and satisfied with your work, your hand drops from his face, resting in your lap.

“Is that it?” Caleb whines, slowly retreating back into his seat. You nod and turn your face to his so you can rub it in his face that he didn’t get what he wanted.

Well…maybe you wanted him to take it.

You match Caleb’s head tilt. His purple eyes gloss over, bottom lip pouted out, slightly trembling. You narrow your eyes at him. He leans in but you draw back, wanting to play this game just a little bit longer.

“This isn’t fair,” he dramatically sighs, “you’re a bully.”

“You know what isn’t fair? Is you pulling out a puppy dog face, Caleb,” you shoot back, “you’re a grown ass man and yet I feel like I just kicked you.”

“You did kick me,” Caleb draws back and into his seat. He slaps his hands over his heart, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Now how the fuck did he manage to do that. “You kicked me in my emotions! I’m ruined! How will I ever survive, pretty bird?”

You roll your eyes despite the strings inside your heart aching and being pulled at. A sigh slowly leaves your lips followed by an eye roll. You scoff, looking between him and the dashboard in front of you. He bats his eyes when you make eye contact.

“Fine! Fuck! Whatever!” you throw your hands up into the air. Caleb’s frown is immediately replaced with a smile and he leans forward, making you meet him halfway. You press your lips against his, staying there for two seconds before beginning to pull away.

Caleb, on the other hand, has a different idea. His hand captures the back of your head and pulls you can to him. The kiss and lengthened, the man deepening it as his tongue slips inside your mouth. A sigh falls from your lips, pushing into him, but he’s the one that pulls away this time. He cups your cheek, thumb swiping off the leftover saliva that remains. He licks his lips and stares at yours. You’re already breathless.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” Caleb asks. You nod as an answer, in a lovestruck trance he’s pushed you into. He nods back and smirks, one hand on the steering wheel as the car moves out of its spot. 

You melt into the passenger seat, a drunken smile on your face. A giggle threatens to leave your mouth but you swallow it. Caleb glances at you, placing his hand on your thigh, fingers pushing your skirt up by a few centimeters. You blush and look outside the tinted window, covering your face with your hands.

Your heart is just so full with love and happiness. You barely notice Skyhaven pass you by, the man weaving through the traffic like a professional, and keep your eyes away from his. He squeezes your thigh, his hand slowly creeping up and under your skirt. You push it back down, shaking your head.

Not yet.

Caleb takes the hint and keeps his eyes on the road, massaging the plushness of your thigh, loving the way your skin is so soft against his rough hands. He sighs from content, relaxing into his seat as he accelerates the car, needing to get you into his apartment as soon as possible.

This is the first time you are at his place. Caleb has been at your shabby apartment many times, having already grown accustomed to the messy environment that you live in. He helped clean up a bit, organizing it so it’ll be spotless no matter what you throw at it.

You have asked him about his apartment plenty of times. You asked about the color of his walls, the type of furniture he has, how many rooms his Colonel salary managed to get him. He joked with you, asking if you wanted to claim the leftover ones for yourself. Shamelessly, you said yes, joking that you need a room for relaxing, a room for arts and crafts, a room for your clothes, one for your shoes, and one that will serve as your personal make up room for the times you need to be alone while doing make up. Caleb laughed with you. It didn’t take much convincing for him to give you every single room, claiming that all he needs is the spot in bed next to yours to be happy.

Needless to say, your heart skipped a beat and you swooned over his sweet words.

You follow close behind him, holding your bag at your side, his Colonel hat resting on the top of your head. He holds one of your hands, arm outstretched as he takes the lead. His dress jacket is draped over his arm, the black dress shirt doing his back muscles no justice, hiding the way they flex with every move and step.

“Your hallway is much more elegant than mine,” you comment. He steals a look of you from over his shoulder. He chuckles and tugs you forward, wrapping his arm around your waist. You lean into him with a smile, pausing when you reach his door.

The door to his apartment is large. There’s only one other door, which is on the other side of the hallway all the way down on the west end while Caleb’s sits in the east. You look up at him, containing another laugh as he fumbles with his jacket to press his thumb to the pad on the door.

“Even your door is more elegant than mine.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Caleb quips, the door finally clicking open. He pushes the heavy door open with one push. You dip under his arm and he’s quick to follow, closing the door.

Your jaw drops at the sight. After a quick scan of the immediate area. The space is large — outrageously so! The wall of the living room is a collection of floor to ceiling windows, gray curtains drawn open so the morning sun can leak inside the place. A large black couch sits in the middle of the room. A pair of chairs sit opposite of it. Slender lights hang from the ceiling at different heights. The space is dark with warm yellow lighting.

It’s so fucking nice, too!

You turn to Caleb, a look of shock and annoyance plastered across your face. He raises an eyebrow, gently taking your belongings from your arms and into his.

“What?”

“You’re…rich.”

“Well—”

“You made me pay for dinner last night!” you smack his arm with the flat side of your phone. Caleb’s eyes shoot open. He’s quick to get away from you, scurrying down a hallway just to your right. You follow him, slapping his back before jumping on his back. He holds you with ease, propping open one of the doors, which leads inside an unused bedroom, and places your belongings onto the bed. You hook an arm around his neck, tightening it. “I can’t believe you!”

Caleb laughs and exits the room, kicking the door closed behind him. You slowly tighten your arm around his neck, his chin resting on the crook of your elbow. His throat closes in on itself, the tall man quickly dipping inside the bedroom that he uses. He lets out a comedic wheeze as if you’re actually hurting him. You gasp and release your grip on him. Caleb takes your moment of weakness and plops you onto his bed.

“Hey! No fair!” you call out at him. He laughs and drops his body on top of yours.

His weight traps you between him and the mattress, not that you’re complaining anyways, and he drops his head next to yours. Your phone drops next to your head, the machine laughing at you for getting caught in Caleb’s trap so easily. His lips brush against your ear, the man making sure to move your hair to the other side of your head so he doesn’t accidentally tug on it, and he blows out a steady stream of air. You gasp and smack his back. You call him a motherfucker and pinch his side. He laughs and nuzzles his face into your neck, making himself at home.

“You’re so warm,” he whispers from delight, “and you smell good.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. Your gaze falls to the window in his bedroom. It’s a nice view of Skyhaven, his place overlooking the tops of many buildings. His floor would directly be in the clouds on a gloomy day. You make a note to invade his space on one of those days.

Caleb glances up at you. His smile grows on his face when he notices you lost in thought. He grabs the fabric of your turtle neck sweater and tugs it down, looking at his work from the previous night. He hums to himself. His hand slips under the gentle fabric of your sweater, resting on your side. He listens to your heartbeat as it quickens before relaxing into a steady thump. In one fluid movement, Caleb shifts so he lays beside you, his hand still attached to your hip.

He pushes up the material, exposing your warm skin to the cold air of the apartment. Goosebumps form across your skin but his thumb is quick to wipe them away. You glance down at him, lips barely parted, before tearing your gaze away, choosing to focus on something else and not him. His face snaps up to yours. He shimmies back up and you laugh at how cute he is.

Caleb places his chin on your collarbone. Your fingers slip into his dark brown hair and slowly begin to scratch and massage his scalp. His eyes close and he fully places his head’s weight onto your chest. His ear sits right above your heart. He listens to the calm beats, his fingers still massaging gentle circles into the skin of your hip.

The moment is domestic. There are no underlying or hidden messages in either of your words and actions. Truth reigns here. There is no enemy other than the time that passes you by, the clock slowly counting down until you are eventually ripped away from each other, whether it is a mission or death.

“Hey, pretty bird?” Caleb whispers, his eyes now focused on your exposed skin. You hum in response, heartbeat slowly picking up its pace. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t need to ask,” your response is quick.

Caleb nods with a small smile. He closes the distance between your faces, now at eye level with you, and gently presses his lips to yours. You hold his head in place, fingers slightly tightening around his dark locks of hair.

The kiss is slow, tender. There is no need to hurry it or hasten your actions. There is no urgency due to lack of time or if you are about to be caught. Your breaths turn into one, eyes closed as you take your time with the kiss. The two of you smile against each other’s lips, slowly deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing inside your mouth. You sigh and lean into the kiss.

Caleb’s hand pushes up your sweater, your side and stomach now exposed to the bedroom’s atmosphere. You hiss against his mouth, the cold air shocking you back to life. His large palm rubs up and down your skin, warming you up. He murmurs a quiet sorry into your mouth.

His hand leaves your side, knees digging into the mattress beside you. Caleb’s touch is electric. Your body shudders under his touch, your hands still attached to the back of his head and hardened bicep. You squeeze his arm, silently giving him permission to go farther. Your lips move in sync with each other. He tilts his head one way and you follow, pursuing him to continue the kiss. Caleb’s fingers break the barrier between your skin and skin, slipping below the surface.

Your phone above your head vibrates. You groan and ignore it, pulling Caleb’s face back to yours when he pulls away. The vibrations stop and his hand moves further down, reaching your panties. He’s about to go further when your phone vibrates again.

Caleb’s hand leaves your skirt. He pulls away from your kiss, glaring at your phone. Your head rolls back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. He snatched the phone from the mattress and looks at the name, turning the screen to face you. It’s Jane, your friend and bride-to-be. You roll your eyes and click the decline button. Caleb smiles and moves to place your phone to the side when Jane’s face lights up your screen again. This time, it’s a video call. You swipe the phone from Caleb’s hand. He immediately plops back into your embrace, burying his face into your neck.

“Jane!” you groan, irritation laced within your voice. “What do you need?”

“Oh! She’s snappy today!” Jane laughs. She sits at her kitchen counter, using a knife to peel an apple. She barely looks at the screen. Her posture is casual and slouched. A man passes from behind her and kisses her head.

“Hey,” the man greets you with a wave. You smile and nod back. Caleb turns his head to the side, glaring at the masculine voice that came from the phone, purple eyes hot with jealously and protection.

“Hi,” you greet back, looking at Jane, “spit it out. What do you need?”

“Oh my god! You’re so mean!” Jane finally looks at the screen. She leans in closer, brows knitting together. You match her expression, feeling Caleb’s nose nuzzle back into your skin. He draws your leg up to wrap around his waist, fingers grazing up and down the side of your leg. “Oh my god…who are you with?”

“Jane—”

“Is that The Colonel?!” she screeches. She hops from her chair and snatches the phone, her face now taking up the entire screen. You roll your eyes. Caleb chuckles, his breath hot against your neck, causing your to squirm. In the corner of the screen, you look at yourself, noticing Caleb’s head of hair poorly cropped out. “It is! Oh my god! Hi, Colonel!”

“Please don’t talk to him,” you roll your eyes, “you’ll only boost his ego some more.”

“Hi Jane,” Caleb finally turns his head to look at the screen, a bright and charming smile on his face. You groan and tilt the phone so he takes up the entirety of the screen. Jane waves to him, clapping her hands together. “What happened to the Machine nickname?”

“Hi! And ask your girlfriend! She was the one who told our group chat to refer to you as that!” Jane informs him, rushing to her fiancé to show him Caleb’s face. “Say hi to my fiancé!”

“Hi, Jane’s fiancé,” Caleb hums, chuckling. You fake throw up and he catches you, his Evol holding the phone in the air now. It pushes away from you, showcasing both you and Caleb.

“You should bring him to the wedding, girl! You do have a plus one!” Jane smiles.

Your eyes go wide. You can feel Caleb’s gaze fix on the side of your face, burning into your skin. Your cheeks go pink. Caleb smugly smirks before turning his attention to the phone screen.

“Wedding, huh?” his tone is oh so cocky. It drives you crazy. “I didn’t know about the wedding.”

“She didn’t tell you? What a loser! Take this as your invite then, Colonel Caleb! You are more than welcome to join us! Do you like steak? You seem like a steak guy. I’ll mark you down for steak!” Jane snaps her fingers at her fiancé, who quickly writes down the note for her. “And you’re so lucky that we had a last minute drop out! I’ll be able to place you next to your girlfriend!”

“I am lucky!” Caleb smirks, turning his attention back over to you. You glare at him, totally unamused as to how well he gets along with Jane. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow!” Jane beams.

“No it’s not,” you scoff, “it’s next weekend—”

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful idiot. It’s tomorrow,” Jane informs you.

Your blood runs cold for the umpteenth time today. Caleb notices this and is quick to cover for you, using his charming smile to help cover for your mistake.

“You know how she is,” Caleb begins, “she’s always been so forgetful! We just came back from a work trip and she’s been exhausted. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Great! Bye!” Caleb ends the call before Jane can continue. The phone falls on the bed above your heads.

You cover your face with your hands. Caleb props himself up over you. He chuckles and uses one hand to gently remove yours from your face. You let him, too, and frown when your eyes meet. He matches it and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Caleb asks, leaning down to peck your lips. You sigh and push him away, slowly sitting up. He brings you onto his lap and pulls you back down with you on top this time.

“I forgot her wedding,” you drop your head next to his. Your hair covers his face, obscuring his vision. He doesn’t fight it, though, and instead accepts his fate.

“That’s okay! It’s happens to—”

“Her wedding is tomorrow and my neck looks like a fucking crime scene happened!”

“Oh. Right,” Caleb sheepishly laughs. He sits you two back up, purple eyes meeting a hot and angry glare. He goes quiet, hands remaining on your waist. “How can we—”

“I’m a bridesmaid, Caleb!” you take your anger out on his chest. He lets you. “You have lost all privileges that access you to my neck! And other exposed areas!”

“What?” his jaw drops, “No! That’s not—”

You flee his arms in a frenzy. Dipping out of his bedroom, you rush to the room where he tossed your belongings. Frantically grabbing your bag, you feel Caleb’s hands grab your shoulders. He leans down and kisses your cheek. You pull away from him. He moves his hands to your waist, wrapping both arms around you. His body engulfs yours, pulling you into his body heat.

“Caleb…I have to go pack,” you breathe out.

“You can help me pack first! Then we can go to yours!”

“You suck. You’re buying the tickets for the Coelum Express. Both there AND back, motherfucker,” you try to wiggle away from him but fail. His laugh is loud in your ear. You stop fighting against him and sigh, placing your full weight into his hands, even making your legs go limp so he has to hold you. “Fine, fine. We can do that, but you need to get two more things to help remedy my neck situation.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“A shit ton of peanut butter and a whisk.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sun is shining in Linkon, even brighter than it would have in Skyhaven. There are no clouds in the sky, the vast blue having a few dark specks from birds that fly by. It’s windy as well, the skirt of your pastel colored dress kicking up in the wind. The material is like silk, just a thin layer between you and the outside world.

Jane told the bridesmaids to be at the venue at a certain time, opting to be a carefree bride for the day of her wedding. Every bridesmaid knows how to do their makeup and hair, helping save Jane money for her own makeup and hair. They were to arrive two hours before the wedding to take pictures.

You stand inside your childhood bedroom, leaning in close to a mirror as Caleb watches you from your bed. You finish the last bit of mascara, your eyelashes evenly coated, and place the tube back down onto the vanity. A few polaroid pictures are tucked between the wood and mirror; pictures of you and your friends in high school litter the perimeter. None feature Caleb, though.

“You look amazing,” Caleb coos from the bed. You smile and turn around, leaning against the vanity. 

You stare at him, eyes running up and down his body as he stands from the bed. His outfit is nice, finally freeing himself from his Colonel uniform. Besides, you want Caleb to be here, not the Colonel. His dark navy blue suit jacket lays on the bed, his white dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His pants match the suit jacket.

“You look very pretty as well,” you respond, slipping into his arms as soon as he opens them. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on the top of your head. He mutters a quiet thank you, to which you hum in response.

The two of you stand in silence. The sound of the outside wind and the quiet sound of your music fills the room. For once, you don’t feel anxiety clinging to your bones, rattling you. There is no voice inside of your head telling you that you suck and need to stay away from Caleb for everyone’s sake. You don’t have her voice in your head either, screaming at you about how bad of a person you are.

Caleb’s arms are your safe space. While in them, your mind goes blank. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s serene.

“We need to leave soon,” you smush your cheek into his chest, eyes closed. He holds the back of your head, making sure that he doesn’t mess up your hair that took an hour and a half to complete.

“Five more minutes,” Caleb whispers back. You nod.

When five minutes go by, neither of you let go, holding on for just a couple more seconds before slipping away. You step to the bed and grab his jacket, helping him slip it on once he gets his sleeves pushed back down. You flatten out the wrinkles on his shoulders and pick off the leftover lint and other small flecks that make his image imperfect.

He takes your hand and guides you out of the house, grabbing an extra pair of sneakers for you when your feet begin to hurt from being in heels for too long. He tosses them into the backseat after helping you into the passenger side. He settles in beside you and pulls out of the driveway, heading towards the venue.

“So, is there anybody I need to know who is going to be there?” Caleb asks. Your fingers are laced together and rest on the center console.

“Great question,” you respond while looking out the window.

The citizens of Linkon city have always been so happy, much happier compared to the people in Skyhaven. They wear bright smiles on their faces and wave at people who pass them on the sidewalk. You can’t remember the last time you smiled and waved to a random stranger was.

“Well, there’s the girls you met at the club that one night,” you breathe out, “and there’s just the guys who were in our friend group…but they’re all assholes now so you don’t really need to be nice to them.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens at the mention of your male college friends. He relaxes, though, when you tell him he doesn’t need to be nice. He certainly won’t be.

“Why don’t you introduce me to the ones that matter then, hm?” he glances at you from the corner of his eye. You nod and smile, turning to look at him.

He drives out of Linkon and to a nearby forest, one famed for its beauty and views. He follows your instructions, holding the wedding invitation in hand, and point to the sign that proclaims Jane’s wedding. He parks in a spot and immediately helps you out, helping keep the hem of your skirt off of the dirty ground. Caleb slings your purse over your shoulder and swoops you into his arms. The dust and dirt from the forest ground attach to the bottom of his pants and shoes while yours remains perfect and pristine. He sets you down once you reach the venue, setting you down on the hardened floor instead of grass.

“I never pegged Jane to be the foresty type,” Caleb comments in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“She’s definitely not. She saw this place on Moments and decided that this is where she was going to have her wedding,” you hold back a snort and take Caleb’s hand, walking through the large building and to the room where the bridesmaids are. Once you reach the door, your drop his hand and give him a kiss, taking your purse back from him. “Are you going to be okay without me?”

“I think I might die,” Caleb sighs. You roll your eyes, known that it’s a sad attempt to convince you to try and convince Jane to let him in.

“Stop being dramatic. I heard the groomsmen are outside, why don’t you go make some friends for me, hm?” you fix his tie, tightening it around his neck. He nods and leans down, pressing one last kiss to your lips before watching you disappear inside the room.

Caleb walks down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks around and takes in his surroundings. The building is nice. It’s like an expensive lodge for rich people, people who are in the top 1%. It’s cozy yet elegant, the warm lighting a nice touch to the wooden walls. He pops his head down a hallway before walking down it.

Voices catch his attention. The man turns down another hallway, finding himself at the back of the venue where a large glass building sits. A group of men in black suits stand just outside the door. Caleb clears his throat, putting on the best smile he can, before exiting the building. He closes the door behind him and is immediately met by the groom, the same man he saw over the phone.

“Caleb! It’s finally nice to meet you, man! Come meet my friends,” the groom, Arthur, shakes his hand, guiding Caleb to the group. All of the men greet him with one of them turned away at the drink table. Caleb smiles at them all, making a mental note of all of their names. “Last but not least, Caleb, meet Zayne! We work at Asko Hospital together!”

Caleb’s smile falters for a split second. He keeps his charm up despite the bubbling anger and annoyance that flares up in his chest. Zayne raises an eyebrow at Caleb, water bottle in hand. Their silence is palpable and the group looks back and forth.

“We’ve met,” Zayne finally manages to fill in the silence. The tension, though, remains, with only Caleb and Zayne feeling it.

“Oh really? That’s great!” Arthur celebrates, not knowing just how far back Zayne and Caleb’s rivalry goes. “I wonder how things are going with the women!”

And oh how things could not have turned out worse for you.

The bride and bridesmaids exit the building in one big group. Jane’s dress is gorgeous; it’s slender fitting and shows off all of her curves in the best way possible. You follow close behind, holding two bouquets of flowers in one hand while the other holds a long veil. Tonya is close behind with the second half of the veil, the two of you laughing. Caleb relaxes once he sees you, taking his hands out of his pockets, but immediately tenses when another familiar figure leaves the building.

It’s her. She doesn’t wear the same shade or dress as you and the other bridesmaids do. Instead, she wears a short black dress. It has a halter top and simple belt that runs around the waist. Caleb’s mouth goes dry, his heartbeat quickens. His reaction isn’t that of love or adoration, despite now having a brotherly affection towards her, but comes from a place of nervousness and anticipation.

She locks eyes with him, a small smile spreading across her face. Caleb tears his gaze away and looks at Zayne, who stares daggers at him. Caleb peels away from the group, already knowing that he’s about to be cornered no matter what.

Your eyes flicker to him while you and Tonya secure Jane’s veil to her head. You contain a sigh. Once the veil is in, you take a few steps away, bouquet in hand, and begin to walk towards Caleb. You take his hand once he’s close enough and avoid looking at the two groups that have now formed together.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” you breathe out, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah? Did you know that Zayne was coming too?” Caleb’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him, trying to process his words.

“Zayne? He’s here?” you ask. Caleb’s jaw tightens, so does his grip on your hand. “I-I didn’t know that,” you add on, finally turning around to see Zayne and her staring at you and Caleb. “Jane mentioned that a groomsman had to leave but she never mentioned that it was Zayne—”

“So you knew he was coming?” Caleb interrupts you. You can sense anger radiating off from his body. You hesitate to respond and avoid his gaze. “Pretty bird. Look at me.” You do.

“I didn’t know he was going to be a groomsman, Caleb, nor did I know if he accepted the invitation to the wedding or not. He usually says no to these things,” you reason with Caleb. He nods and takes a deep breath, turning his face away. “Let’s…let’s not have them ruin our night, yeah? We can avoid them after the ceremony. Hell, we can probably leave early if we want to!”

“That’s okay,” he turns back to you. He brushes your hair out of your face, mentally making a note to find the time to fight the fucking wind, and sighs. “Jane needs your support! And we’re here to give it to her! I’ll play nice with Zayne, I promise.”

“Oh good. He’s now decided to play nice,” Zayne’s voice breaks through your conversation with you and Caleb. Goosebumps form on your skin. Caleb instinctually pulls you to his side, eyes narrowing at the hazel eyed man. You turn to her, who wears a fake smile on her face.

“You look nice tonight,” she says to you. You smile back, wrapping your arm around Caleb’s, hand resting on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you begin, “your dress looks beautiful on you!”

“Might I suggest we address the elephant in the room?” Zayne, always the voice of reason, asks. The remaining three people nod and he places his hands on his hips. “I brought her here as my date tonight, let me get that out of the way. I did not know that you,” he looks at Caleb, “were going to be here. Now, I think we all possess the ability to act like adults tonight, correct? Let’s set aside our…differences and agree to be cordial for the sake of Jane and Arthur.”

“I agree,” you chime in, looking up at Caleb, “they deserve to have a good night together. We shouldn’t ruin that with petty drama.” Caleb nods. The two of you look at her and Zayne. They nod as well. “Great!”

“Wonderful!” she mimes your cheery tone. You suck in your cheeks, holding back a snarky comment, and smile with a fake laugh. Zayne turns around and walks away, bringing her with him. You turn to Caleb and lean into his side, feeling his muscles tense and flex under your touch.

“Are you going to be okay?” you whisper. He weakly nods. “Are you sure? I can see if you can replace Zayne as the groomsman if you want me to.” Your joke flies right over Caleb’s head. He stares at you, completely serious, and nods.

“Okay. Go do that.”

“What?” a laugh leaves your lips, “I’m not going to do that! I was joking! Babe, you’re going to survive this. I’m going to survive this. We’re going to do great, yeah?”

Oh, how wrong you will be.

You are yelled at by Jane and immediately leave Caleb’s side, slipping your purse over his shoulder once again. You and the other bridesmaids take photos together. Jane is always at the center, alongside Arthur, and you have to move every minute or so in a new order because Jane doesn’t know what she wants yet. You collide with other women, sometimes with Zayne or another groomsmen, and laugh while they try to fix your hair. For one photo, Zayne stands at your side, leaning into your side. You smile at the camera hoping to whatever god is out there that Caleb doesn’t take Zayne’s actions as an act of war.

“Hey! Bring your boyfriend over! Jane wants a pic of us together!” Arthur shouts from afar. You nod and look at Caleb, who sits in a chair with his arms crossed over his arms, a glare focused on Zayne. You yell his name and his head immediately snaps in your direction, face softening. You wave him over with a wink and he jumps up, rushing over to your side. He wraps his arm around you and you guide him over to Jane and Arthur.

Caleb smirks as he passes by Zayne, wagging a finger at him without you noticing. Zayne rolls his eyes. She, on the other hand, crosses her arms over her chest at the revelation, a scowl permanently carved into her face.

You stand at Jane’s side, Caleb smiling and shaking Arthur’s hand once again as a more formal meeting since the quartet stands far away from the group. You hug Jane and the photographer snaps a few candid shots before the two couples get situated and stand exactly how Jane tells them to. The photographer grabs the pictures and Jane immediately turns to you and Caleb.

“I want a picture of my darling best friend and her Colonel! Thank you! You can’t say no because I’m the bride!” Jane hurries away, standing next to the photographer now. You laugh and Caleb smiles.

“Whatever the bride wants, the bride gets, right?” Caleb’s arm slinks around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your hand rests on his chest, your bouquet of flowers hanging at his lower back. He tilts his head head to yours, smiling brightly as your eyes are exposed to bright flashes of light. He kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “I love you so much, you’re so beautiful.”

Before you have a chance to respond, you are grabbed by other bridesmaids. Guests begin to arrive and Jane dips inside the building, dragging you with her. You gasp and reach for Caleb. He holds on for a few seconds before letting go, waving as you’re pushed inside. He watches as they draw the curtains closed, chuckling. His smile fades, though, when he notices Zayne entering the building last, a smug smirk on his face.

“Caleb,” her voice beckons from behind. He turns around and looks down at her, hands in his pockets. “Will you sit with me? I’m afraid I don’t know anybody else here!” She laughs. Caleb immediately nods since he is in the same situation as her.

“Sure!” he cheerily says. She wraps her arm in his and he guides them towards the venue’s seating. “It’ll give us some time to catch up with each other, pip-squeak!”

Once all of the guests are in their seats and Jane is ready to begun, the ceremony begins.

The groom walks down the aisle on his own. He smiles at people in the crowd, his eyes already teary from the overwhelming moment in his life. He turns on his heel and the Best Man and Maid of Honor, Tonya, walk down the aisle. You’re next and surprise surprise, you’re partnered with Zayne.

He holds out his arm to you. You take it, hand resting on his forearm. His body tenses. You look up at him and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, you step through the doors and whisper, “lean onto me if you need it!” to him as you approach the crowd.

Caleb turns his head around, sitting in an aisle seat towards the front so he can get a good look at you. He notices you first as you approach the aisle. His heart stops. It swells, butterflies fluttering inside his chest and torso when you take the first step down the white aisle.

White flower petals are scattered across the floor. You walk down with such confidence, a bold and bright smile on your face. Tears well in his eyes at the sight. Oh, he loves you much and you don’t even know it. 

When you draw closer is when Caleb finally notices Zayne at your side. His body heats up in an instant, heart pounding inside his chest. Each beat can be heard in his ears. Every thump rattles his ribs. His ears turn red. He calms down once your eyes meet. He breathing slows, no longer hollow. He follows your body as you pass by him, the bottom of your skirt grazing against his ankle, leaving him already wanting more.

You part with Zayne at the altar and stand in your spot, watching as the other duos walk down the aisle. The music changes, signaling Jane’s arrival. Everyone stands and turns around to watch her walk. Caleb, though, remains standing forward, locking eyes with you.

Caleb places his hand over his heart. He can feel each and every individual beat under his fingers. Your cheeks heat from a blush but you’re unable to look away from him.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll get to this point with Caleb. When it is time for your future wedding, will you be picking out a dress with him in the back of your mind? Will it be him that you tie your future to?

It’s one you’ve dreamed of as a child and throughout your first year of high school. You had the music picked out with a dress cut out of a bridal magazine you stole from your cousin. You sighed whenever you looked at the small notebook. It hid all of your secrets, including the crush you had on Caleb. You wrote your names a million times over in a pink glitter pen. Hearts and flowers decorated the page, filling in any left over space. A few pages over is a list of first dance songs that were popular at the time and if you turned the page, you’d see your doodles of what your dream venue looked like.

It must be on a spring day! The sky must be blue and beautiful, just how Caleb likes it!

Caleb wonders what kind of dress you’ll wear on your wedding day. He knows that regardless, he’s going to be tearing up and crying the moment he sees you down the aisle. He’d tell you to buy two with his credit card so he can rip one off of your body when your honeymoon begins. He won’t even have a say in the planning and will always give into whatever it is that you want. He’ll smile and nod, running his fingers through your hair as you talk his ear off about flowers and bouquets and how it will go along with the perfect venue you chose and will compliment the colors of your bridesmaids dresses.

A tear rolls down your cheek and you wipe it away, tearing your gaze away from Caleb once he sits down and the ceremony begins.

It’s beautiful. Everyone smiles and laughs at their vows, a few guests and bridesmaids (including yourself) crying when it becomes sappy and pulls at your heartstrings. You hide your face behind your bouquet of flowers at one point, not being able to hold your emotions in as Jane declares her undying love for Arthur. She’s crying, too, and can barely make it through her vows without shaking and trembling. They kiss and the crowd erupts into cheers, standing and clapping for the newly wed couple.

Once the ceremony is over, Jane and Arthur walk down the aisle hand in hand. The cheers continue as they walk back inside the building. You and the other bridesmaids and groomsmen follow suit, exiting in the order people walked down the aisle. Your grip on Zayne’s arm is loose. Once you reach Caleb’s side, you reach out and squeeze his hand, having to let go after a brief second.

The reception room is impeccably decorated. The lights are warm and small, slowly flickering as if they’re stars in the night sky. Caleb sits in his assigned seat, waiting for you to come back to his side. He sighs and looks around, scanning the room. People are already drinking; their laughs are loud and boom across the room. The servers are dressed in all black, contrasting the whites, golds, and light purple color scheme. He sighs and turns to his phone, scrolling through unread messages from the Fleet and Ever.

You enter the room with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, people barely even paying attention since the group isn’t going to be announced like how Jane and Arthur will be. The seating chart has been seared into your brain and you easily find your way to Caleb. He doesn’t look up from the table, eyes cemented onto his phone.

“Caleb,” you call out once you stand behind him. He turns around and stands from his seat, bringing you into his arms. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, chuckling. “Hi, babe, did you enjoy the ceremony?” you ask once you pull away.

“I did, yes,” he cups your cheek. “I was mainly focused on you, though. You are…utterly captivating.”

Your cheeks heat up. You look away and bite your lip, rolling your eyes as an attempt to get the brush to go away. Caleb catches it, though, and kisses your forehead, turning around to pull your seat out for you. You sit down and take his hand, smiling at him.

Zayne sits with her at another table across the room. They’re on the grooms side with the other groomsmen while you and Caleb sit with the other bridesmaids and their partners. A blessing in disguise.

The dinner goes by quick. It is filled with laughter and speeches from Jane and Arthur’s parents alongside the Best Man and Maid of Honor’s speeches. You’re so happy that the responsibility didn’t fall onto you for a speech. Public speaking isn’t your strong suit and it would have been even more embarrassing because of the three people from your childhood: one that you hate, one that you’re on okay terms with, and one that you’re fucking and contemplating marriage with only two days into your relationship.

Dinner plates are taken away and the majority of the room jumps up and rushes to the dance floor. The party begins but you and Caleb remain in your seats, holding hands and smiling at each other. His thumb rubs your knuckles, your chair pulled as close to his as possible, legs tangled together. He leans in and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, causing you to blush and laugh. Every touch is loving, every touch tender and caring.

The two of you purposefully stayed in your seats as long as you did. You didn’t want to be interrupted nor did you want to risk being intercepted by someone from your childhoods. Whenever one of you wanted a drink, you went together, hand in hand, and even followed one another to the bathroom and waited outside. It’s a calculated move, yes, and one that worked, that is, until you two grew restless while the rest of the party had fun.

The music slows and Caleb pushes away from the table. He holds out his hand to you, which you immediately take, and he guides you to the dance floor. You smile as he pulls you into him, hand resting on your lower back while holding your other hand.

“I feel like we just did this, no?” you chuckle under the dimmed lighting. Caleb smiles and nods, leaning down to peck your lips.

“We got interrupted last time. I just know we won’t be this time,” he helps move your arms around his neck, planting his hands onto your waist. You melt into him and close your eyes, swaying back and forth to the music. You hum along, which is music to Caleb’s ears, and he presses his head against yours. Caleb gently pulls away and spins you out before pulling you back in. The two of you share a quiet laugh. You turn in his arms and drape your arms back around his neck.

The midpoint of the song doesn’t even pass before someone taps your shoulder. You sink back down onto the floor, slowly turning to see her standing behind you. Your grip loosens on Caleb, smile falling.

“Mind if I cut in for a dance?” she sweetly asks. You glance at Caleb and clear your throat. He doesn’t say anything. Annoyance flares inside your chest. You nod and step away, faking a smile, before swiftly exiting the dance floor.

You walk back to your seat and sit down. Your hands tremble. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Was it always beating this fast? Or is this something new entirely? Heat burns from within your lungs, causing your heart to ache. Your ears ring. It feels as if someone has their hand around your throat, slowly tightening it, pins and needles poking into your skin.

You swipe your tongue over your teeth, your eyes trained on Caleb and her. They stand close to each other but Caleb keeps a respectable distance. It makes you happy to see him respecting your relationship but cannot help but feel jealous over the fact that he’s dancing with another woman, someone who isn’t you. 

“I don’t think you have taken a single breath for the past minute.”

You turn and look up at Zayne, who stands behind Caleb’s chair. He gestures to the seat. Hesitation fills your mind but against your better judgment, you nod. Zayne sits down beside you, your knees barely touching. The two of you sit in silence, watching as the couples dance and glide across the floor.

The song comes to an end. Hope forms inside your chest, watching as Caleb pulls away from her. She pulls him back in, though, and he doesn’t fight it, his hands returning to her hips.

You purse your lips before biting down on the inside of your cheek with enough force and pressure to draw blood. You force yourself to look away, meeting Zayne’s calm eyes. You sigh and scratch the back of your neck, embarrassment flooding your body.

“Can we…talk?” Zayne asks. You blink at him, unsure if it’s a good idea. You don’t immediately answer. He nods and glances at the dance floor. Caleb’s back is to you two now. “I understand if you don’t want to speak. I, on the other hand, have something to say. I hope you’ll be willing to listen to me.”

“I’ll listen,” you shakily breathe out. You begin to pick at the skin around your fingernails, pulling on the skin as fresh and stinging red lines appear on your fingers. It’s a nasty habit you’ve picked up, one that you always seem to do when your heart is slowly being ripped into pieces. At least the physical pain can help deter some the emotional anguish you feel.

“Thank you,” Zayne keeps his eyes on you. He reaches out and places one hand on top of yours, stopping you from continuing. His hand is cold but it feels nice against your hot skin. “Do you think you can take a deep breath for me? I would like to ensure that you’re breathing.”

“I’m not your patient,” you snap back.

“Breathe with me as someone who is on your side, then.”

Your eyes glue themselves onto Zayne’s. Up close, his hazel eyes lean more onto the green side, the center of his iris having the most yellow compared to the outer rim. He slowly inhales, chest puffing out. You match his inhale, his eyes never leaving yours. When he exhales, so do you. Your heart begins to slow, your hot skin cooling down.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Zayne begins, catching you off guard. Tears immediately sting your eyes but ou blink them away, quickly recovering.

“Yeah?” your voice is raspy, ready to break at any moment.

Caleb and her stand in the middle of the dance floor, no longer moving. Your heart goes still, no more air in your lungs.

“Yes,” Zayne continues, “he doesn’t love you.” His words slice into your skin. How can you believe them, though? Isn’t Zayne biased against Caleb? Besides, Caleb isn’t here to defend himself. You can’t fully believe him! “He’s infatuated. There is no permanent love when it comes to infatuation, just lust and desire. A temporary love that will only leave you more broken than you started.”

“So you think I’m broken?” the words come out just above a whisper.

“I think he broke you.”

A breath leaves your mouth. Your lungs burn on the inside of your chest, cheeks pink from embarrassment and anger. You remain silent, drowning out the music and cheering voices. You blink away your tears but one escapes, rolling down your cheek. Your eyes turn back to the dance floor, finding Caleb’s back once again. You stare at him, unable to tear your gaze away while Zayne speaks.

“I saw the way he treated you when we were kids. You always came in last place while everyone else came before you. You weren’t a friend, you were a backup plan he had. Since she isn’t in Skyhaven but you are, he is bound to go to you instead of her. Do you know that he calls her whenever you aren’t around? He always texts her throughout the day and tells her how much he misses her, that he can’t wait to see her. Even while you were on your business trip, he was sending her photos and messages like any good boyfriend would.”

Boyfriend.

The word echoes inside your now screaming mind. You bottom lip trembles. Silent tears freely flow from your eyes. Every word is like a bullet that buries itself deep into your skin. Your muscles ache. You don’t even realize that your fists are balled on your lap, nails digging into your palms. The stinging pain helps divert some of the emotional weight that has been placed onto your shoulders but it’s not enough to carry the full package. You look down at your lap, palms now a bright red from the blood rushing to the crescent marks on your hands.

“You have always been second compared to her. But to me…you have always been first,” Zayne whispers.

You turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and irritated. Your shoulders slump as you fight off sobs and dry heaves. Nausea sweeps over your body. He reaches for you but you scoot back, your chair bumping into the others. You swallow nothing down your dry throat, the feeling leaving you sore and uncomfortable.

“I guess that makes you just like me, then,” your words shake and hang in the air. Zayne raises an eyebrow at you. His hands reach for yours but you pull away immediately, unable to even handle someone’s touch right now. He remains silent, his eyes burning into yours. You stand from the table and gather your belongings. You are about to step away when Zayne’s voice causes you to stop.

“How so?” Zayne asks after seconds tick by. 

“We both love someone who will never be able to fully love us back.”

From afar, Caleb steps away from her. He hesitates once he sees you and Zayne talking. His heart races inside his chest. His eyes flit between you and the doctor, watching your teary eyes reflect the lights of the venue. His heart splits in two.

You turn, wiping a tear from your eye, and head for the exit. You sling your purse over your shoulder, the body hitting your hip as you walk. Through teary eyes, you slip your phone from your bag and step out into the fresh night air. The wind chills your skin, cooling you down.

“Hey,” Caleb’s voice calls out from behind. You don’t turn around and instead pull up a taxi app on your phone. He places his hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to slip away. “What’s…what’s wrong? What did he say to you?” Caleb asks. When you don’t respond, he snatches the phone from your hands.

“Stop it, Caleb,” you warn. He stares at your screen, looking at your progress. You wrote about half of the address before he took the phone from you. You reach out, trying to get the tiny machine back, but Caleb immediately pockets it and grabs your face.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

“Caleb! Get away from her!” Her shrill voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. You flinch and push Caleb off of you, your mind now running at a mile a minute, unable to keep up with the unfolding situation. “We’re not done talking!”

“Go back inside!” Caleb calls out to her, but she doesn’t listen. She looks up at him with crazed eyes, lip snarled.

“We aren’t done talking. I don’t approve of your relationship with her!” She points to you. An arrow goes through your heart and breaks, the wood splintering and poking into your organs and veins. It would hurt but the pain you hold in your chest is already incomprehensible.

“Stop that!” Caleb says back. “Let’s talk about this later—”

“Later?” you chuckle, hysteria beginning to claim you as its own. Tears keep rolling down your cheeks. He turns to look at you. Your gaze sharpens. It makes his stomach drop.

“Does she not know what we’ve been through, Caleb?” she steps in between you and him. You don’t even do anything to stop it. You turn around and wipe your tears away, digging through your bag for the car keys. “Does she know that you and I are inseparable?”

“I said not now!” Caleb raises his voice. It only makes her angrier, though. “We’ll talk about this later. I need to—”

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” you interject. They stare at you with wide eyes. “I’ve always come between you, so i’ll just remove myself.” You nod and begin to walk away. Caleb grabs your hand, bringing you back to him but you remain at an arm’s length. His skin burns against yours. You try to wiggle away but his grip only tightens, cracking your bones.

“No. I need to comfort my girlfriend and make for sure that she is okay,” Caleb speaks directly at you. You shiver. He turns to her, “you have crossed a line. I’ll speak to you later.”

“NO!” she shrieks. “You are going to stay here and talk to me! I don’t care about her or her feelings! I never have! I have only ever cared about you, Caleb! Can’t you see that she is ruining us? Our relationship? She’s always been a poison! She’s going to push us apart! She’s seduced you! How can you live with that?”

Caleb doesn’t respond. You stare at his face, seeing the wheels turn inside his brain.

Anger boils over inside your chest but for once, you feel calm. The anger is no longer hot. It is cold, cool to the touch. It feels like you are breathing in the snowy winter air in Skyhaven. Your feet no longer drag against the ground. You no longer carry the weight of your sadness and pain on your shoulders. You are now light and airy, weightless.

You step around Caleb and yank your hand away from his. He watches you, purple eyes wide in the moonlight. You approach her, taking a deep breath as you look down at her. She takes a step back, a look of nervousness flashing across her face before she covers it up. You wait a few seconds, pulling together the right words to say.

“I am going to say this once and one time only. I am going to say this because Caleb doesn’t have a fucking backbone when it comes to you, so listen up,” you tower over her yet your face remains emotionless. It sends shivers down her spine. “I am not a poison. I am not worthless. I did not seduce Caleb. I am a human being with god damn feelings. You cannot treat me like I am the shit on the bottom of your shoe. You may have done that when we were kids and ruined my self esteem back then, but I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore.”

“I-I didn’t treat you like—”

“You cried on my birthdays and took half of my presents because you made my parents feel bad for you. You were smart back then, using your sob backstory to your advantage. You made fun of the way I dressed, the way I talked. Whenever I had friends over, you would cry and kick and scream to be included even though it was my friend group, not yours. You purposefully used my crush against Caleb against me. You dangled him in front of me knowing that I liked him, knowing that he was one of two people who ever treated me like a human being but even then it was close to nothing. The bare fucking minimum. You interrupted us doing homework and even ruined our first high school dance because you didn’t feel included. Well guess what, princess! It didn’t include you because you weren’t old enough! Sorry if that hurt your feelings, but some things just do not involve you!”

Her jaw drops. Caleb places his hand on your shoulder but you shrug it off.

“Now that I have finally found some peace in my life and have gotten to a place where I can feel human again, you just have to walk right in and ruin that too, right? Because seeing me thrive and be happy is the bane of your existence. How dare I be happy? How dare I reconnect with a boy I knew in my childhood!” You pause and take a deep breath, taking a single step forward and lower your voice, “I was just a kid just like you…but we’re adults now. You treated me like fucking shit just like you are now. You’ve haven’t changed. You’ve remained the same desperate little girl clinging to whatever she can to justify her shitty actions. Now, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about Caleb and I’s relationship. We don’t need your permission. If he wanted you, he would be with you, not me. But I’ll give you once more chance. Just one. I’m going to go walk back to my car now,” you turn to Caleb, your face serious with an underlying anger in your eyes, “if he follows me, then I’ll take it that he actually wants to remain in my life. I’ll learn to co-exist with you for his sake because I’ll never ask him to choose between us, unlike you. If he stays behind with you, well, you’ve won. You two deserve each other. I’ll be the villain in your story. Just keep me the fuck out of it.”

Without wasting another second, you push past Caleb, shoulder bumping into his arm. You cross the grassy field at a fast pace, stopping to slip your heels off of your feet. You let out a frustrated yell and throw your shoe at the car. The alarm starts to go off and you grab your purse, furiously digging through to find the keys.

A pair of hands rest on top of yours. You pause and look up through your blurry vision. You can’t make out his face, but his cologne is familiar to you. Caleb sighs and pulls you into his arms. You tuck your head under his chin, finally letting go as sobs overtake your body. You ball your fists up and slam them against his arms. He takes every hit.

The two of you stand there until you fall silent, too tired to continue. Caleb looks inside your purse for you and grabs the keys. He clicks a button and the alarm stops blaring. Neither of you speak. No words fill the silence. He opens up the car door for you and you slip inside. The door remains open. He goes inside the back seat and grabs your sneakers. He comes around and takes your heels from you, brushing the dirt and blades off grass off of your feet, slipping your feet inside the shoes. He closes the door and gets inside the drivers side, quickly pulling away.

Both of Caleb’s hands remain on the wheel. You face away from him, staring outside the car window.

A part of you is grateful that he followed you. That he chose you. However, another part of your soul, your heart, aches at the fact that there is going to be a nuclear meltdown within the next couple of days that you will be forced to go through. She will certainly have words to share with you and for Caleb’s sake, you hope that he grows a backbone until then.

The drive is silent. Neither of you turn on the radio. The purr of the car’s old engine mixes in with the sound of the car’s A.C., the faint whirr in the background. You sniffle and hug your arms to your body. 

Caleb looks at you when the roads are empty. His heart rips into two, straight down the middle. The once lively heart, the boy who grow tired. His once constant positive attitude begins to wither. The inner boy inside of his soul begins to decay.

Is this how you have felt all of these years? he thinks to himself. Has the feeling of disappointment and despair chipped at your soul the whole time?

The car comes to a stop. You blink at your house, the gate closing behind the car. You get out before he can open the door. You make a beeline for the door, swiping the keys from your hands. You stare anthem under the orange porch light, the buzzing from a nearby bug catcher in the same tone as your simmering irritation. The door swings open and you turn around, pressing a hand to Caleb’s chest, stopping him from following.

“Find another way in. If you really want this,” you gesture between you two, “you’ll figure it out.”

Petty? Yes. Deserved? Fucking maybe. Who cares. He can hold this against you for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t complain. You, quite frankly, need to see him work for it instead of following like a puppy dog.

The door closes in his face. You press your back against it, the tears forming in your eyes once again. Quickly making your way up the stairs, you dart inside your bedroom, and strip away the dress on your body, throwing it to the side. You go to the bathroom and immediately hop in the shower, your jewelry remaining on your body as the cold water pours over you. It makes you alert, awake, and all too aware of what you said.

Do you regret it? No, not really. If anything, it was therapeutic for you to get out. Could you have been a bit nicer to her? Sure. Of course. But you weren’t. That’s a burden you’ll carry with you wherever you go.

You step out, face bare and body clean. After drying yourself off, you slip into one of Caleb’s old shirts and into a pair of spandex. You lay down in your bed, covering your face with the sheets, closing your eyes, wishing the pain would leave you alone.

Time ticks by. You don’t check your phone. You don’t have the energy to. How much time has passed? An hour? Fifteen minutes? Five? Two hours? It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t returned.

You sit up in bed, the sheets pooling around your waist. You look around, eyes grazing over the window where the moon hangs low in the sky. You sigh.

He’s left you, hasn’t he? Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he did. You wouldn’t blame him for it, either. You’re a mess. A complete and utter disaster that is holding on with three pieces of duct tape and a dream.

A clink on the window.

You turn your head, eyebrow raised. Another clink. You get up and push against the windows, pushing them open. You dodge a small pebble at the last moment, looking down at Caleb who stands on the ground below.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he calls out, “my lovely Juliet.” You roll your eyes.

He holds a few white flowers in his hand and a box in the other. His Evol plucks them from his hands, the objects hovering behind him. He approaches the vine wall on the side of your house. It leads directly up to your bedroom where your two windows are. He grabs hold of the wooden structure underneath the vines, his hands scraping against the thorns and stray sticks. They poke into his skin but he pushes through it, slowly climbing the vine wall to get to you.

Once Caleb is close enough, you lean out the window, noticing the dirt on his hands, the sweat that forms in beads across his forehead. He grunts every time he pulls himself up, the objects still floating behind him. His dirty hand grabs the windowsill, pulling himself up with one last burst of energy.

His face leans up to yours, mere inches away from each other. You don’t pull away and neither does he. You purse your lips and pull away, watching as he brings himself inside your bedroom with surprising elegance and grace. He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it to the side. The flowers and black box float into his hands, his purple eyes never leaving yours. 

You stand in the middle of your bedroom. His shirt is baggy on you, the material stretched and worn out from him over the years. The words are faded but you’re wearing his DAA exercise shirt. You like how comforting the cotton material is against your skin. He sighs, dirt covering his pants and white dress shirt. He takes a step towards you. Your eyes never leave his. You gulp.

“These…are for you,” he holds out the flowers. It’s a variety.

An apple red tulip. A white carnation. A light blue hyacinth. A single pink rose. A daisy.

“I got them from the gardens in the neighborhood. And this,” he taps the box, “is from the shop I worked at in high school.”

You take them from him, noticing the small specks of blood that sprouts from his thumb and index finger. He plucked off every single thorn so you wouldn’t get hurt. You rest them along your forearm and he steps forward, holding out the box. The stems of the flowers are uneven, most likely plucked from nearby gardens. He slowly opens it. On the inside is a small glass butterfly. Its wings is a deep red that fades into a light pink at the tips. Its body remains clear. Your heart aches. Your eyes fill with tears. You look up at him, bottom lip pouting out to try and stop you from crying.

“I…I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what Zayne said to you to make you cry and I really don’t know why she had to make things worse. I don’t know what to do or say to make you forgive me or what I need to do to make you fully trust me again,” he begins in a quiet voice. “All I know is that I love you. I love you…so much, pretty bird,” his voice cracks. You step forward and place a hand on his chest. It slows his beating heart almost instantly. “I can’t lose you. When you closed the door on my face, my world went black and white.”

“Caleb,” you cup his cheek with your free hand. He leans into your touch.

“I need you in your life…but I also need her in my life,” he whispers. You nod. “I can’t lose either of you and it pains me that there’s nothing I can do to help or mend the tension between you two.”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you breathe out. He shakes his head.

“No. No it’s not. You’re my girlfriend, the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. The way she treated you both in childhood and now is despicable. She’s not the same girl I used to know…so I called her. I set boundaries for us and made her realize that it’s you who I want to be with, not her.” 

Tears roll down Caleb’s cheeks. You gently wipe them away. He leans down and presses his forehead into yours. He takes a deep breath, you with him, and his hands finally touch you. He places them on your waist, remaining over the fabric of his shirt, and sighs.

“I know that our relationship isn’t going to be perfect. I know it isn’t going to be fixed overnight and to be bandaged up with a single sorry. That’s not possible. I know you’re hurting. Please…please let me take some of your pain away. Let me carry the tension and angst you feel in your body. Let me carry that load for you. Rely on me, pretty bird. Use me.”

“Caleb,” his name from your mouth is like the nectar of the gods. He pulls away and looks down at you. You sigh and bite your lip, peering into his deep purple and glossy eyes. “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep it in.”

He nods. A single tear rolls down his cheek. You wipe it away. More follow. His tears are hot against your chilled skin. You wipe away every single one that comes out, his body shuddering. You peel away for a split second, placing the flowers and butterfly on your desk. You move back to him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb buries his face into your neck, arms tightly locking around your waist. He pulls you closer. You inhale the smell of dirt and sweat from his hair, holding the back of his head.

The two of you succumb to the ground. He leans forward, holding you in his lap, holding onto you for dear life. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging his head. He whimpers.

“Please don’t leave me,” he cries into your neck, his words muffled yet legible.

“I’m not,” you whisper into his ear.

You move his face in front of yours, your hands on his cheeks. You lean in and kiss away every single tear that falls down his face. Your lips become salty and hot. His tears mix with yours. He sniffles and squeezes your waist. His tears slow down and his breathing steadies. You remain in his arms, whispering reassurances to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Caleb, we’re in this together, okay?” your voice is gentle despite the anger that remains inside your chest. He nods and takes a deep breath.

“Together?” Caleb repeats the word back to you. You nod.

“Together.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

[inthedarknessofnight]

Thinking about struggling musician Eddie who makes a living singing and playing guitar in a Metallica tribute band.

Thinking about bartender Steve who thinks tribute bands are the cringiest, most insufferable things to ever exist.

Thinking about Robin, his coworker, who made a bet on the very first day of their new job that Steve would eventually hook up with someone from a tribute band.

And the thing is, he almost makes it. Three years and he’s got a completely clean track record. Well, at least until the night some random Metallica cover band’s frontman has Steve questioning his sanity from the moment he sets foot on stage. Because Steve is mesmerized. By the way his lithe figure moves under the bright stage lights. By the way his fingers slide deftly along the neck of his guitar. By the way his voice permeates the room, filling the air to the point where Steve thinks he must be breathing the music into his lungs. And then, the motherfucker has the audacity to take off shirt his mid-performance, putting on display a well-curated collection of tattoos. Steve feels like an ancient deity has descended from the heavens and decided to play fucking Metallica, on a fucking Tuesday, in the shittiest fucking bar in all of Inianapolis. Well and truly distracted by the action on stage, Steve doesn’t register the glass slipping slowly out of his grasp, until the damn thing has hit the floor and broken into a thousand pieces. When he turns to examine the mess, Robin is already there, broom in hand.

“You might wanna think about closing that mouth, dingus. I don’t think you drooling all over this pristine countertop is good for business,” she says with barely contained laughter, quickly sweeping the shards into the dustpan.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he retorts, rolling his eyes, suddenly very aware of just how much he was staring. Instinctively, Steve shakes his hand to drive away the haze, grabs a new glass, and tries his best to focus on the task at hand.

It isn’t until the final number of the evening that Steve’s resolve truly crumbles. He’s all but managed to tune out the goings-on around him, which is why he nearly has a heart attack when he suddenly finds himself face to face with the beam coming straight from the main spotlight.

“Can we- Yes. Perfect. There he is,” says a low voice coming from the very center of the stage, followed by a cacophony of loud cheers.

And… Oh no.

“What the-,” he mutters, a hand flying up to shield his eyes from the blinding light. That’s when he sees him.

“Hey, pretty boy behind the bar. Get me some whiskey up here on this stage, will you?”

And Steve is so so so incredibly fucked.

He stares dumbly for a few seconds. Having seemingly lost any and all ability to think independently, Steve brain shifts into autopilot, causing him to grab the full bottle of Jack sitting on the shelf behind him, stroll towards the stage as if possessed, accompanied by the sound of cheering, which only grows louder with every step he takes. He climbs the steps leading onto the stage. As soon as he reaches the top, he finds himself face to face with…

He’s so close. For a brief moment, Steve wonders if he knew prior to this moment that a person can be this beautiful. They’re chest to chest. The guy is ducking his head to whisper something to Steve, his breath hitting the sensitive spot just below the ear as he does so.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, his like voice smoke, and milk, and honey, and all things Steve wants to breathe in, and drink, and savor. He plucks the bottle from Steve’s hand, ringed fingers grazing his.

He winks at Steve as he takes a few steps backwards, a devilish smile playing on his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tips his head back, opens his mouth, and begins pouring the amber liquid until it spills over he edges, running down his neck and the length of his torso. After what feels like hours to Steve, the guy finally swallows the remnants of the drinking in his mouth, immediately leveling Steve with a dark gaze.

“Now you.”

Positively transfixed, Steve realizes a little too late that he has, in fact, missed his window to flee, and is headed head-first for whatever public humiliation the guy has in store for him. A strong, sure hand grips the back of his neck, long fingers tangling into the hair at the nape, tugging ever so slightly.

“Open.”

It’s not gentle. It’s a thing of lust. A command. Steve feels it in his bones. And he can’t look away. His body is not his own when he gives into the pull of the musician’s hand, his jaw going lax, mouth automatically falling open. The guy brings the bottle up to Steve’s mouth, pouring in a generous amount. Before Steve even gets the chance to swallow the liquid already burning its way down his throat, the bottle is being shoved rougly into his hand, the guy bringing his other hand up once again, only to press the palm under Steve’s chin, forcing his mouth closed. Forcing him to swallow. Steve nearly chokes.

“Good boy,” he says with a wicked grin, before pushing a spluttering, coughing Steve back in the direction of the stairs, causing him to nearly topple off the stage. The guy laughs maniacally into his microphone and the crowd goes wild, the drummer already counting them into the final song.

Still bewildered and absolutely dumbfounded by whatever just happened to him on that stage, Steve chances one last glance in the singer’s direction as he descends the stairs.

This time, however, he isn’t met with a sultry, dark look, or one of the guy’s infamous mischievous grins. Instead, he finds a pair of soft brown eyes staring back at him, and plush pink lips curved into the dopiest, most endearing smile Steve has ever seen.

…

By the end of the night, Steve has found the love of his life and Robin is collecting money from nearly every employee at the bar, sporting a smug, I-told-you-so expression on her face.

[bernardsbendystraws]

༄ Blurb of stupid-mushy-relationship shit with the big Bernard...

Stupid blurb of you being an attention whore for your boyfriend. Warning - it is slightly suggest (face sitting mentioned and some more), being told to die, being called a bitch, just like bully-flirting yk?

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You kinda look like a bitch today."

Your words caught Matt off-guard. He does a double take, looking over his shoulder to see if it's some audio that sound like you, but no - you're staring right at him.

"Huh? Doll - what're you sayin?" he asks.

Rolling your eyes, you repeat yourself, trying to bite back a smile. "I said, you kinda look like a bitch today," you point out.

A bitch? Matt looks down at his outfit, an outfit he only wear because you had coordinated it one time.

"But...you like this sweater and jeans together-"

"No, no. It's not your clothes. It's just..." you cock your head to the side, shruggging, "-it's your face."

Matt huffs, rubbing his hand over his face, "Alright, what did I do?" he asks.

Snickering, you shake your head from side to side. "Hmph - nothin' really. I just wanted your attention."

"Bruh. You're such a-"

You glare at him, his mouth sealed shut as his eyes go wide. "What? I'm such a what, Matt? Go on."

Matt looks around the room shamefully, avoiding your gaze at all costs. "-a beautiful, perfect, girlfriend?"

Smiling at him, you tug him closer by the belt loop. "I'm also an attention whore!" you chirp, playfully dusting off his shirt. Matt puffs, astonished at the words from your mouth, the one statement he thought he really fucked up with.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna die from a heart attack one of these days. You can't keep fucking with me like this."

"Your blaming me for your death right after you implied I was a whore?" you question.

Matt takes a deep sigh, closing his eyes as he mutters beneath his breath, "I'm gonna sit on the floor and cry. What the fuck am I supposed to say."

You laugh while tangling your hands into his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. Genuinely, you do feel just the slightest bit bad, stressing him out so much and for what?

"Don't die, you're too sexy," you smile.

Matt's face changes within an instant. A happy grin sprawls across his face as his eyes perk with joy. "I'm sexier with you on my faceeee," he chimes.

You scrunch your nose, baffled as he stares at you dumbly. "Die," you exclaim, booping his nose.

You're an attention whore for him, sure. But you knew sitting on his face was a dangerous game. Especially when he was doing it as means of 'payback.' And you weren't that greedy.

"What if I die like in an hour and I have to die depressed because my girl won't sit on my face."

"Damn," I sigh, pinching his cheeks before shrugging, "Sucks."

[gemstone-roses]

Keep me warm

Summary: reader is terrified of storms, soaking wet, she shows up at hannibals door, terrified and needing comfort. Size kink. Cock warming.

Warnings: 18 plus only. NSFW, descriptions of a panic attack, cock warming, size kink, smut, hurt/comfort. You know the drill.

A:N- thankyou for requesting this I have been thinking about this scenario ever since! Hope your okay! Much love ❤️. I know you said you'd be fine with hc but you get a whole fic instead🥰 also I got rained on so much last week and now I'm full of cold I HATE this time of year ugh. I hope you like this I really do 🥰🥰

This might be one of my favourite things I've written.

You regret every decision you've made leading up to this point.

Grey clouds gather above you, you look up, wincing.

You thought you could make it home before the rain. Only wearing a light jacket, definitely not equipped for the kind of weather about to unleash on your head.

Fuck you whisper, hands clenching as thunder rolls in.

You shove your jacket off and hold it above your head in a pathetic attempt to retain at least a bit of dignity. You know you can't make it home with the storm, your anxiety already heightening with every crack you hear.

But you can make it to hannibal.

He's the only one who knew of your fear. Having to reveal it one day when you were both on the way to a crime scene.

The rain falls hard on the front of the car, wipers working overtime to clear it, your amazed hannibal can even see through the haze of rain. Your breath hitches as you hear the beginnings of a storm. You hoped he didn't notice. But this is hannibal. Of course he did. He glances over at you, sees your chest heaving and pulls over.

"Y/N" he says softly, shifting in his seat to face you.

But the rain is coming down so fast and hard and it's like you can feel it, in your soul. Your head spins as you try and take a deep breath. Hannibal places his hand on your thigh and squeezes, once again calling your name. When you don't look at him, he reaches out and grips your chin gently.

His face is flooded with concern

"I- can't

You push your hand into your chest, trying to ease the weight that's settled there.

"I know, I know, y/n, keep your eyes on me, okay?" Hannibal soothes.

You force yourself to keep looking at him, his big hand still rests cupping your chin, applying a slight pressure.

"Good" he smiles, hannibal weighs up the options in his head. Getting out of the car is out of the question, and he asks "do you trust me?" And you nod, so hannibal unclips your belt and says "Come here" before pulling you onto his lap. He immediately holds you tight, pushing you into his chest. "It'll be over soon my love" he soothes as he holds you against him. You can hear his heart beat as you lay on him, and eventually it calms you.

By the time you knock frantically at his door, your positively soaking wet, teeth chattering, tears blending in with the rain running down your face.

Hannibal opens the door and your hit instantly with a wall of warm. His brow furrows in concern as he takes in your state.

"S-storm" you mutter, looking down at the floor before you feel two hands wrap around your waist and pull you into the house.

Hannibal immediately pulls you into his embrace, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You shrink into his embrace, his presence beginning to melt away the fear you felt.

Shivers rack your body, cold setting in, hannibal holds you tighter.

'I've got you' he says.

"Come on, let's get you warmed up hm?" His hand comes to cup your face as he speaks.

He leads you to the lounge, where the fire is roaring.

"Let's get out of those wet clothes my love" he says, his hands rest lightly on your waist. Waiting.

You look at him, his eyes blown wide, hannibal swallows visibly.

"Would you like me to leave while you change?" He asks.

"No" you whisper.

Hannibal lifts your soaking shirt over your head. His breath catches in his throat as he does, lips parted slightly as he takes you in.

You slip out of your pants just as hannibal places the dry shirt over your head. It falls just below your knees.

Hannibal runs his fingers over your neck "you, are exquisite" he says, slightly breathless.

Heat rises to your face, warming you. Your still shivering slightly though, and hannibal of course, notices.

"Come here" he whispers, sitting down on the sofa and pulling you on top of him.

You let out a moan as you feel his cock against you, sitting deliciously against your core.

Hannibals cock hardens even more at the noise you made.

"Your still colder than I'd like darling" he says seriously, running his hands up and down your exposed thigh.

"Mm" is all you manage to say.

"I was working on my memory palace, when you knocked"

"M sorry" you mutter, ducking your head.

Hannibal tuts, lifting your chin to look at him.

"No, do not apologise, but, I do need to finish my thoughts" he says as his cock twitches.

"How about we stay like this until I'm done hm? And then I'll cook and you can spend the night?" He asks.

You nod.

"Words, darling" hannibal says sternly.

"Yes" you breathe out.

You shift slightly, his clothed cock pushing against you making you drip with need.

Hannibal grips your hips and stills you.

"Not until I'm finished" he grins. Before pushing you back slightly so he can free his cock from his pants.

You watch in awe as his thick cock springs up against his stomach.

Hannibal places his hands back on your hips before guiding you to sit on his cock.

You close your eyes, pleasure overtaking you as he sinks inside.

"No my love, you keep your eyes on me" he says, his voice gravelly.

"Hanni, please" you whisper, his cock filling you stretching you so good.

He ignores you. Continuing his thoughts as he twitches his cock every now and then inside you.

He keeps one hand gripping your chin, looking at him as you warm his cock.

"You feel so good, sitting on my cock like this, so perfect" he says.

Your chest heaves at his words.

"M so full, please, I need you" you choke out, feeling every ridge of his cock inside you, he pushed himself up on the couch slightly, causing him to hit another spot inside you.

"Fuck" you cry out.

Hannibal smirks, before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. He begins to trace small patterns on your back.

"Hanni, it feels so good" you whisper into his chest, clenching around him.

"I know my love, just a bit longer I promise, your doing so well for me".

You whine at his words, and hannibal keeps talking to you like that, you relax into him, his cock still snug inside you as he holds you, warming you up, as you warm his cock.

[chaos--s]

platonic yandere! sheep family x wolf hybrid!reader

--

Just finish it, you think, the sheep is literally laying down in front of you. Snap your jaws around her, end her life, another voice tells you. Her small whimpers and pained cries as you hold her down make your heart ache, she's so scared. And you're hurting her.

No matter how much you will yourself to do it, you couldn't. You finally let her up, lifting your clawed hands that pinned her down. You don't look back when she runs away, knowing she won't ever come back near the forest.

Tears roll down your cheeks and it adds even more to your frustration. You're weak. Your pack was right. You couldn't even finish off a single sheep, how could you contribute to your pack? Your stomach growled in hunger and you sighed. You didn't deserve to eat.

With nowhere to go, you slump against a tree. No pack, all alone under the moonlight. You shut your eyes, maybe sleeping will lessen the hunger.

Before you could drift off to sleep, you hear padded footsteps running up towards you. You crack an eye open and-

It's the sheep again.

She's standing in front of you, bruised up from you attacking on her only a few moments ago. You growl slightly, watching in satisfaction as she flinches back but doesn't run away. But she's still there, standing with her hands behind her back.

"You were hungry, right?" She holds a cloth wrapped container, the smell of delicious food wafted from it. You had to keep yourself from drooling. "Some leftovers, I warmed them up for you."

"Get lost." You mutter, defeated. What type of wolf were you when prey just waltzed up to you instead of running away in fear? She shouldn't even be alive. Yet here she was, showing you pity.

Pity. As if you needed any.

She quietly places the container near you, crouching down as she does so. You should feel grateful for the food, the hunger was turning into pain. You snap at her when she gets too near, growling lowly. "I could still change my mind and kill you, sheep."

Your tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes weren't the least bit threatening.

"You won't hurt me." She states. "You could've killed me then. Yet, you didn't."

She's right. You continue to glower at her when she just sits there, a small comforting smile on her lips as she pushes the container towards you. She's right and that's what makes you so angry.

You couldn't bring yourself to hurt her anymore than you already did. You want to sob, tell her you're sorry for even hurting her in the first place. But what wolf has ever done that? Apologize to their prey, what a joke.

"You have a gentle soul. Kind and caring, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Her tone is soothing, it's almost crooning the way she talks to you. "It's alright. Eat up."

Don't give in, you're shouting at yourself in your head. No matter how much you might crave that crooning voice, the gentleness you weren't given as a pup, you couldn't let a sheep embarrass you like this. So you kick the container away, spilling the food on the forest floor.

"Fuck off." Your voice rough. Not with anger, but a deep sadness that she notices. You expect her to get mad, but the smile stays on her face. "Alright, I'll come back with more. Stay put, okay?"

You turn your head away from her. You doubt she's coming back. A small part of you wishes she would.

It doesn't take a long time for you to eventually fall asleep, your body deciding that being unconscious would be better rather than feeling you slowly starve to death.

You don't wake up when she comes back, this time with her parents.

"That's the pup." She says softly.

Her parents, ones that have been hurt by your pack before. The scars evident on them, yet they look at you with such adoration, such gentleness.

Because you're different, clearly. Their daughter walks back into their home with bruises all over her and they panic. But there was no excessive blood. And, huh, she's not dying. You were different, not as driven by bloodlust like the other wolves. But had some semblance of empathy for other hybrids. Abandoned by your pack because of the size of your heart.

Her father crouches down near your sleeping body. His heart breaks when he sees the scars inflicted by your own pack, claw marks that run deep in your arms. Ugly, a reminder of your failures.

No child deserved to be treated like that, he brushes away the stray tears from your face, there was always a space in his home for you. He feels a hand place comfortingly on his shoulder, he doesn't need to look up to know that his wife agrees as well.

They had a new member of the family. A wolf cub, and they would give you the world.

[lightseoul]

can you make one for number 4? (⁠^⁠^⁠)

sure, i can! thank you for participating, sweetheart <3 hope you like this one—it was fun to write!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

4. "DO I MAKE YOU NERVOUS?" (0.8k)

you pad your way to your small living room, two mugs of hot chamomile tea in tow, diligently trying not to spill any on your pristine, tiled floor.

but not as much as you’re trying to steady your hammering heart.

the perpetrator of your impending cardiac arrest remains unaware of your plight, however, seemingly relaxed with his right arm resting on top of the backrest of your two-seater couch.

upon seeing you approaching, he sits up ever so minutely, but his arm stays put.

“thanks,” he mumbles as you carefully place the beverages on the tiny coffee table in front of you.

“sure,” you retort, voice pathetically wobbly, and for a second you just stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself.

bakugou’s eyes drift up to look at you, questioning. “aren’t you going to sit?”

“r-right!”

gingerly, you plop yourself down beside the man, purposefully making sure there’s an appropriate enough distance between the two of you.

a few moments pass with neither of you saying anything, the air so unusually tense you could cut it with a meat cleaver. you find yourself toying with the hem of the boxer shorts you hastily threw on while bakugou did his business in your comfort room upon your arrival at your apartment unit.

the very unit he’s visiting for the first time.

with tonight being the first either of you has ever visited the other’s home.

alone.

so, yeah—maybe the looming heart attack is a bit warranted.

“…this is your place, right?”

your face contorts in a mix of offense and confusion before you can think better against it. “of course, it is!”

“then why do you look so fucking stiff?”

at the call out, it suddenly dawns on you how tense your body is, spine straight in a rare occurrence of you having good posture. you roll your shoulders back in an attempt to relax a little, still finding yourself unable to look the pro-hero in the eye.

beside you, bakugou huffs, before muttering: “and are you saving some space for the holy spirit, or something? fucking glued to the armrest…”

you can’t help it—you snort at his petulant comment. this grants you a light shove from the man, who doesn’t need to move much to do so what with his wingspan being abnormally wide.

“quit laughing at me, dumbass.”

it takes you a few more seconds to get the chuckles out, and you’re finally lulled into a comfortable silence soon after. mustering the courage, you chance a glance at bakugou, who’s apparently already been looking at you.

“what?” you ask, feeling overly self-conscious.

he studies you for a while longer. “are you really going to sit like that for the rest of the night?”

you’re really going to have that fucking stroke.

“why?” you manage to get out, “where do you want me to sit?”

again, bakugou lets out an exasperated sigh, as if this entire exchange is tiring him out. “do you need me to spell it out? get fucking closer.”

before you even get the chance to get flustered at his command, bakugou grabs you by the hip with one, strong hand, unceremoniously pulling you flush against his firm chest.

instantly, you feel yourself flame in embarrassment, mind barely registering the brazen display of confidence and strength. you find yourself trying not to focus too much on the comforting heat radiating off his frame, or how his toned torso feels so solid against your skin.

or, perhaps most importantly, the fact that he just doesn’t seem to get nervous around you as you do around him.

you don’t get to dig too deep into that, though, because bakugou reaches out and gently tugs your head down against his chest, effectively snapping you out of your trance.

but that’s when you hear—and feel—it.

stunned, you jolt away from the man, who startles ever so slightly you would’ve missed it if it weren’t for the way you’re staring at him in absolute shock.

“what the f—”

“do i make you nervous?” you blurt out before you can talk yourself out of it.

bakugou’s face scrunches up, “what?”

“your heart’s beating so fast,” you point out. “or at least i think it is.”

bakugou doesn’t say anything for what feels like an hour, before he throws his hands up and turns away from you, opting to face the TV instead. “so fucking what. sue me.”

you can’t help the grin that takes over your face at the sight, a tinge of pink now resting on the high planes of the pro-hero’s cheeks.

bakugou side-eyes you, face sullen, “the fuck are you grinning about?”

“nothing,” you sing-song, looping your arm around his in a burst of new-found confidence. “just found out i make pro-hero dynamight nervous.”

at that, he scoffs. “that’s hardly an achievement, dumbass. i’m your fucking boyfriend.”

[lila-lou]

✨Fucking Brats - 1/3✨

Summary: You and Ben have two teenage daughters, and lately, they’ve been nothing short of awful. With Ben away on missions, you've been taking the heat. But when he finally steps back through that door and sees how they’ve been treating you? Hell breaks loose. Because no one—not even his own brats—messes with his girl.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST

Word Count: 7305

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Fourteen years of being a mother, fourteen years of giving everything—your time, your patience, your love. Fourteen years of putting them first, sacrificing everything for them. And yet, here you were, standing in the middle of the wreckage of what used to be your kitchen, your hands shaking, your breath uneven, and your heart pounding with something dangerously close to pure, undiluted rage.

The fight had started over something small—something so insignificant you couldn’t even remember what it was now. But, like always, it had escalated.

Ava and Liv, your beautiful, powerful, stubborn twin daughters, had once again turned your home into a battlefield.

Liv stood on one side, chest heaving, her eyes burning with frustration, while Ava stood on the other, her hands clenched into fists. The tension between them was suffocating. You could see the crackle of their powers vibrating in the air, warping the space between them.

“Enough”, you said, your voice firm but tired. But they ignored you. Of course, they did.

“You’re such a bitch, Liv!”, Ava spat, her powers flaring around her fingertips. “No wonder Dad favors me over you”.

Liv let out a bitter laugh, the kind that made your stomach twist. “Oh, please. You’re delusional. Dad doesn’t favor either of us—he barely even gives a shit! But sure, keep telling yourself that while you ride his coattails like a pathetic little sidekick”.

Your head throbbed. “Enough”, you said again, louder this time, stepping between them.

Liv scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Stay out of it, Mom”.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

The sound of shattering glass rang through the kitchen as sharp fragments rained down beside you, some skidding across the floor, others embedding themselves into the walls. Your breath caught in your throat. Liv hadn’t even hesitated.

You turned your head slowly, staring at the splintered remains of the glass that had been inches from your face. If you had moved just a second slower, it would have cut you. Maybe even blinded you. And she didn’t care.

Rage and heartbreak coiled inside you like a living thing, suffocating, burning. “You—”. The words died on your tongue as Ava lunged at her sister again, fists crackling with power. Liv met her head-on. The force of their clash sent a shockwave through the room, knocking chairs over, rattling the cabinets, and making the lights flicker. The air between them warped from the sheer energy radiating off their bodies. They were really going at it now—no longer just screaming at each other, but attacking, their hits meant to hurt.

You staggered back, your heart slamming against your ribs. This wasn’t just sibling rivalry anymore. They were out for blood.

“STOP IT!”. Your voice broke as you stepped forward, but neither of them even glanced your way. They were lost in their rage, their need to dominate, to win.

Ava caught Liv with a blast of energy, sending her skidding across the floor, crashing into the island. The impact cracked the wood, but Liv was already back on her feet, her lip curled, a red streak across her cheek from the fall. “You wish you were better than me”, she sneered, and with a flick of her wrist, the entire fridge ripped from its place, hurtling toward Ava. Ava dodged at the last second, the massive appliance slamming into the wall instead, leaving a gaping hole where it had once been. You let out a strangled sound, hands flying to your mouth.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t your home anymore. It was a warzone.

“Enough!”. You screamed, desperation lacing your voice as you tried again, but your words meant nothing. You were nothing in this moment—just a human caught in the crossfire of two beings who didn’t seem to care anymore. Tears burned in your eyes. You had spent everything—your youth, your dreams, your sanity—raising them, loving them, protecting them. And this was what was left.

A sob caught in your throat. Ben wasn’t here. He was never here when things got bad.

Ava’s hand was wrapped around Liv’s throat as she slammed her down onto the cold, cracked tile. The impact sent a deep tremor through the floor, rattling what little was left of your already-destroyed kitchen.

For a moment, there was only silence—harsh breathing, the hum of their residual energy still crackling in the air. And then, Ava turned her head. Her furious, glowing eyes locked onto yours, but the second she registered the tears streaming down your face, the way your hands trembled at your sides, something in her expression shifted. The fight drained out of her, like she was only just realizing you’d been there the entire time.

Her fingers loosened around her sister’s throat. “Mom…”, she breathed, like she didn’t know what to say. Like she wasn’t sure how to fix what she’d already shattered.

But Liv wasn’t done.

With a sharp cough, she shoved Ava off her, rolling onto her side as she propped herself up on her elbow. A deep, ugly bruise was already forming along her collarbone, but instead of anger, all she had for you was disdain.

A smirk curled at the corner of her split lip, and she let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “God, you’re so fucking weak”, she spat, shaking her head. “It’s pathetic”.

The words hit you harder than any attack she could’ve thrown. Weak. Pathetic. From your own daughter’s mouth. You swallowed hard, every inch of your body shaking with the effort of holding yourself together. She wasn’t just saying it to hurt you—she meant it. She meant every single word. You could see it in her face, in the way she looked at you, like you were nothing. Something inside you shattered.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years of late nights, of scraped knees and lullabies, of holding them when they were sick, of staying up with them when they had nightmares. Of fighting for them. Of loving them with every part of your soul. And yet here you were. Nothing but a weak, pathetic human to them.

You pressed your lips together, forcing down the lump in your throat. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the kitchen. Not because you were backing down, but because, for the first time, you didn’t have anything left to give.

Your hands were shaking as you snatched your car keys off the counter, barely able to breathe through the overwhelming wave of exhaustion and heartbreak crushing your chest. You couldn’t do this anymore—not right now. Let them burn the house down for all you cared. Let them fight until there was nothing left. You just needed to go.

With your pulse pounding in your ears, you stormed through the front door and onto the porch, the cool evening air hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. You didn’t even know where you were going—maybe you’d just drive until the exhaustion swallowed you whole.

But the second your foot hit the driveway, you stopped dead.

Ben stood there.

His broad frame was backlit by the headlights of an idling SUV, his uniform torn and caked in blood and dirt. His knuckles were still bruised, his jaw clenched, his hair a mess of sweat and filth. He looked like he’d just crawled his way out of hell.

He wasn’t supposed to be back for another week. And yet, here he was. And you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

His tired green eyes flicked over you, taking in your red-rimmed eyes, your trembling fingers clutching the car keys so tightly your knuckles were white. His gaze snapped up to the house behind you, where the faint sounds of destruction and arguing still echoed from inside.

And just like that, his expression darkened.

“The fuck is going on?”. His voice was low, gruff, edged with exhaustion but laced with something far more dangerous.

"Nothing", you mumbled, heading further towards the car.

Ben moved before you could, a firm, gloved hand wrapping around your wrist before you could make it to the car. His grip wasn’t tight—not enough to hurt—but enough to stop you dead in your tracks. “The fuck it’s nothing”, he muttered, voice rough, edged with something unreadable.

You swallowed hard, still facing away from him. You didn’t have it in you to fight him, not after everything. Not when you were already holding yourself together by a thread. “Ben”, you whispered, voice hoarse. “Please. Just let me go”.

His grip tightened just slightly, a breath passing through his nose, controlled, measured. “Not happening”.

You squeezed your eyes shut, another wave of exhaustion crashing over you. You didn’t want to do this. Not now. Not with him. But Ben had never been one to just let you go.

You felt it before you saw it. The heat of his body as he stepped closer, his presence grounding, suffocating in the way it always was. It wasn’t just his strength keeping you in place, it was him. He had always been the immovable force in your life, the one thing that had anchored you in ways you weren’t sure he even understood. Especially after the pregnancy, when you had almost died.

Carrying half-supe twins had taken everything out of you, and he had been there through all of it. Through the hospital visits, through the months of uncertainty, through the moment you nearly bled out on that table.

For a man who barely let himself care about anything, he had never quite recovered from the fear of losing you.

And now, standing here, with you trying to walk away from him? Not a fucking chance.

Ben exhaled sharply, his free hand coming up to brush against your shoulder, an almost hesitant touch. “Talk to me, baby”, he said, quieter this time. “What the hell happened?”.

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. You just stood there, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you. “I can’t do this anymore”, you finally choked out. “They don’t listen to me. They don’t care. They don’t—”. Your voice broke, and you sucked in a sharp breath, willing yourself not to completely fall apart in the driveway.

Ben went rigid behind you. “What did they do?”, he asked, and his voice had changed. Dangerous. Low.

You shook your head, because you weren’t sure you could even say it out loud. But Ben wasn’t stupid. His hand slowly trailed down your arm, down to where your fingers were still trembling, and something in his expression darkened even more.

Then, without another word, he let go of you and turned on his heel, striding straight toward the house.

“Ben”, you called after him, alarm creeping into your voice. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t even hesitate.

You hurried after him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You knew what Ben was like when he was mad, when he was really mad. And right now, the storm raging off of him was something terrifying.

"Ben, wait—". Your voice was hoarse, but he didn’t stop.

The second he stepped into the kitchen, his whole body went stiff. You saw it happen. The way his fists clenched at his sides, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his breathing slowed, controlled but lethal. And then, you saw his eyes. They flickered over the wreckage. Shattered glass, cracked countertops, the gaping hole where the fridge had once been. Over Ava and Liv, who were still breathing hard, still radiating energy, both of them bruised and scratched from their fight.

And when his gaze finally landed on you, on your tear-streaked face, your trembling frame, the way you were still struggling to breathe, his entire expression darkened into something lethal.

Neither of your daughters had noticed him yet, too caught up in their own battle. Liv was still smirking like she had won something, like she hadn’t just shattered every ounce of patience you had left. “You gonna cry again, Mom?”, she sneered. “Man, you’re pathetic”.

Before you could even react, before the words could even settle in your chest, Ben moved. He was on her in an instant. Liv barely had time to register the shift before his large hand was gripping the back of her neck, forcing her forward, slamming her against the already-damaged kitchen island. The wood cracked under the impact, a sharp gasp leaving her lips as he pinned her there. Ava immediately froze. You sucked in a breath, still sobbing, still terrified of how quickly this was escalating.

But Ben? Ben wasn’t even fucking done yet. His voice was low when he finally spoke, and it was calm. Too calm. “Say that again”.

Liv let out a short, breathless laugh, her cheek still pressed against the splintered countertop. “What—”.

He tightened his grip. She gasped again, fingers twitching against the wood. “Dad—”.

“You think you can talk to her like that?”, he murmured, still eerily calm. Too calm. “Think you can disrespect her? Make her cry?”. He leaned in just slightly, lowering his head beside hers, and his next words sent a shiver down your spine. “After everything she’s fucking done for you?”.

For the first time since this fight started, you saw it. Fear. Liv might have been half-supe, but she wasn’t Ben. And right now, Ben wasn’t the father who had held her as a baby, who had carried her on his shoulders as a child, who had let her get away with things he never should have. Right now, he was a soldier. And he was pissed.

Liv swallowed hard, struggling slightly under his grip, but Ben didn’t let her go. Instead, he turned his head slightly, flicking his gaze over to Ava, who stood frozen, wide-eyed, chest still heaving. “You too”, he muttered, his voice like steel. “You think this shit is okay? You think tearing each other apart, tearing this house apart, disrespecting your mother is okay?”.

Neither of them said a word and that only pissed him off more. “I asked you a fucking question!”. Ava flinched. Liv clenched her jaw, but she didn’t dare say anything this time.

Your breath was still shaky, your fingers gripping the doorway, unsure if you should interfere. But you knew Ben. You knew he would never really hurt them. And more than that—you knew they deserved this. They needed to understand.

After a long, heavy silence, Ben finally exhaled through his nose, slowly, controlled. Then, he released Liv, letting her stumble back slightly as he stood up to his full height. The room was suffocating with tension, and for a long moment, no one said anything. Then, Ben finally turned to you. His face softened, just slightly, as he took in your tear-streaked face again, the exhaustion still carved into every inch of you.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t for them. It was for you. “Go upstairs, baby”. His voice was still rough, still edged with leftover anger, but it was softer now. Gentle. “I’ll handle this”.

Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure if you should stay, if you should make sure things didn’t get worse. But one look at his face, at the way his entire body radiated barely-contained fury, and you knew, he wasn’t asking. He was telling you.

So, with one last shaky breath, you nodded, wiped at your face, and turned toward the stairs. And as you walked away, the last thing you heard was Ben’s voice, darker than you’d ever heard it before. “You two have no fucking idea what you just did”.

You climbed the stairs, still shaking, still raw, but you didn’t make it far before Ben’s voice erupted behind you, low and dangerous at first, but quickly rising into a full-on roar.

“The fuck is wrong with you two?”.

You froze just at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing, listening.

“I leave for a few months, and you think you can act like this? Think you can fucking destroy this house, disrespect your mother, like you’re a couple of fucking animals?”.

Neither of them answered. Of course, they didn’t. But that only made it worse. Ben scoffed, pacing. You could hear his boots scuffing against the shattered glass, crunching debris underfoot. “Do you have any idea what she’s been through? What the fuck she sacrificed for you?”. His voice was like a growl now, cutting through the dead silence of the house like a blade. “Fourteen fucking years. Fourteen years of putting you first. Of giving up everything she ever fucking wanted to make sure you had a goddamn life. And this is how you repay her?”.

“It’s not our fault she’s—”. Liv didn’t even get the words out before something slammed. Not a hit. Not violence. Just the sharp, sudden crack of Ben’s fist colliding with the already-damaged countertop, making the entire room shake.

You winced. Oh, they fucked up.

“You finish that fucking sentence”, Ben growled, “and see what happens”.

Silence.

“I fucking dare you!”.

Neither of them moved, while you barely even breathed.

Then, after a long, heavy pause, Ben inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, like he was forcing himself to regain control. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, but no less dangerous. “You’re gonna fix this”, he ordered. “Now”.

Still, neither of them moved.

Ben let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, you don’t wanna?”, he mocked. “You don’t feel like it?”.

More silence. Wrong answer.

“Clean it the fuck up!”, he roared. “Now!”.

Ava moved first. Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped toward the mess, toward the shattered glass, the broken wood, the overturned chairs. Liv hesitated a second longer, but when Ben took one slow step toward her, she flinched and quickly followed her sister’s lead. “Fix the fucking counter while you’re at it”, Ben snapped. “And the fridge. And anything else you two decided to rip apart like a couple of fucking animals”.

You heard them shift, heard them muttering under their breath as they reluctantly did what they were told. But it wasn’t enough for Ben. “You don’t mutter”, he growled. “You don’t fucking complain. You do it, and you do it right, because if I so much as see one goddamn scratch left behind when you’re done—”. He didn’t even finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

Another silence.

Then, finally, a small, trembling “Yes, sir”, from Ava. Liv didn’t say anything at first, but when Ben turned his gaze toward her, sharp as a blade, she swallowed hard and muttered, “Yes, sir”.

You exhaled shakily from your place at the top of the stairs, pressing a hand to your chest, your heartbeat still unsteady. Ben wasn’t done with them yet. Not by a long shot. But for now, for the first time in months, you finally felt like someone was on your side.

Ben’s voice was still sharp, still cutting through the silence like a blade. “I don’t fucking care how you do it. I don’t care if you have to use your goddamn powers, glue it together, or call a goddamn contractor. This kitchen better look exactly the way it did before by tomorrow”.

Neither Ava nor Liv spoke. They just nodded, their movements tense, their energy subdued for the first time in months.

Ben scoffed, shaking his head. “None of you get to fucking sleep until it’s done”. His voice was lower now, gritted between his teeth. “You don’t get to wreck shit, disrespect your mother, and then go to bed like nothing happened”.

Ava swallowed hard, her head hanging slightly. Even Liv, who had spent the entire evening testing every last limit, finally had the sense to shut the fuck up. Ben muttered a few more curses under his breath, something about how they were out of their goddamn minds, before finally turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen.

And then, his eyes landed on you. Still standing there, your arms wrapped around yourself, your face still wet with the evidence of the tears you had tried to hold back. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you.

Then, without hesitation, his large hands settled on your waist, pulling you toward him, and before you could process it, he was already walking, guiding you down the hallway, up the stairs, not even giving you the chance to resist. “Ben—”. You sniffed, your voice still wobbly. “I need to—”.

“You don’t need to do shit”, he muttered.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have it in you to.

His grip was firm, steady, his calloused fingers pressing against your hip as he pushed open the bathroom door. Without missing a beat, he reached over, turning on the shower, the sound of rushing water filling the space. You barely had time to blink before he was already undoing his bloodied, dirt-covered uniform, his fingers moving fast, practiced. And then his eyes were on you again. Unyielding. Soft, but still burning with something you couldn’t name.

“C’mere”, he murmured, his voice quieter now. He didn’t give you the chance to hesitate. Didn’t let you overthink. His fingers were already working at your clothes, peeling the day off of you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between you. Until all that was left was warmth, his arms, the steam curling around you both.

He didn’t stop moving until the water was cascading over both of you, until his hands were running slow, careful circles along your back, down your spine, grounding you. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against his chest, your body finally letting go of all the tension you had been holding in.

Ben exhaled sharply, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I got you”, he muttered, his voice lower, rougher. He squeezed your waist just slightly, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone. “I got you, baby”.

The second Ben pulled you closer, the warmth of his body soaking into yours, something inside you snapped. You had held it together for so long… too long. But now, standing here, in his arms, with the water running down your back and his firm grip steadying you, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A broken sob tore out of your throat, and you collapsed against him. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your face burying itself into his chest as the weight of the last two and a half months finally crushed you all at once.

Ben stiffened slightly at first, but only for a second. Then, his grip tightened, his arms wrapping fully around you, holding you so damn tight it was like he was trying to pull every ounce of pain straight out of your body. "Shit", he muttered, voice gruff, but gentle. One of his hands found the back of your head, fingers threading through your wet hair as his lips pressed a slow, grounding kiss against your temple. “I’m here, baby”.

You shook your head, the tears coming harder now, your entire body trembling against him. "I—I can't—".

"Yeah, you can". His voice was steady, like a rock against the storm raging inside you. "You already have".

You clenched your eyes shut. He didn't understand. Not yet.

Your hormones were everywhere, your body betraying you, the stress of the past few weeks mixing with the overwhelming knowledge that you were pregnant again.

Two weeks ago, you had found out, alone in that same bathroom, staring at a stupid little plastic stick while your daughters tore through the house downstairs. Two weeks of carrying that secret, of trying to navigate every emotion that came with it, of trying to figure out how you would even tell him.

And now, with his arms around you, his voice in your ear, his body grounding you after so long apart, you couldn’t stop crying.

Ben let out a sharp breath, his hand trailing down your back, pressing firmly between your shoulder blades, his other arm still wound securely around your waist. "You're okay", he muttered, his lips brushing against your forehead. "You're okay, baby, I got you".

You clutched at him even tighter. His muscles tensed slightly under your grip, but he didn't move, didn’t let go, just let you cry. Let you fall apart. His grip was firm, steady, unshakable, just like he always was.

It was a long while before your sobs started to quiet, before your breathing evened out just enough for you to lift your head, your tear-streaked face pressed against his chest.

Ben sighed, running a rough hand over his face, shaking his head like he was still trying to process everything. “Those little shits”, he muttered, his voice gruff. “I swear, grounded till they’re eighteen”.

You let out a breathy, wet laugh, barely able to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. But he wasn’t kidding, he looked dead serious. Ben scoffed, shaking his head again, muttering more to himself now than to you. “No, fuck that. Grounded till they’re twenty-one. No powers. No leaving the house. They can sit in their goddamn rooms and think about what they’ve done”.

Your lips twitched, exhaustion still weighing down on you, but for the first time in hours, you actually smiled.

Ben trying to be a dad and not a soldier was always ridiculous. He was terrible at it. “You can’t ground them till they’re twenty-one”, you murmured, voice hoarse from all the crying.

“The fuck I can’t”, he shot back immediately.

You let out another weak, breathy laugh, leaning your forehead against his chest. “That’s not how parenting works”.

Ben huffed, still glaring like he was ready to walk downstairs and yell at them all over again. “The fuck do I know about parenting?”. He gestured vaguely toward the door. “They’re terrorists”.

You let out a real laugh at that, shaking your head, wiping at your face as your body finally started to calm down.

Ben exhaled, watching you for a long moment, eyes scanning over your face, lingering on the fresh tear tracks still marking your skin. Then, finally, he softened. One of his hands came up, tilting your chin so you’d look at him, his thumb brushing slow, steady circles against your cheek. “I mean it”, he murmured, his voice lower now, rough but real. “They don’t get to treat you like that”.

You swallowed hard, your throat still raw.

“They don’t get to disrespect you like that”, he continued, voice firm. “Not while I’m here. Not while I’m alive”.

Your chest tightened, your fingers curling against his damp skin. "They don’t take me seriously since I’m just human. No powers. No supe" You had never said it out loud before, but you had felt it.

For years, you had felt it creeping in, that slow, painful realization that your daughters were outgrowing not just their childhoods, but you. That as their powers grew stronger, your place in their world became smaller, less significant. You had given up everything for them, your youth, your dreams, your future. You had poured everything into being a mother, into loving them. And for what? For them to look down on you?

You sniffed, your fingers clenching slightly against Ben’s chest, voice small, breaking. "I miss the days when they were little".

Ben exhaled sharply, his hand still cradling your face, his thumb brushing away the new tears slipping down your cheeks.

"They were so excited to see me back then", you whispered, voice wobbly. "So happy when I picked them up after daycare at the Tower. They’d come running, their little arms up, like I was the most important person in the world". Your throat tightened. "They loved me back then", you choked out, your voice cracking on the last word.

Ben stilled. His jaw clenched so hard you thought it might break. And then, before you could spiral further, before the weight of it all crushed you completely, Ben moved. He cupped your face fully in both of his large, calloused hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes, those sharp, deep green eyes, locked onto yours, holding you there. "You listen to me", he said, voice rough, steady. "They still love you".

You shook your head, another tear slipping down your cheek. "No, they—".

"Yes, they fucking do". His grip tightened just slightly, his forehead coming to rest against yours, grounding you, keeping you from slipping away into that dark place. "They’re little shits right now, yeah. And they don’t deserve you. But they love you".

Your breath was shaky, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"They just don’t fucking get it yet", Ben muttered, voice lower now, almost more to himself than you. "They don’t understand what you’ve done for them. What you’ve given up. But one day? One day they will".

You swallowed hard, your lips trembling, your vision still blurry from fresh tears.

"And by then", Ben murmured, his voice gritted, his fingers brushing over your cheek, "they’re gonna fucking regret ever making you feel like this".

Your breath hitched, and another tear slipped free. Ben caught it with his thumb, his lips brushing against your temple, against your wet skin.

"You’re the best fucking mom in the world", he muttered, his voice unshakable. "And they don’t deserve you".

You let out a broken little breath, your fingers gripping at his arms, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

Ben helped you out of the shower, his hands steady, warm, gentle in a way that only you ever got to see. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your shoulders before reaching for the robe hanging on the hook. Without a word, he slipped it over you, his fingers brushing against your arms as he tied the fabric snugly around your waist.

His own towel hung low on his hips as he led you toward the bedroom, his hand resting firm on the small of your back. You were exhausted, your body heavy, your emotions drained, but at least now, wrapped in the warmth of Ben’s presence, you didn’t feel like you were falling apart.

As you walked down the hallway, voices from downstairs caught both your attention. Liv and Ava. Still snapping at each other, their hushed, angry tones barely carrying past the kitchen, but not quiet enough to escape Ben’s ears. Not quiet enough to escape yours, either.

"Just shut up and do it", Ava muttered, her voice sharp.

"You shut up", Liv hissed back. "This was your fucking fault!".

"My fault?", Ava scoffed, and you could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. "You threw the first fucking punch!".

"And you threw me through the goddamn counter!".

"Well, maybe if you weren’t such a—".

The moment Ben stopped walking, you knew shit was about to go down. His body tensed beside you, his jaw tightening, his expression darkening all over again. They were trying to be quiet. Trying to keep it low enough so that he wouldn’t hear. But of course, he did. Of course, you did too.

Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "These fucking brats", he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You let out a small, tired sigh. "They’re not gonna stop, are they?".

Ben scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he was physically forcing himself to stay upstairs instead of marching down there and ripping them a new one. "Not until one of ‘em is in a goddamn coma".

You swallowed, rubbing your temple, the weight of everything settling in your chest again.And Ben caught it immediately. His frustration didn’t leave, but he shifted, just slightly, his hand coming back to rest on your hip, grounding you.

"You wanna go down there?", he asked, voice lower now, steadier. "Or you want me to?".

You hesitated. For weeks, you had been the only one handling this. The only one trying to parent them, to keep them from killing each other, to keep them from destroying everything around them. For weeks, you had been at your wits’ end. And now, Ben was finally here. Finally handling it with you.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temple again. "You", you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "You handle it".

Ben didn’t hesitate. "Yeah", he muttered, his grip on your waist tightening for a brief second before he pulled away. "That’s what I thought".

Ben led you into the bedroom first, his touch still firm, still grounding. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, slipping them on before running a rough hand through his damp hair. His eyes flickered back to you once, scanning over your still-exhausted face, the weight of everything still sitting heavy on your shoulders. “Lay down”, he muttered, voice softer now.

You hesitated, your fingers curling slightly into the robe, but before you could argue, he was already shaking his head. “Not asking”, he said, giving you a pointed look. “Lay down. Get some rest. I’ll deal with them”.

You exhaled slowly, finally relenting as you sank onto the bed, letting the exhaustion pull at your limbs. Ben hesitated for a moment, watching you as if to make sure you were really going to listen before he turned and made his way toward the door. And then, with one last roll of his shoulders, he stormed downstairs.

The second his footsteps hit the floor, the arguing stopped. Liv and Ava froze. Both of them stood in the middle of the half-cleaned kitchen, still covered in leftover destruction, their bodies stiffening the moment they realized he was there. Ben’s gaze was sharp, scanning the mess they still hadn’t properly dealt with, then landing on the two of them, standing there like a couple of guilty little criminals.

Liv was the first to break, grimacing dramatically as she threw a hand over her face, turning away from him.“Ew, Dad! Pull on a shirt!”. Ava, standing beside her, made a similar sound of disgust, covering her own eyes like she was witnessing something horrific.

Ben stopped in his tracks, looking down at himself, at the way his bare chest was still on full display, before letting out an incredulous laugh. “You two little assholes have the nerve to destroy my kitchen, act like a couple of feral fucking animals, and this—”. He gestured vaguely to himself. “This is where you draw the goddamn line?”.

Liv groaned. “It’s just wrong”, she muttered, still shielding her eyes. Ava nodded in agreement. “Seriously. There are boundaries, Dad".

Ben let out a sharp, humorless scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think this is bad?”, he asked. “Try seeing your mother standing in the driveway ready to fucking leave because of the two of you”. That shut them up.

Liv’s fingers twitched slightly against her face, while Ava shifted on her feet, her shoulders stiffening just a bit more.

Ben’s smirk dropped immediately. “Yeah”, he said, voice dropping into something low. “Not so fucking funny now, huh?”.

Neither of them spoke.

Ben took another step forward, his presence heavy, the sheer disappointment rolling off of him in waves. “Sit”, he ordered.

Neither of them moved.

“Now!”.

Liv dropped into the nearest chair first. Ava followed a second later, both of them stiff, tense, like they knew this was about to be bad.

Ben inhaled deeply, exhaled through his nose, his fingers pressing into his temples like he was trying to physically keep himself from throwing them both out of a window. Then, finally, he spoke. “Let me tell you something about your mother”, he muttered, voice like steel. “That woman is the best goddamn thing that ever happened to you. You know how I know that?”.

Neither of them answered. But Ben didn’t give a shit.

“Because you wouldn’t even fucking exist without her”.

Ava shifted uncomfortably.

Ben scoffed. “Oh, what? You don’t like hearing it? You don’t like knowing that she almost died to bring you into this world? That she put her whole goddamn life on hold to raise you? That she’s spent fourteen fucking years doing nothing but giving a shit about you two?”.

Liv swallowed hard.

Ben leaned forward slightly, his hands braced against the back of a chair, his sharp green eyes burning straight through them. “And this—”. He gestured to the destruction around them. “This is how you repay her?”.

Neither of them spoke.

Ben exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand down his face, barely containing the frustration burning beneath his skin. His voice came out low, lethal. “I didn’t raise you like that!”.

Liv scoffed under her breath. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but Ben caught it. And then she muttered, “You barely raised us at all”.

Silence. The kind of silence that made the air in the room heavy, suffocating.

Ava’s eyes widened slightly, her body stiffening. Even Liv, who had never backed down from a fight, looked like she was regretting saying it the second the words left her mouth.

Ben slowly turned his head, his expression blank, unreadable, but his eyes? His eyes were sharp, cutting straight through her like a blade. “What the fuck did you just say?”. His voice wasn’t raised, wasn’t angry, it was calm. Too calm.

Liv swallowed but lifted her chin anyway, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “You’re never here”, she muttered, her voice quieter now, but still defiant. “You come and go whenever the fuck you want. Mom’s the one who’s always been here”.

Ben inhaled deeply through his nose, rolling his tongue over his teeth, his fingers flexing against the back of the chair like he was physically stopping himself from putting a hole through the wall. “Yeah?”, he muttered, voice dangerously low. “And why the fuck do you think that is?”.

Liv didn’t answer.

“You think I wanna be gone?”. His voice sharpened, cutting through the thick silence like a knife. “You think I choose to be halfway across the goddamn world instead of here?”.

Ben let out a sharp, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair, his patience hanging by a goddamn thread. “You think I wanna spend my fucking life hunting down out-of-control supes?”, he snapped. “Supes who think they’re better than everyone? Who think the rules don’t fucking apply to them?”. His eyes burned into hers. “Supes like you?”.

Liv flinched. Ava inhaled sharply beside her but stayed silent.

Ben scoffed again, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to physically shake off the anger rolling through him. “You wanna know why I’m not around?”, he muttered. “Because every goddamn day, I’m cleaning up the messes people like you make”.

Liv’s hands clenched into fists. Ben caught it. “Go ahead”, he said, tilting his head slightly. “Clench your fucking fists. Get mad. But you know what? That anger? That arrogance?”. His voice darkened. “That’s the same shit I see in every single supe I have to put down”.

The room was thick with tension. Liv’s face hardened, her jaw clenching so tight it looked painful.

“You think you’re so powerful”, Ben muttered, shaking his head, “so above everything, but let me tell you something—”. His voice was low, steady, like a goddamn threat. “You’re not fucking invincible, kid".

Ava swallowed hard, her eyes flickering between Liv and Ben, caught between wanting to say something and knowing better. Liv’s nostrils flared. “So what? You’re saying you’d kill us?”.

Ben felt the words like a punch to the gut. His jaw twitched, his breath coming in heavier as he really looked at Liv, looked at the way she sat in front of him, shoulders squared, fists clenched, actually believing he would ever hurt her. His own fucking daughter. The little girl who used to sit on his shoulders, who used to grip his fingers so tight with her tiny hands, who used to curl up in his arms when she had nightmares.

And now she was sitting there, fists raised, thinking, even for a second, that he could ever kill her.

His heart fucking broke. His expression didn’t soften, but something behind his eyes shifted. “Jesus”, he muttered, exhaling roughly, shaking his head. “You think I would ever hurt you?”.

Liv didn’t answer.

Ben scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face, suddenly feeling a whole different kind of exhaustion settle over him. “I sure as hell don’t kill my own kids”, he muttered, his voice lower now, not as sharp.

Ava swallowed beside her, her gaze flickering between them, and Liv, despite the stubborn set of her jaw, looked like she was faltering. But Ben wasn’t done. “You and your sister, you’re half me”, he muttered, voice rough. “You got my blood in your veins, my fucking strength, my temper”. He exhaled sharply. “But you also got your mother’s heart. And that’s the only reason I haven’t put my foot so far up your ass you’d be coughing up my fucking boot”.

Ava let out a small, breathy sound that almost sounded like a laugh, but she quickly smothered it. Liv’s hands slowly unfurled, her expression shifting from anger to something else. Something almost like regret.

Ben shook his head again, running a hand through his hair. “You think I’d kill you?”, he muttered. “Kid, I’d burn the fucking world to keep you safe”.

Liv sucked in a sharp breath. Ava glanced away, like she suddenly felt bad for even being here to witness this.

Ben inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, shaking his head one last time before straightening up. “Fix the goddamn kitchen”, he muttered, his voice rough, but no longer angry. Just tired. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving them both sitting in thick, suffocating silence.

The second he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes landed on you. Still curled up on the bed, watching him, waiting for him. And just like that, all the exhaustion, all the frustration, all the fucking heartbreak melted into something else. Something softer.

Without hesitation, Ben walked over, pulled back the blankets, and climbed into bed beside you. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest, his lips brushing against your forehead. “You okay?”, you whispered, your voice still hoarse.

Ben exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around you. “Yeah”, he muttered. “I just needed to remind ‘em”.

“Of what?”.

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, his voice rough but honest when he said. “That they’re still my little girls”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 2

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[1-800-imagines]

bikini | r.c.

series masterlist here

read more of my obx fics here

“come on, y/n. let’s go to the bonfire.” sarah suggested as the two of you sat outside of her house. of course sarah was already in a bikini, but you on the other hand had come straight from work. 

“i don’t have a swimsuit.” you said, putting a hand over your eyes to block the sun. “and i dont wanna go all the way back to my house.”

“you can wear one of mine! pretty please.” she said in a sing song voice. you knew sarah wanted to go see john b and you had to come along so she had a ‘cover’ but you didn’t mind. 

you jokingly rolled your eyes. “yeah, alright. anything for you.”

her face lit up and she pulled out her phone, probably to text john b that the two of you were coming. 

with sarah engrossed in her phone, you stood up and walked inside to go to sarah’s room to change. you walked up the stairs and into sarah’s room, leaving the door ajar. you didn’t think anyone else was there and even so, you’d only be a minute. 

you knew exactly where sarah’s swimsuits were as you had borrowed them your entire life. you probably only actually owned one. 

you pulled a pink one out and shimmied out of your pants, pulling the bottoms on. 

you took off your shirt and bra, ready to put the top on, but the clasp was being difficult. 

“goddamit sarah. where the fuck did you put my-“ the door had been shoved open and rafe had stormed in, swearing. 

rafe didn’t even realize what he was seeing at first. you had dropped the top to the floor in an attempt to just cover your chest up with your hands. 

“oh shit, sorry. i- uh.” rafe stumbled through his words. and rafe did not stumble. the truth was he thought you were beautiful but seeing you topless just made his pants tighten. he couldn’t help but look. 

“fuck rafe, you almost gave me a heart attack.” you said, a blush creeping up your cheeks. 

rafe turned his head, “i didn’t know you were here, m’sorry.” he shook his head and turned to walk out. 

“wait rafe.”

those two words stopped his heart. he turned back to see your face scrunched up and eyes closed for a moment - trying to rid the embarrassment. 

“i can’t get the clasp unhooked.” you motioned your head down to the floor not wanting to move your arms and risk him seeing anything else. 

rafe didn’t know what to say so he kneeled down to pick it up. your breathe caught - he was so close to you and boy did he look good on his knees. you bit your lip and tried to look away. 

he stood up, now him towering over you. “turn around.” he said softly as he undid the clasp with a certain ease. 

you followed directions immediately and rafe had to bite his lip to keep from groaning - you had listened. he couldn’t stop his mind from thinking if you’d be like that in bed. 

“i won’t look. promise.” he mumbled and handing you the now open top. 

you blushed again, wishing he wanted to look. 

you secured it on but there was still the issue of the clasp. “can you help me again?” you asked quietly. 

rafe grinned and brushed your hair to one side of your shoulder, “course i can, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. one word that made your knees almost buckle. you shivered a little when he touched your skin. 

once the swimsuit was secured, you turned around and smiled at him, “thank you.” you got on your tippy toes and kissed his cheek. 

slightly embarrassed still, your feet fell flat to the ground and you looked down.

rafe leant down to your ear and whispered, “don’t be ashamed. you’re fucking gorgeous.”

that certainly didn’t help the flush you were already feeling. you bit your lip and rafe's hand went to cup your cheek. he tilted your chin up so you were looking at him and his thumb grazed your lower lip. 

you gasped slightly and opened your mouth. “rafe, i-uh-“ you couldn’t speak. your thoughts a jumbled mess. 

his thumb then ever so subtly slid into your mouth and grazed your bottom teeth. 

you sucked in a breath and he smiled then saying, “i’ll see you at the party, yeah?” 

all you could do was nod as his thumb grazed both your lips once more until he turned and walked away leaving your heart hammering. 

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

part 2 is the partyyyyyy - comment to be tagged in the next part

and click here to join my taglist for all rafe stuff and more!

[angel1010xx]

ｎｉｇｈｔｍａｒｅｓ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Nami, stop!” Running with as fast of a pace as you could manage, you chased after Nami, crying out for her to stop. She was heading straight into a trap—but why wasn’t she stopping? Why couldn’t she hear you? And God, why did your side hurt so fucking bad?

A jolt of pain caused you to fall to your knees, scraping them and your shins against the rough cobblestone road. Your hands went to your side, pressing down hard, and you looked down.

Red. There was so much red.

Tears fell from your eyes as if they were a waterfall, and you shrieked in utter agony and fear. You didn’t have the strength to stand. You didn’t have the strength to move at all. 

Barely managing to lift your head back up, you gazed on as Nami got overpowered by the devil fruit users that attacked the crew. You glanced to your right—there was Chopper, laying in a pool of his own blood, body small and misshaped. You glanced to your left—there was Franky, lying still, limbs missing. 

Dazed in shock from what was going on around you, and from the pain in your abdomen, you hardly registered when two hands fell on either side of your head. Someone was standing behind you. However, you did feel when they twisted your neck, and with a quick ‘snap,’ the pain was gone.  

Thud.

You gasped and wheezed, pushing your upper body up off the floor. Sweat was dripping down your face, and your body was soaked in it. Slowly, you managed to piece together that no, you weren’t dying in battle. You were in your cabin, you had just rolled off of your bunk, and you were in your underwear—no bloody clothes and no fatal flesh wounds. 

Your shoulders hurt from the fall, but this was much better than a nightmare.

Groaning, you began to stand up. It was hot. You were thirsty. Why did the kitchen have to be so far away? I need to ask Franky to put some mini-fridges in the rooms, you mused. 

You grabbed a robe off the hook on the wall, and wrapped yourself in it as you left your cabin quarters. It was cool outside, and it was a welcome change. You took a few deep breaths.

In… out. In… out. Someone please make my heart stop beating so fast.

“Can’t sleep?”

You squeaked in surprise, stumbling a bit while you whipped around to see Zoro. He was sitting while leaning against the main mast that led up to the crow’s nest, a slight flush on his face that was a little damp. You eyed the bottle at his side. “Yeah…” you muttered. “Are you training? This late at night?”

He just shrugged. “Can’t become the greatest swordsman if I don’t make time to train.”

“Training? With booze?”

“Mind your business. Gotta practice being battle-ready under any condition.”

You huffed, pulling your robe tighter around you while you moved to sit down beside him. Zoro silently picked up the bottle and gestured it towards you, and you chose to take it. You put the bottle to your lips, took a gulp, and groaned as the alcohol burned down your throat. “I don’t drink much.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro mumbled as you handed him back his liquor. “Good. It’s not good for you.” A few silent moments passed while the swordsman placed his attention on your heavy eyes. He gestured towards your face, hand still holding the bottle. “You’re tired. You look like you’ve been crying.” You sighed, then placed your head on his shoulder. “Bad dreams. I’ll be alright.”

Zoro tensed up slightly, but didn’t move to get you off him. Mr. Rough-and-Gruff had a soft spot for his crew, and maybe more so for you. “I have strong friends,” you whispered. “I don’t have to worry about any of them, especially not the king of hell right here.” Zoro chuckled. “No, definitely not.”

You two stayed there, quiet, and comfortable in the moment. Neither of you remember when you two dozed off to sleep, lying against the mast.

*_______*_______*________*

Nami yawned and stretched, still shaking off her sleep as she left her quarters as the sun rose. She had to go find Robin, and Robin had been on night watch, so Nami was heading towards the crow’s nest.

What Nami was surprised to see, was you and Zoro sound asleep on the deck. Your head was still on his shoulder, and your legs were up against the side of him while his arm was around your waist. She smiled. 

Nami turned her head as she heard the door to the kitchen slam open. There, in the doorway, stood a very pissed off Sanji. Wasting no time, Nami rushed him, placing her hand against his mouth and pushing him back into the kitchen. She listened as Sanji shouted a bunch of obscenities—“Damn that mosshead! Defiling a princess! His hands shouldn’t be on such an angel! It’s a crime against humanity!....”

Nami laughed at him. What a sore loser. 

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |4|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam crossed her legs, trying to stop the bouncing of her foot, but it was no use. She just as quickly uncrossed them, so her foot was bouncing on the ground again. Her fists were clenched together, and her eyes hadn’t left the stained tile floor of the hospital waiting room. She tried focusing on the stain, silently debating if the brownish color was coffee or blood. She had been sitting in the waiting room since they brought you in, she wasn’t sure how long it had been.

“What were you thinking!” Tara’s voice came, making Sam’s head snap up. “A note!” She held up the little sticky note that Sam and written. “Went to gym, be back soon,” Tara read the note Sam had written, crumpling it up after she finished.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Sam tried to defend.

“Then a text!”  Tara threw her arms in the air. “Ghostface attacked,” Tara held up her phone, reading the quick text Sam had sent. “Headed to hospital.” Tara aggressively dropped her phone back down at her side. “What the fuck! I thought we were supposed to be staying safe! And together!”

“Yeah,” Chad said, flopping down into the seat beside her. “Running off alone in the middle of the night is the opposite of that,” Chad gave her what she could only describe as a big brother look.

Sam could only roll her eyes. “I just needed to clear my head,” Sam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Mindy asked, taking the seat across from her. Tara continued to stare down at Sam, shaking her head and her arms crossed. It wasn’t often Sam was on the other end of that look. Sam was usually the one giving that look to Tara and occasionally the twins. She was beginning to understand what Tara meant every time she talked about Sam hovering and being overprotective.

“Y/N was attacked.”

“What?” Tara asked with a furrowed brow.

“Oh no,” Chad whispered, bringing a hand to his heart. Sam scrunched her eyebrows, Chad seemed to have gotten really attached to you after just one conversation, she wondered what the two of you could have possibly talked about.

“They saved my life,” Sam continued. “I was down, and they came out of nowhere.”

Mindy furrowed her brow, crossing her arms as she leaned back further in her chair. “Why were they there?” she questioned.

Sam could only shrug. “Sometimes they like to work out late.” Sam had been surprised to see you, not just because you jumped in to save her life without a second thought but because she didn’t think anyone else was in the gym at the time, there had been no vehicles in the parking lot. Mindy only let out a hum at her response though.

“What?” Chad questioned.

Mindy looked at everyone but kept flicking a glance at Sam. Sam raised an eyebrow as she waited to hear whatever Mindy had to say. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious?” Mindy questioned. “This mysterious person Sam likes suddenly shows up the same time as Ghostface?” Everyone sucked in a breath as they took in what Mindy was saying. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

Sam frowned; she didn’t necessarily disagree with Mindy as much as she hated to admit it. It was oddly coincidental that you of all people showed up just the moment Sam needed you. For all they knew this was all a ploy to get them to drop their guard down around you, to let you in and then you’d help whoever Ghostface was take them down.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” Tara mumbled.

Sam looked up to see the doctor walking towards them. She was instantly on her feet to meet the doctor when he got to their side. “Your friend is in room 582, they are clear, and you are free to take them home,” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Sam said, giving a grateful smile to the man.

They all made their way to your room. When they got there Sam saw the door was ajar. “Wait here,” she whispered to the others. Tara frowned but Sam didn’t wait for Tara to argue back before she pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

Sam froze in the doorway when she saw you. You were standing by the bed, pulling down your shirt. Her eyes widened at the exposed skin she saw before it got covered by your shirt. There were several scars on your back, your side, and front, your body seemed to be littered with them. Several of them were knife wounds, Sam could recognize them instantly, she had some of her own after all. There were others she didn’t recognize but looked eerily similar to bullet wounds, but she had only seen those a handful of times before.

Her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the fresh stab wound, newly stitched up. It was a large wound, just under your ribs. Sam sucked in a breath, it was her fault you had a new wound, that you were stabbed. Just a little higher and you could have died, Sam could have been the reason you died.

Before Sam could say anything, she was pushed further into the room as the others piled in behind her. You whipped around when you heard them all stumbling in. “Guess patient confidentiality isn’t a thing anymore,” you mumbled. You sat down on the edge of the hospital bed as you looked at Sam and the others.

“We’re sorry,” Sam said. “We just-”

“Why were you at the gym?” Mindy asked, cutting Sam off. Sam suppressed a sigh, if they wanted to get answers from you, jumping right into questioning was probably not the best idea.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at Mindy. “To work out,” you said. “That’s what one tends to do at the gym.”

“After midnight?” Mindy crossed her arms.

“Less likely to be disturbed,” you shrugged. You were answering their questions but giving them nothing, Sam couldn’t blame you for being so guarded.

“So, right place right time?”

“Not exactly the way I’d describe it.” You stared at Mindy, but your face gave away no emotion. “Considering I was stabbed.”

Mindy let out something between a hum and a scoff. “How convenient.”

“If you have something to say,” you said calmly. “Say it.” Sam wasn’t sure how you could remain so calm when you were being questioned by people you didn’t even know.

“Why’d you do it? Why risk your life for someone you don’t even know?”

“So, just because I don’t know Sam means I should let her die?”

Sam started to nod, seeing your logic when she froze. Her head, along with the others, all snapped up towards you. “How did you know her name?”

You rolled your eyes and looked at the group. Sam furrowed her brow as she realized you weren’t looking at all of them but one of them specifically. She heard someone let out a hiss and turned around to see Chad with a guilty look. “Yeah,” he said, holding up a hand. “It came up in our conversation.”

Sam glared at Chad. She knew he got your name, but she hadn’t imagined he gave you, her name. He had somehow neglected to mention that little fact when he was telling everyone about his very short time getting to know you.

“Whatever,” Mindy said, waving it off. “Do you make it a habit of throwing yourself into danger?”

“I make it a habit of not turning my back when someone needs help,” you said simply.

“Guys,” Sam finally spoke up. “Give us a minute.” She nodded towards the door. Mindy looked at her, clearly wanting to question you more but Chad grabbed her and led her out of the room, followed by Tara.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “You were just stabbed, the last thing you need is a bunch of people questioning you.”

You just shrugged; it was like none of this phased you. “You were attacked,” you said. “Of course they’d be suspicious.”

Sam nodded, you were taking everything very well, though you had yet to question them, had yet to demand answers. You hadn’t even asked why a masked psycho was trying to kill Sam. She wasn’t sure if you were that uninterested or if it was because you already knew the answer.

You stood up from the bed, barely wincing as you did so. Sam saw you eye your jacket that was next to her, she grabbed it and held it out to you. You silently reached out, taking the jacket from her. You shrugged on the jacket and moved towards the door, stopping next to Sam. “Thanks,” you whispered softly.

“You got stabbed saving me,” Sam whispered back. “I’m pretty sure I should be thanking you.” You just shrugged and pushed past Sam out the door.

Sam barely had time to process what she was doing before she followed after you. She wasn’t fully sure why, maybe it was because you saved her life, but she wanted to keep you close. It wasn’t just because she liked you, she felt responsible now, you were caught up in her mess whether you realized it or not. Even if the two of you had never talked until a few minutes ago she knew Ghostface wouldn’t just let you go, you were a target now.

“Wait!” Sam called, running to catch up with you, assuming the others would be trailing behind. “We aren’t done yet.”

You lightly chuckled to yourself and gave a little shake of your head. “I am,” you said without even bothering to turn around.

Sam suppressed a groan; she should have known you would be incredibly difficult. The two of you had talked for only a few minutes but you had told them nothing. Sam couldn’t say she was surprised you were a person of few words. You barely spoke to people at the gym, it didn’t seem like you talked much to your friends either, it wasn’t a surprise you didn’t want to talk to Sam, she is the reason you got stabbed after all.

“Gale Weathers,” Sam heard a voice she knew all too well say. “Channel Four.” Sam slowed down when she saw you come to a stop. She came around your side to see Gale standing in front of you, blocking your path to the front door. “Care to answer some questions about surviving a Ghostface attack?” Gale held her microphone out towards you.

You looked down at the microphone and back up at Gale. Sam held here breath as she waited to see what you would say or do. “No,” you said and walked right past Gale.

Sam couldn’t help but smirk at the way Gale opened and closed her mouth. She slowly brought the microphone back towards herself and flipped the switch to turn it off. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Sam asked, masking her face again.

Gale rolled her eyes and stepped closer to Sam. “I’m just following the story,” Gale said with a shrug.

Sam just scoffed; it was such a typical Gale Weathers response.  She opened her mouth to say something back but stopped when she saw detective Bailey walking through the doors. She furrowed her brow and stepped past Gale, making Gale follow her gaze.

“Y/N Y/LN,” Bailey said, raising his hand to stop you in your tracks. Once again you looked down, this time at Bailey’s hand in front of you. When you looked back up at Bailey you seemed even more annoyed than when Gale had stopped you. “Mind if we have a few words?”

“Yes,” you replied with your one-word response again.

Sam couldn’t blame you for being annoyed. She could only imagine what you were going through, it was late, you were stabbed, then Sam and her friends interrogated you, then Gale stopped you, and now Bailey was stopping you. Sam assumed you only wanted to go home, probably just wanted to rest in an actual bed.

You moved to walk past Bailey when he grabbed your arm and held you in place. You glanced to the side, looking down at Bailey’s hand on you. “I’m going to need you to come down to the station,” Bailey said. “I’m not asking.”

Sam saw the way your jaw clenched but you didn’t say anything more, you just nodded. Bailey kept his hand on your arm as he led you out the front of the hospital. Sam and Gale followed behind watching him put you in the back of his police car.

“You really know how to pick ’em,” Gale mumbled.

Sam shot her a glare. She turned around to see Tara and the twins standing there. Sam rubbed her eyes, her plan worked, she was officially tired. “Go back to the apartment,” Sam said.

“What about you?” Tara asked, stepping forward. Sam sighed and looked back to where she could see Bailey’s car still making its way down the street. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Sam turned back to her sister. “I’m the reason they’re in this mess.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No-”

“It’s not up for discussion.” Tara crossed her arms.

“Fine,” Sam rolled her eyes.

Tara tossed her keys to Mindy and Chad, telling them to go back to the apartment and wait for them. They all agreed to keep each other updated and text each other regularly so they all knew each other was okay. Then Sam and Tara flagged down a cab and made their way to the police station. She didn’t have a plan, but she was beating herself up, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have been stabbed and you wouldn’t be on your way to be questioned right now.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115

[boypied]

pairings: tom welling x male reader

request: Tom welling fucking his petite bubble butt assistant

warning: SMUT ! , anal sex, swearing.

MDNI + FDNI !

You've always been so infatuated by your boss, the way he moves, his scent, the way he rolls his eyes when his pitch gets turned down. You were absolutely obsessed with him, so when he called you into his office, your heart began to beat quicker and quicker.

You step into his office and let the smell of him take over your nose. "Hey, Sir." You mumble out, trying to remain calm and not be over the top. "There's my favourite employee" Tom smirks walking over to greet you, pulling you into his warm embrace.

As he presses his body against yours, you feel his hand grope against your ass before he steps back with a smirk on his face. "Woah, you have such a juicy ass," Tom says, which causes your mouth to gape open before he closes it for you.

He traces his thumb across your bottom lip before he leans in to kiss you, he deepen the kiss, and you allow him to take over. The sound of his tongue lapping up your mouth as his hands grope your ass.

You stumble back slightly, face covered in blush. Tom unbuckle his belt, pulling it off and throwing it onto the floor. He unzips his trousers letting his flacid cock fall out leaving your face in shock. "holy shit" you admire the girth and size of your bosses cock.

"Strip and get on all fours." Tom commands to you, and you obey. You quickly pull off your clothes while maintaining eye contact, you get into position for him ready for him to do whatever he wants to you.

You exposed bare hole enticing him, your body yearns for him. Tom walks over, leaning down and spitting on your hole. He lubes you up, he presses his tip against your hole, slowly pushing it in fully.

You gasp out, your hole molding into the shape of his cock. "Fuck Sir!" You moan out feeling his tip push against your sweet spot. "This is better than any pussy I've had boy" Tom moans out as your hole tightens around him.

He continues to fuck into you, slapping your ass red raw. The sound of your wet hole taking his attack on your ass, "Sir!" You moan out, his cock rubbing against your sweet spot.

"You deserve a good filling," Tom says with a smirk. He spanks your ass one final time before unloading himself inside of you, "FUCK!" He yells out gripping your hips thrusting once more before pulling out.

Your cock spurts out a load of cum, feeling your hole lose him warmth, your face lays against the floor cum drips onto the floor from your hole. You breathe heavily as Tom stares down at you. "You did such a good job, boy," Tom says with a smirk before taking his briefcase and walking away.

You breathe heavily and close your eyes, smirking as you think about what happened.

[pedropascallme]

Set My Mind Free

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: “'Just wanted to…' You rolled your eyes, trying to explain yourself, 'After our conversation last week—you and me—I thought it was only fair. I mean, he waited by me, right? So what kind of Sergeant would I be if I didn’t look out for him? Just repaying his...kindness.'”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) oral (f receiving), p in v sex, intercrural sex, dirty talk, praise, very mild degradation, canon typical violence, detailed descriptions of wounds, allusions to PTSD, reader experiences a very detailed panic attack, discussion of panic attacks/anxiety, discussion of drug use and addiction (not reader), implied age gap (ages not mentioned), enemies to frenemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, I know little to nothing about how the military works, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Part 1 here!!

By 4:00 AM, you’d stopped crying and told yourself that you would go to sleep.

But by 5:00 AM you were still awake, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the faint rhythm of your heart.

There was nothing you could do.

There was one thing you could do—but it required a sense of decency, and a level of respect that you worried wouldn’t translate properly from your brain to your mouth.

You didn’t know what you would say, if there was anything to say at all, and yet you still felt the urge to find Simon.

But he was probably asleep, just like everybody else on base, and likely in no mood to see you if he was up.

And you were worried how you’d act, seeing him at his lowest.

After several minutes of going back and forth between your limited options, you slipped out of bed, donning a sweatshirt and making sure you remembered shoes this time around. You grabbed the shirt—maybe he’d take it back now that he knew what it was like.

You puttered inside your room for a moment longer, hesitating, before you found the nerve to open your door and walk down the hall to the infirmary.

It was dark out, but the floods outside forced streaks of light into the barracks. You could hear nothing but your own footsteps, and the fact that nobody else was awake to see you like this; hair stuck to your temples from the tears you’d shed, carrying a blood-soaked shirt to a man who probably didn’t want to see anybody—least of all you—was reassuring.

You braced yourself for the grating sound of the infirmary doors against the floor, pushing them open slowly to keep the unnecessary racket at bay.

He was asleep in the same cot you had been in, and he managed to make it look even more cramped than it had felt when you’d been in it: lying on his back, he’d propped his head up with the single pillow he’d been offered, clearly trying to keep his feet from dangling off the end of the mattress.

It didn’t work, and he still had to bend at the knee to fit in the cot properly.

He’d been stripped from the waist up, and the left side of his abdomen was covered in gauze and bandages that likely concealed stitches over an ugly wound. But he still looked beautiful, and you kicked yourself for even daring to allow the thought to run through your head.

He still had his mask on. Of course he did.

You situated yourself in the same seat Gaz had been sitting in when you’d woken up, setting the shirt to the side and just looking at him.

That’s all you could do. Look.

You wouldn’t wake him up. You had nothing to say. And even if you did wake him, it was unlikely he’d be able to say anything of substance with all the morphine they probably had him on

So you sat quietly, staring at him; his mask, his bandages. Your wounds were in the same place, which meant nothing, but it still filled you with a profound sense of awe, a subtle yanking in your abdomen.

“Figured you’d come by.” Ghost’s voice broke through the silence of the infirmary, and you flinched.

“Fucking—Christ, Simon,” you sighed, gripping your thighs as you collected yourself, “How long have you been awake?”

He stared up at you, ignoring your question. “Pick a new name yet?” When you looked at him quizzically, he elaborated, “Not Berserker anymore?”

“Oh—no,” you had forgotten about wanting to change your callsign—too many things had been plaguing your mind, pushing your concern about a name to the back. “Still Berserker. For now.”

The conversation fizzled out, but you didn’t want it to end. You blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I never thanked you.”

“For?” He seemed oddly relaxed for a man who’d just been shot.

“For?” You mocked him, almost playfully; what else would you possibly have to thank him for? “Saving me from, y’know…bleeding out.”

“My job.” Simon shifted, trying to stretch in the tight confines of the cot.

“No, but…it isn’t, is it?” You found yourself questioning his words aloud, “Your job is…lead, call the shots…”

There may have been nuances in his title that made it his responsibility to show compassion, but there was definitely nothing that said he had to kneel beside you while you bled; use his clothing in place of a bandage; care for you after you had done something so stupid and avoidable.

You bit your tongue, remembering how you’d screamed at him so intensely about how he didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the job description.

“Whatever, I’m…” you sighed, furrowing your brows and giving yourself another moment to back out of saying the next words. “I’m glad it’s you I call Lieutenant. Anybody else probably would’ve seen me as a lost cause—back there, and in…in a lot of the situations we end up in.” You couldn’t stop yourself from praising him, not after the events of the night and your self-reflection. “You’re a good Lieutenant.”

He didn’t respond. You were too uncomfortable to deal with any more silence, so you continued.

“You’re a good person, Simon.”

“Why me?” You’d hardly finished saying his name when he bombarded you with the question.

“What?” You didn’t understand what he was asking.

“Gaz is your mate, yeah?” In the low light of the room, you could see his eyes scanning your face, “‘Nd Soap. Both of 'em would’a helped.” He tilted his head back, and you realized what he was talking about.

You tried to push down the way your heart screamed for him.

“I trust you.” You answered with your brain instead.

“You trust them.” It was amazing to you that a man in his condition still had the energy to argue about such superfluous things.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “But it’s…different. I think.” You didn’t care to explain.

Slowly, he nodded, as if trying to deconstruct the meaning of your words.

“And, you know…” You finally found your confidence, “Figured if I was gonna die, I could at least find out what it was like to have your hands on me first.”

You didn’t know why that was the direction you went in, taking a lighthearted approach and praying that it would come off as a joke.

“Could’a jus’ asked,” Simon sighed, and to your relief, he sounded amused. “Always wanted you to give me the go 'head.”

You felt your heart stutter, but you rationalized that all the drugs he was on were probably making him loopy.

“Would’a been nicer wi'out all the blood—better story for the grandkids.” He closed his eyes.

You just hummed, smiling. He must have been drugged to the nines.

He went silent again, and you stayed seated beside him, listening to the way his breathing leveled out as he drifted off to sleep.

If what Gaz said was true, and if Simon really had kept vigil over you while you were out cold, then it was the least you could do now for him. It was funny, in a melodramatic sort of way, thinking about how the two of you had switched places.

When you were certain he was asleep, you dropped your voice to a whisper.

“I brought you your shirt back,” you picked it up from the spot you’d left it when you had first come in, crumpled on the chair next to you. “I know you don’t want it…but…I don’t think I do, either.” You smiled, adding, “Maybe a clean one.”

You paused, half expecting him to respond. When he didn’t, sound asleep, you continued.

“I’ve seen all the shirts you own. Not a lot on rotation.”

You stewed in your thoughts, realizing that having him trapped as an unconscious audience gave you the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth—at least to a degree.

“I just don’t want to have this reminder of my own fuck up. And of what you had to do to…”

To keep me from dying, you didn’t say—couldn’t say, despite the fact that he wouldn’t hear you.

“But if I give it to you now, as a—if we treat it like a gag, like it’s something funnier than it is…” You pulled at the fabric, “At least…let me care, Simon. Even if it’s just this once. Pretend you’re ok with being cared for.”

Let me show you how deeply I care.

You folded the shirt in your lap, putting it on the small table next to the bed and rising from your seat.

You let your gaze rake over him, once again taking note of how oversized he was in the cot. In a way, though, as he lay, contorted and bandaged, he looked so, so small. Like a child that couldn’t bear to separate from their first bed; desperate for comfort that he couldn’t find and wouldn’t admit to craving.

How the mighty fall.

But he’d be out of here in a day. He wouldn’t let himself waste away in the infirmary—he wouldn’t be like you.

You couldn’t help the way you reached out to graze your fingers over the hem of his balaclava. For how often you grumbled about wanting to tear it off his face, you had no intention of doing so now.

You knew better. You just wanted to feel that part of him.

It was soft. You smiled.

Of course it was.

You brushed your thumb over the fabric that covered his cheek, smiling softly. Maybe the emotions you’d experienced over the course of the night were still running high, but you felt like you might tear up.

And you felt like maybe you’d be ok showing him this kind of affection even if he was awake.

You did your best to remain unwavering in the face of yearning.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, LT,” you pulled your hand back from his face, “Won’t do it again.” 

~~~

The sun was coming up when you left the infirmary, and the hall glowed with an eerie pre-dawn atmosphere that comforted you in the strangest of ways.

You had time; he would see another sunrise.

You found yourself knocking on Gaz’s door, eager to apologize for snapping at him hours prior during your rampage.

He opened the door, already dressed, and the smile on his face helped you remember that no matter what you did, he understood.

Kyle always understood.

“Up early.” He noted, taking in your disheveled appearance.

“So are you,” you pointed out, and he smirked. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” He swung the door open wider, walking back into his room and silently beckoning you inside.

“Screaming at you last night—this morning,” you kind of laughed, feeling awkward for the storm of feelings you’d lashed him with. “I don’t want you to…I’m not mad at you. Or anything. And I don’t want you to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

You walked into his room, closing the door behind you, and he laughed.

“I’m not mad,” he sat at his desk, “Why would I be mad?”

“Because I cursed you out after you saw our Lieutenant get bodied,” you sighed, trying to make the situation seem lighter with your phrasing. “Shitty of me to do.”

“You were upset.” Gaz looked at you in a way that made you feel more at ease; he could see through you, but you didn’t really mind it right now.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I was.”

“You still upset?”

“N—no…” You measured your feelings; you still felt a strange buzzing throughout your body, but you chalked it up to lack of sleep and the rush of adrenaline you'd been dealt. “I’m alright.”

You hesitated, looking around Gaz’s room to avoid having to meet his eyes.

“I went to see him.”

“Uh-huh.” Gaz raised an eyebrow at you.

“Just wanted to…” You rolled your eyes, trying to explain yourself, “After our conversation last week—you and me—I thought it was only fair. I mean, he waited by me, right? So what kind of Sergeant would I be if I didn’t look out for him? Just repaying his...kindness.”

Gaz didn’t say anything, but his lips morphed into a poorly concealed smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “Just happy to see you two getting along.”

“Yeah, well—now that we’ve both been brought back from the brink in the span of less than a month, it’s a little easier to empathize with him.”

“Is'at it?” Gaz looked up at you knowingly, and you rolled your eyes again.

“It is.” You lied.

“Right,” he nodded, trying not to come off too pleased. “Good.”

“I’m happy that you’re not mad.” You muttered.

“And I’m happy that you’re feeling better,” he replied, voice tender. “You sleep at all?”

You shrugged, shaking your head.

“Try.” Was all he said.

“I know,” you nodded, heaving a sigh, “I will.”

He stood, patting you on the back and leading you out of his room.

“I’m serious, by the way,” he shook your shoulder playfully, “Happy that you and him have found common ground.”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, turning to face him when you’d stepped over the threshold, “Me too.”

~~~

A full day had passed before there was a knock on your door. When you opened it, you weren’t as surprised as you thought you’d be to see Ghost standing opposite you.

“You’re up.” You stated, rather dumbly. He looked as though he had never been in the infirmary at all, clad in all black, gloves and balaclava on.

“Nothin' to do in ‘ere.” He grumbled, and you smiled.

“I think that’s the point, Simon.”

His eyes darted to the side before his gaze settled back on you, as if he was making only a halfhearted attempt at rolling them.

“Thought I told you to keep this.” Ghost held his hand out, and you recognized the shirt.

You sighed. “I kinda just figured—I dunno. Thought it would be…funny? You were so drugged up. You looked…” You tried to think of an excuse, coming up dry. You shrugged, “Thought you might finally want it back.”

“Wasn’t drugged.” His eyes narrowed a tad, having ignored everything you said to him after you mentioned him being drugged.

“What?” You furrowed your brow.

“Wasn’t drugged,” he huffed, “Don’t like 'at shit.”

“It’s morphine.” You smiled, amused by his discontent at the notion of taking painkillers.

Your delight at his distrust of anesthetics almost drowned out the loud thought at the front of your mind as you remembered the words he said to you as he lay in the medical cot.

Always wanted you to give me the go ahead.

You shook it off; you had been joking, and he had been joking back.

“They don’t give it to me. Don’t let ‘em.” His voice became a bit smaller, and you tried to reason with him.

“But it makes you feel better—great, even.” You offered an amused sigh, tilting your head.

“Brother was a druggy.” He stared daggers at you, and you were taken aback.

“Oh—I—”

“Don’t,” he shook his head before you could come up with an appropriate response. “'Eard it all before. Dead, either way.”

You nodded, resigned. Your gaze fell to the floor.

You knew a lot about Simon, but there were certain things he kept closer to his chest. He dropped lore at random moments—usually in an effort to shut people down, but this felt sincere. Vulnerable, even.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You could see his brow furrow, the familiar crease between his eyes appearing.

“Into your room?” He looked at you curiously before just barely nodding, “Sure.”

You stepped to the side, raising an arm to invite him in.

He walked slowly, taking in the look of the space; it was plain, barely decorated—like most of the rooms on base—but there were still pieces of you that lingered.

A blue hairbrush on your nightstand, pens with gnawed-on caps scattered about, half-finished reports on your desk.

He pulled the chair from your desk and sat. You couldn’t tear your eyes from him, as hard as you tried.

He was clearly still uncomfortable, tilting slightly to one side, but you couldn’t help but feel as though he looked right in your room.

You settled on the edge of your bed, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You doin’ a'right?” He cleared his throat, worried that he’d made the situation uncomfortable by mentioning his brother.

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking back up at him. “Better.”

“Look, uh…tired.” He was slow to say it.

“Thanks, Simon,” you laughed sardonically, but tried to show him you were only kidding. “Always know what to say.”

“Meant—'ave you not been sleeping?” He tried to save face.

“Not well.” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

He nodded, eyes flickering over your form before trailing back to your face.

“Something keepin' you up?”

“Wish it was that simple,” you swallowed, tightening your grip around your legs where they pressed against your chest. “I’m, um…the thought of sleeping is pretty…daunting? Lately.”

“You scared?”

“Putting it lightly.”

There was a long pause, during which he seemed to study you. You didn’t squirm under his gaze like you normally would—something about this was more comfortable.

“'Ad a panic attack my first night in the barracks.” Simon spoke suddenly, but maintained a casual tone.

“What?”

He nodded, rolling his shoulders back slightly.

“Thought I’d made a mistake. Thought I’d…” And here it was, more bits of his lore—but again being shared in a manner that made you feel like it was more than just Ghost offering insight into his brutality.

This was Simon offering insight into his ability to feel.

“Early two-thousands, lots of, uh…propaganda, 'at I fell for, y’know, jus’ like everybody else,” he spread his legs, resting his elbows on his thighs as he recounted his experience.

You searched his eyes, though he didn't bother to look at you. He'd been a soldier for nearly as long as you’d been alive; you wondered what it was like.

“Didn’t know if I’d see the next morning. Didn’t know if I’d made the wrong choice, or what.” He took a deep breath.

For a moment, even in the mask and in his brooding, you saw Simon clearer than ever, without so much as a hint of Ghost.

“It was like 'at for a long time.”

“I’m no rookie, Lieutenant,” you scoffed, but it lacked any real bite. “I know how it is.”

He looked at you, almost pleadingly, for a moment, before his gaze settled.

“Point is…” he hesitated, “Don’t know if I 'ave a point, really.” He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling before meeting your gaze once more. “Thought I was…valiant for pushin’ it down.” He looked at you pointedly, “I wasn’t.”

You nodded solemnly. He was right.

He wasn’t telling you directly that he thought you were burning yourself out; that he noticed you struggling; that he saw the way you were trying to ignore the mental toll, but he was right. And you both knew it.

“Sure you’ve 'eard it before from people you’d…” he shook his head, his sentence trailing off before he finished the thought. “But, if you need anything…”

“Yeah,” you swallowed, suddenly wishing you could reach out and pull him closer; allow yourself the comfort of falling into him and finding safety curled against his form. But you didn’t act on the urge, responding instead with a curt nod and a weak smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, eyes still focused on your face. He shifted in the seat he’d taken, standing up slowly—too slowly.

“Take an Advil, Simon.” You tried not to make your voice sound too pleading.

He waved you off. “Yeah.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he turned to look down at you. “I know.”

“Won’t kill you.”

“Don’t push it.”

You remained on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, as he walked himself out of your room.

He paused, hand hovering over the knob.

“I like your callsign,” he finally opened the door, throwing his final words back at you as an afterthought, “Glad you 'aven't changed it. Suits you.”

You didn't ask him to explain, didn’t have the energy to call after him. You were too focused on the fact that he'd left the shirt on your desk; once again leaving you with a piece of him that you didn't know how to handle.

~~~

You didn’t want to check the time, fully aware that it was an early hour nobody else would be awake to see.

Your heart was beating too fast, and it traveled to your ears to create an obnoxious, suspenseful thump.

Were you dying? Or did it just feel like you were?

You could feel the sweat on your body, dampening your sheets; making them cling to you in unruly patterns that would surely press into your skin, leaving faint lines to show for your lack of sleep. But even soaked in your own sweat, cold to the touch, you felt like you were burning—like you had been stuck to some kind of pyre and set alight.

You were back in that hazy state. Underwater and out of control.

Every time you slept, you would dream; every dream you had became a nightmare.

In every nightmare, you were back on the ground.

Your breathing had been labored when you woke up, and though you were still panting, the nausea that had lurched within you now subsided into an inconsistent waver that occasionally rolled over your stomach.

You sat up, shoving your head between your knees and counting your breaths.

Five in; hold for five; eight out; hold for two.

Your legs were shaking, and your skin was numb, but you could still feel the press of your knees to your temples as you sat there, counting.

And then as soon as it had begun, it was over.

Maybe not over entirely, but you’d overcome the peak and were now on a steady decline.

You felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and it made you feel weak; a special ops soldier who panicked and cried could hardly be called a soldier at all.

The conversation you’d had with Simon came back to you, remembering his random divulgence of the fear he’d faced when he first joined the military. But you weren’t a rookie, you weren’t new to this—the only part you were unfamiliar with was the genuine fear.

He’d said that trying to get over it on one’s own wasn’t the heroic option he’d thought it was.

And he’d implied that he’d be happy to help.

On shaky legs, feeling practically boneless, you walked to his room, tiptoeing as you tried to keep yourself small.

It wasn’t hard—you already felt meek, crushed by your nerves.

You lifted a hand to his door hesitantly, unsure if he’d even be awake; unsure of what exactly you wanted from him.

But you did knock, and he opened the door, looking at you expectantly.

You swallowed. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t say anything, moving to the side and gesturing vaguely into his room. You hurried in, and Simon closed the door, walking forward to stand in front of you as you puttered around his room.

“What—” He began, but you cut him off.

“I have been pushing it down.”

“Mm?” You saw his eyes contort in confusion.

“The other day. You said you thought you had been valiant to push it down—said I could come to you if I needed anything.” Your words were rushed, and maybe louder than they should’ve been.

“Said ‘if you need anything,’ and then—"

“Simon.”

He held up a hand in concession.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, and it isn’t working. I’m—” You felt a sudden onset of emotion, voice breaking. You tried to swallow the lump that formed in your throat to no avail. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” He asked, and his voice came out low, quiet—almost as if he was attempting to sound softer.

“I don’t know.” You admitted.

He nodded, still standing at a distance. His eyes stayed trained on your face.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t—I feel like, I dunno, maybe it’s just because of how…unexpected…it was. But lying out there, on the fucking ground, on the dirt, bleeding, I felt peace, LT,” you had given up on holding back the tears, and they flowed freely down your cheeks. “I could accept what was coming. And now I’m back, I’m here, I’m alive, and I—I’m sore. Like, in my—in my soul, I’m sore, and I’m so, so fucking tired.” You took a shuddered breath. “And I’m scared.”

Ghost was quiet, but he finally moved, situating himself on the edge of his bed and motioning for you to join him.

“Sit.”

You obliged, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you sat next to him.

He sighed, staring at the wall. “Not something you jus' move on from.”

“But I want to get better.” You argued, swallowing another sob.

“Y’will. In time.”

“When?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Need to know basis?” You rolled your eyes, still sour about being left out of the last mission.

“Yeah,” he turned his head to look at you, and for the first time, you recognized the exhaustion in his eyes. “But you’re the one who’ll know." He moved to rest his hand on your knee. "S'not an answer anybody else can give you.”

Ghost didn't do physical affection the way Soap and Gaz did, and a gesture as forward as placing a hand on your leg felt deeply intimate coming from him.

You liked it. Partnered with his words, the weight of his touch made you feel better.

“Some help you are…” You smiled softly, glancing at him in your peripheral as you sniffled.

“Talkin’ about it, aren’t you?” You could see the movement of his brow as he raised it beneath the balaclava.

You sighed, nodding an affirmative.

“Talked to Gaz about it?”

“No…not—not like this,” you turned to face him.

His hand slipped off your leg in a manner that seemed almost reluctant. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his palm.

When he looked down at you in his trademarked silence, you continued.

“I trust you.”

You thought his eyes might’ve creased, giving away a smile under the balaclava, but you didn’t dwell on it.

“Can I ask you something?” The question popped into your head, and you figured now was as good a time as any.

“Wha’s’at?” He shifted on the bed, giving himself more space to look at you without having to crane his neck.

“You weren’t drugged the other day.”

“S'not a question,” he pointed out. “No. I wasn't. Told you ‘at.”

“So, you were just…joking? When you made the, uh…that remark about…grandkids.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, "About me giving you the go ahead?"

This time, you were certain he was smiling.

“D’you think I was joking?”

“I—maybe…” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands.

“You’re tired, Simon.” Unable to get a straight answer from him, you changed the subject.

“Projecting a bit?” He straightened back up, folding his arms, and you frowned at him.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Rarely do.”

“Are you scared?”

“Not th’first time I’ve been shot at, love.” He was deflecting.

“Are you still hurting?”

He hesitated. With a huff, he answered.

“…I guess. Li'l bit, yeah.”

“Can I please just give you something for it?” You weren’t trying to beg, but it certainly came off as if you were, "Just some Advil?"

His gaze shifted around the room, and then back to you.

“Will it make y’feel better?” He tilted his head at you.

“It’ll make you feel better.” You countered.

He heaved a sigh, and you saw his shoulders sag a bit in defeat.

“A'right,” he nodded, “Yeah. Fine.”

You grinned at him through the tears that had dried on your face, rising from his bed and speeding down the hall to your own room. You grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen on your nightstand, then moved just as quickly back to his room.

“Take two.” You fished the pills from the bottle when you situated yourself on the bed again, holding them out to him.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Half of one.”

“Jesus Christ. Simon—”

“Fuckin' with you.” He took the pills from your hand.

You watched a bit too keenly when he pulled the balaclava up over his jaw to place the pills on his tongue. You could see the tip of the scar that brushed over his top lip.

He swallowed the pills dry, tugging his mask back down.

“Happy?”

“Thrilled.” You smiled, and it was genuine.

“Y’smiling at me, sweetheart,” he sighed, “Gone mental from exhaustion?”

“Maybe,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “Maybe I’m just…”

He stared at you, waiting for you to finish your thought.

“I’m glad you’re alive…” You sighed, staring at his chest rather than his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” He echoed your words, a bit more decisively.

You could tell he meant it.

There was a silence in the room, one that allowed the tension to really resonate. But it wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, maybe it was necessary.

“Think you’d rather stay ‘ere tonight?”

“Here?” Your brows furrowed, unsure if you’d heard him correctly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Could both benefit from some company.” He added, “Up to you.”

You absorbed the question, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. That would…that’d be nice.”

"Go on." He shifted on the mattress, motioning to the head of the bed.

Simon watched you maneuver yourself up the bed, kicking your legs under the covers and pulling them up to your chin. When you'd settled, he worked his way to a more comfortable spot. He lay next to you above the blankets; mask on, arms folded over his chest.

It wasn’t the way you’d imagined getting into bed with him—and you often felt ashamed for thinking about getting into bed with him at all—but it was comforting all the same.

“Let me ask you something.” He looked over at you when you’d made yourself comfortable.

“Okay.”

“You serious? ‘Bout wantin’ t’feel my hands on you?” His voice was low but carried a playful tone, as if he were baiting you into a confession.

“What?” You laughed.

“In the infirmary, ‘fore I said that stuff about givin’ me—”

“Simon?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think I was serious?”

You rolled over onto your side, pleased with yourself. If he wouldn’t give you a straight answer, you wouldn’t give him one, either.

~~~

Simon was still in the same position he’d gone to sleep in when you woke up; lying on his back with his mask on, arms folded over his chest.

You had managed to position yourself against him, face pushed into his bicep. You found yourself wishing he had moved; tried to get closer to you, given some indication that he had noticed your shift and embraced it.

But no matter.

You snuck out of Ghost’s room as the sun came up, eager to avoid any prying eyes—if only to save yourself from the embarrassment of having to explain that nothing had actually happened at all.

But it had been a sounder sleep than you’d anticipated; he was warm, solid next to you, and that alone made you feel more at ease than you had in a while.

You found yourself in front of his door for a second night in a row.

“You a'right?” He opened the door on your second knock.

“I—yeah…�� you answered, “It’s…I don’t…”

“Don’t want to be alone?” He finished the sentence for you, and you nodded.

He stepped aside, wordlessly, giving you space to walk through the door.

You had been truthful—you didn’t want to be alone. You couldn’t handle the idea of being trapped with your thoughts again in the dark of your room when you knew what was looming just behind your eyelids.

But the whole truth was that you wanted to be with him.

He tugged haphazardly at the blankets in an attempt to make the bed more appealing. Not that he really had to; you were tired, and it didn’t matter whether the bed you crawled into was made or not, as long as he was in it with you.

When he’d made the bed to his liking, you undid his hard work in a split second as you got comfortable under the covers.

You looked up at him. He stood by the edge of the bed, looking back at you.

“Left without sayin' anything this morning.”

“You were asleep,” you pointed out. “Why? Were you gonna make me breakfast?”

“Not with ‘at attitude.” He scoffed, and you laughed quietly.

He situated himself next to you, once again lying above the covers.

“I won’t make this a habit,” you muttered, “I promise.”

“S’a’right,” he shook his head, “Not really a problem, far as I see it.”

“Oh?”

“You ‘eard me.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

He seemed so much more at ease in his own space, which begged the question:

“How come you wear the mask to sleep?” You couldn’t help yourself. “I mean—it’s your room, Simon. Nobody’s gonna see you.”

“You might.” His eyes reopened, and he tilted his head to the side to look at you.

“But I know what you look like,” you smirked, “I know who you are. And you’re not Ghost.”

“S’not true.” He mumbled.

“It is,” you doubled down, “Outside of this room, sure, but in here—in bed, at the very least—you’re all Simon.”

He was quiet for a minute.

“So ‘ow come you don’t wanna be Berserker?”

“Told you—just doesn’t feel like me.”

“But I’m still Ghost.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m also…not.”

You hesitated. “Well, when you make it sound so…complicated…”

“I like your callsign.”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious to know what he thought.

“Thought I said,” he sighed, “Suits you.”

“You never said why.” You pressed him for more.

“You flip on a dime,” he explained with a sigh, “Go into this, uh, wild state. Pretty thing, goin’ completely berserk on the field—always liked it.” He exhaled a quiet, one-breath laugh, “And you’re damn near impossible to kill.”

You digested his words, but only one point stuck with you, and it made your heart flutter.

“You think I’m pretty?” You spoke coyly, covering your excitement with a playful tone.

He tensed his shoulders before letting them drop with a sigh of faux exasperation.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I think you’re pretty.”

You smiled, staring up at him from your spot on the bed—his bed.

“‘Nd you think I am, too—beggin’ me to take my mask off.” There was a smirk in his voice.

“Simon,” you rolled your eyes, turning away from him, “You ruined it.”

~~~

After spending several nights in Simon’s bed, you’d become used to the process of falling asleep to banter that bordered flirtation; of sleeping soundly and without distress; of waking up earlier than you’d like to, and creeping out of his room.

On the morning of the fourth day, you had woken up with his arm draped over your side, his hand pressed lightly against your stomach. He had positioned himself so that his arm perched over your hips rather than your waist to avoid brushing the scar that lingered even after your stitches had dissolved.

Maybe it had been an accident, just a subconscious pull to the heat of your body as you lay next to him, but it felt too precise to be coincidental—and that made you feel a sort of smug adoration.

You had stayed a little longer that morning.

You weren’t keeping it a secret, per se, but it felt wrong to put this newfound arrangement on display. Even if it was only something between coworkers—friends?—that benefitted your sleep schedule and made you feel less jumpy, you didn’t like the notion that people in the barracks would suspect it was something more.

Maybe you didn’t care about what other people thought.

Maybe it was more about what Simon thought; what his intentions were; whether or not you’d be overstepping by making it known that you’d been sleeping—and only sleeping—with him.

You strolled into the mess hall feeling well rested and hungry. Your appetite had finally returned, and you were happy to sate it.

“You look better,” Gaz addressed you from across the table, “Sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Been managing to go the whole night.”

“Good,” he sipped his coffee through a smile, “That’s good.”

You hadn’t told him it was because you’d been finding comfort in the Lieutenant’s bed.

Ghost and Soap approached the table, taking their respective seats.

Soap threw his tray down next to Gaz, grumbling as he sat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gaz nudged Johnny with his shoulder.

“Slept nae a fuckin’ wink last night.” Soap mumbled into his coffee.

“Why?” You questioned.

Soap sighed, shrugging in defeat.

“Bet you could get something from the infirmary,” you suggested, “Something to knock you on your ass. If you keep getting no sleep, I mean.”

“That what you’ve been doing?” Gaz asked you, and your mind went blank.

“Hoping it doesn’t come t’that.” Johnny inadvertently saved you from having to answer Gaz’s question by responding to your initial prompt.

“Tried countin’ sheep, Johnny?” Simon finally piped up from his seat next to you.

“Bile yer heid,” Soap shot a deadpan look at him.

“English.” Ghost huffed.

“Fuck yerself—y’keep it up, I’ll crawl into bed with you, LT.” Soap turned to look at you, smiling as he quirked a brow “If there’s any room.”

“What?” You tried not to let the sudden wave of panic show on your face.

There’s no way he could know.

Was there?

“What?” Johnny laughed, brow furrowed, “Look’t ‘im—be a shock if he alone could fit into one o’the beds.”

You faked a quick laugh, looking over at Simon, who hadn’t reacted at all to Soap’s taunt. He remained completely unfazed, watching his coffee steam; seemingly unaware of your knee-jerk response.

It was like he had not a care in the world.

Suddenly, your appetite was gone.

“I have reports to finish.”

“Still?” Gaz looked at you incredulously.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Been putting them off too long.”

Picking up your tray, you wandered out of the mess hall and towards your room.

~~~

You forced yourself to stay in your own bed that night, and the night after that.

And it felt torturous, and not because of the nightmares or the creeping sense of dread—though that certainly didn’t help your quest to find independence. This discomfort was more about your lack of understanding.

You didn’t know why you were so concerned about other people on the base seeing you with him—nervous at the notion of your own friends knowing about this arrangement.

You didn’t understand why Ghost had become so attuned to your needs or what he meant by not seeing you in his bed as a problem.

He thought you were pretty. At least you knew that much.

Not that it did anything to help quell your doubts.

You had started sleeping in the same shirt that had caused you so much grief; after doing your best to lift the stains, you’d managed to make it seem like the shirt hadn’t been through hell and back.

Now if only you could make yourself feel the same.

You weren’t avoiding Simon on purpose—that’s what you told yourself, anyway. You just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that maybe he was being kind out of pity; that he saw how miserable and tired you were, and was simply relenting.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, get riled up over the nothing that was sharing a bed with him.

Johnny’s offhand remark had, for some reason, made you feel odd. It was the way you’d reacted that made you feel bad, though, and Simon’s lack of reaction that made you feel worse.

His lack of an outward response made you upset. It dredged up the resentment you’d projected onto him. His clear obsession with appearing so stoic and uncaring in front of everybody made you feel unwanted; the fact that he could never, ever, seem to give you a reaction, no matter what you did, made you feel pitiful.

Meanwhile, your immediate panic at the thought of Soap knowing what was going on made you feel pathetic, and served to put into perspective just how deep your feelings actually ran.

The juxtaposition in reactions from yourself and him made you feel dirty.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to find solace in your bed after a day of forcing yourself to finish reports. You hadn’t been lying when you’d walked out of breakfast the other day—they had been piling up, and you had really needed to get them sorted.

You were tired. It wasn’t your best work, but at least they were finally done.

Someone knocked on your door.

“What?” You called out, prepared to hear Gaz on the other side.

“Open the door, sweetheart.”

Simon.

You opened your door a crack, just to peek at him, before finding the courage to open it completely.

“A'right?” He didn’t seem to notice your hesitation—that, or he was just ignoring it.

He was so good at ignoring things.

“Yes.” You lied, immediately turning bitter towards him.

“'Aven’t been comin' to see me.” He wasn’t asking, just stating the obvious, and it made you even more upset.

“Two nights,” you turned your back on him, walking further into your room. “Three tonight.”

You hadn’t really meant your movement as an invitation for him to come in, but Simon took it as one anyway. He followed you inside, shutting the door behind himself.

“D’you want to—”

“Do I want to sleep in your room?” Your words came out snippy as you cut him off, and indignation dripped from your voice.

He stayed quiet for a moment.

“Do you?”

“Did you tell Soap?” You began interrogating him.

“Mm?”

“Did you,” you took a step closer to him, “Tell Soap? About—about this? About…whatever this is. Me sleeping in your bed.”

“No,” Simon tilted his head to the side, “Did y’want me to?”

“Did I—what? What, so you can make a show of how you finally got me to behave for you?” You snapped, “Make sure everybody knows how easy it was to soften me up and get me where you want me?”

His eyes went wide for a moment before he collected himself with a huff.

“What?”

“I said what I said. Is this about you getting a little power trip?”

You felt lightheaded. You’d spent so long building walls around yourself to avoid your want for him, and he’d managed to tear them down in a matter of weeks. And he didn’t even care; he was seemingly ignorant to all of your emotional turmoil, to all the what ifs, and the sinking feeling you always carried of never being good enough for him.

“Making sure everybody knows that you’ve gotten another thing that you deserve?” You continued, irate.

He stared at you, resigned to your verbal onslaught.

“You don’t care what they think.” He spoke as if it was only just dawning on him.

“But I care what you think!” You broke, slumping over yourself slightly. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry, finding a happy medium in giggling so hysterically that your eyes began to water. “I care way too much about what you think, Simon! And I have no idea what you’re thinking, ever! You wanna know why I’ve been so fucking—I don’t know, upset? With you? For god knows how long? Why I'm so confused by this random fucking attentiveness?”

You stormed over to your desk, hastily grabbing the reports and walking back over to Simon to slam them against his chest.

“Be fucking certain they’re in order this time, sweetheart!” You mocked his accent, angry enough that you considered mimicry fair game.

He let the papers drop to the ground by his feet.

“You went from so easy to so, so difficult in the span of twenty-four hours, and I have never for the life of me been able to figure out what set you off!” You wondered if he even remembered the series of events you were talking about, if it stuck out to him the way it did to you. “You’re so complicated! You’re so fucking—and now you’re mad that I’m not running off to bed with you? So—so that you can keep me safe from myself and prove to me that you’re some fucking superhero? Wanna be my personal savior? Make me eat my words about your arrogance?” You scoffed, “Jesus fuck, Simon!”

You swallowed every emotion besides ire. Still, you felt a pang of remorse when you remembered what you’d said to him as he lay sleeping in the infirmary.

Sorry I yelled at you; it won’t happen again.

Now you were making a liar out of yourself, and it wasn’t even his fault—this was you still trying to push it all down, even after everything. The fear of rejection tried to overpower your desire for help from him; comfort from him.

The terseness of your words hung between the two of you, and you remained frozen in place, standing across from him, panting.

“Wasn’t mad.” You could hear the irritation in his voice, finally getting a reaction.

“What?” You huffed.

“I wasn’t mad. Never been mad at you.”

“Then what—”

“You needed a push.”

“And that’s how you thought to do it?”

“'Ow else would I have done it?” He sounded like he did on missions, blunt and loud, and the severity of his tone made you flinch.

“Any other way! You—you refuse to acknowledge the work I put into all of this! Then, now, you’ve always acted like I’m not good enough to be here!”

“I push you because I respect you,” he was practically yelling now as he matched your urgency, raising a hand to point at you for emphasis. “You respond better to assertiveness. You thrive on clarity, always 'ave. Thought I was fuckin' ‘elpin' you.” With narrowed eyes, he searched your face. "And maybe I was rough on you, but ‘ow the fuck was I s'posed to react—you think I knew what to do? When you were showing me such bloody—this gentle fuckin' devotion since day one?"

You thought you'd like getting him to snap, but you didn't. You could feel your cheeks heating up, sinuses stinging slightly as your body readied tears.

You felt stupid, the situation lamentable. It had always been a misunderstanding; a lapse in communication between two people who understood each other but refused to relate. Someone who wanted to adore, and someone who had no idea how to be adored.

He had always been attuned to your needs. He was just godawful at showing it.

You shrunk into yourself a bit, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. You avoided his gaze as you chose your words.

“Are you proud of me?”

“What?” He looked down at you in disbelief.

You doubled down, trying to keep your voice even, “Are you proud of me, Simon?”

He took a long breath, debating his next move, before tugging his mask over his jaw.

In one swift motion, he pulled you into him, not bothering to weave his arms under your own and instead wrapping himself around you with your arms still slack at your sides.

“Fuck are you talking about?” He growled, one hand coming up to cup your face.

And then he was kissing you, passionately, but in an oddly chaste manner.

You gasped, shocked by how forward the action was and by how much you responded to it. You wiggled your arms out of his grasp, one hand finding purchase on his chest while the other flew to the nape of his neck.

He pulled away from you, and you found yourself chasing the slow movement of his lips against yours, already missing the vague taste of him you’d gotten from the gentle kiss.

“You’re fuckin' stubborn,” Simon spoke just above a whisper, deep voice ragged as he caught his breath, “You’re one of the most competent people I’ve ever worked with. You call me on shit people three ranks above you wouldn’t, and you’re right. You stepped on a landmine, and you lived.” His thumb brushed over your cheek as his hand kept up the responsibility of holding your face up, ensuring that your eyes met his. “Who cares ‘f I’m proud of you.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but you answered anyway.

“I do.” You breathed, and you finally felt as though the whole truth had been told.

“Well, I…” He swallowed, “I am.” There was a pause as he collected his thoughts, staring at you with a tender look of hesitation. “I am. And ’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wanted to hear it.

“Everything,” he seemed assured, “Not being—not being the right kind of support, not being clear about…”

When he trailed off, you wanted to push him forward into his feelings; make him say it, clarify how he hadn’t been clear about his true intentions or the nature of his emotions; make him put into perspective what Gaz had been trying to tell you in your room as you smoked through your skepticism.

But that would just make you feel cruel, and if he wasn’t ready to share that sort of vulnerability with you, then so be it.

Instead, you began a new line of questioning.

“Why’d you make that crack about us having grandkids?” You leaned against his palm where it rested on your face.

“Felt right. In th’moment,” he sighed, “Thought it was funny.”

“You were serious.”

“‘F you think I—”

“You were.” You delivered your claim with certainty.

He smiled, and you were thrilled to be able to see the rare presentation on his partially unmasked face.

“I was.”

“I’m not a problem.” You tried not to get distracted by how pretty his lips looked, curled so obviously at the edges.

“Not the way I see it.” He answered in a manner so typically Ghost, but it still served to prove your point.

“And you think I’m pretty.”

You watched his smile turn into something more akin to a smirk.

“'At's right. I do.”

“Gaz said…said you stayed with me. In the infirmary.”

“I did.”

“How come?” You wanted more extensive answers, unsatisfied by his brief responses.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simon countered your question with another.

“You were pissed that I woke up when you weren’t there.” You continued to run through the series of events that had irritated you so greatly.

“Can y’blame me?”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes for a moment upon hearing your reply, perhaps recognizing his own shortcomings in how he was dealing with this conversation; or recognizing that he had, in fact, been in the wrong to get so aggressive while you were still healing up.

He didn’t say anything, so you took it upon yourself to continue, trying to prompt him.

“You were mad.”

“I was upset.” He clarified with a hiss, not out of spite but frustration at his inability to express himself.

“Why?” You urged him on.

“Because—” He heaved a sigh, “Wanted you to know I...cared. Wanted it t’be something 'at registered…”

He was clearly struggling to describe his thought process, and you couldn’t blame him—he was a complicated man in every sense of the word, and you could only imagine what it was like inside his head.

But he was trying.

“'En you woke up while I was gone, 'nd I felt stupid, so I just…took it out on you, and everybody else,” he breathed, “And I shouldn’t ‘ave. And I’m sorry.”

You wondered if you were the first person to ever hear the words I’m sorry come out of his mouth, and you tried not to relish in the notion.

You tugged subconsciously at his shirt collar, and realizing that you both still hand your hands wound around one another made you blush.

“Why did you listen to me?”

“When?” He furrowed his brow enough that you could see his eyes crease.

“You let me lead—you treated me when I asked you to.” You explained.

“Think I’d jus’ let you bleed out?” His lips curled into a subtle smile again.

“Answer the question.” You tugged a bit more harshly on his shirt.

“I respect you,” he muttered, “You’re a good soldier.”

“That doesn’t answer my—”

“It does.” He cut you off, eyes boring holes into your own as if in an effort to telepathically send you the meaning of his words.

And you understood.

“So why did you use your shirt?” You swallowed, smiling softly.

“Y'ask a lot of fuckin’ questions, know 'at?” He huffed playfully.

“Yeah,” you shot back, not bending to his teasing, “Why’d you use your shirt.”

“No bandages.”

“So your first instinct was to just—strip down, middle of a warzone, wrap me up?”

“I need you,” he paused then, perhaps intentionally, as he tightened his grip around your waist, hauling you even closer against him, “Safe.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you parted your lips, but no words came out.

“I need you alive. And I’m glad I did it,” he was trying not to mumble, unsure of how his words would be received despite how you were clinging to him like some sort of life preserver. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, touched by his sincerity and wanting to grip his face, pull him down into another kiss that you could deepen even further.

“Could’ve used a sock…” You opted instead to poke fun at him, hoping it might lighten the mood and ease the tension. You didn’t want to run the risk of kissing him with tears trailing down your face.

“Fuck off.” He chuckled, and you felt instantly soothed.

Simon tilted his face down ever so slightly, eyes leaving your face to take in the way his shirt framed your body.

“Looks good on you.” He seemed pleased.

“Cleaned the blood.”

“I noticed.” He nodded, eyes still scanning the fabric that adorned you. “Suits you.”

“You keep saying that, and I don’t know what you mean.” You tilted your head at him, your bodies close enough that you could hear his heartbeat syncing with yours.

You belonged here.

“'Ow much clearer could I be, sweetheart?” He scoffed in jest.

“Simon.”

“Mm?” He looked back at you.

“Shut up,” you shook your head, amused, “I’m giving you the go ahead.”

You pulled him down by the nape of his neck where your hand still sat, reconnecting your lips to his.

This time, it was different—his movements were hungry, and there was little time wasted as he worked to deepen the kiss. You parted your lips, beckoning him in and whimpering softly when he began to lick into you. The room was silent with the exception of the soft sound of his mouth exploring yours and the quiet hiss of breath.

He finally moved his arm, wrapping it properly around your waist, and you could feel his fingers pressing against your skin as if in an attempt to map you out, to bruise you with his fingerprints and mark you as identifiably his own. His other palm rested heavy on your cheek, sliding back to allow his fingers to brush through your hair leisurely.

Your own hands had also begun to wander, stroking up his chest and his back, grabbing at his shoulders and his arms in a desperate attempt to feel the warmth of him seep into your palm anywhere you could get it through his shirt. You felt delirious with want—every emotion besides lust fizzled out, and you were left with the knowledge that this was all you’d ever really wanted.

And now that you had it, you couldn’t get enough.

You tugged on his shirt. He took the hint, allowing you to walk with him in an awkward dance of intwined limbs until the back of your knees hit the bed.

You finally separated, though he kept his hands on your sides. You stared up at him as you caught your breath.

“Take it off.” Your words came out whined.

“Take what off?” He heaved a breath.

He knew what you were talking about, but he prompted you all the same in an effort to encourage you to take what you wanted.

You reached up hesitantly. With one one hand, you cupped his jaw, while your other hand gripped the fabric that he’d tugged over his mouth, peeling it off of him until his face was fully exposed.

It had only been a month or two since you’d seen his face unobstructed, but he was prettier than you remembered, if that was possible.

The scars that crisscrossed over his left cheek were a flushed pink, rosy against his pale skin; his eyes seemed sharper, keener as you analyzed his features.

His hair had grown longer on top, despite the fact that he had clearly maintained the close cropping on the sides.

Seeing him like this always made him seem human, and the circumstances in which you were seeing him now made it innately more intimate.

You kept your hand on his face, absentmindedly trailing your thumb down his cheek as you considered what you could say in this moment.

“Hair’s not regulation…” You mumbled, swallowing.

“Gonna tell on me?” When he spoke, the faint stubble that dotted his jawline scraped gently against your palm.

“No…” You couldn’t think of anything witty to say, “I like it like this.”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes grew softer as he stared down at you. His hands, still on your waist, dipped beneath your shirt and the feeling of his calloused palms running so gently up your bare skin made you suck in a breath.

“Simon…” You suddenly felt that you couldn’t make eye contact with him, lest you embarrass yourself by begging him to fuck you where you stood.

He looked at you expectantly for a moment before his gaze flicked down to where his hands stroked up your body.

“I want—” You tried to find the words that would make you sound the least pathetic, but realized that you didn’t really care as you settled on your phrasing. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” His voice gave away his eagerness.

“Please.” You added.

That was all it took to get him to grab you by the hips and tug you into him, turning the both of you around so that he could sit on the bed. You scrambled to straddle his lap.

He snaked his hands back under your shirt—his shirt—helping you out of it with one hand while the other traced patterns down your spine. When you tossed it to the side, you gazed at him expectantly, searching his face for a reaction.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you got one quickly. “Wanna…”

He never finished his sentence, and you didn’t have time to prompt him; his hands traveled up to your shoulder blades, face dipping down to bury himself in the cavern between your breasts and trail open mouthed kisses over your skin.

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from your lips, a response to the action itself and the way he felt against you; hot, wet tongue smoothing over the spots his stubble scratched at.

When he moved to take one of your nipples between his lips, you rolled your hips, arching your back. The action earned you a growl from him, and the small vibrations from his mouth made goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“Christ, don’t—” He grunted against the supple flesh of your breast, clearly struggling to hold back from reciprocating your movements as he bucked his hips gently up into you. “Fuck, c’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs before he stood, flipping you onto your back. Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed, and he knelt between your thighs.

“Should we take these off?” His fingers just barely dipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, and you whined.

“Yes—yeah,” you raised your hips from the bed, “Go for it.”

Simon smirked, tugging your shorts down your legs and leaving you completely exposed to him. He trailed kisses up the inside of your leg, sucking hard on the skin of your thigh as he inched closer to your core.

“Knew you’d be a tease.” You huffed a laugh when he reached the top of your thigh only to move back and trail kisses up your other leg.

“Thought about it a lot?” He smiled against your skin, “Night’s young, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but gasped softly when he reached the top of your thigh again and slowly began to leave kisses over your pubic mound, taking his time, dipping lower until he reached your clit.

You let out a shaky breath. How long had it been since someone touched you like this; since you’d exposed yourself to a hand that wasn’t yours, a mouth that knew how to put in the effort?

How long had you been aching to feel Simon this way?

Your hand flew to his head, fully appreciating the way his hair had grown out to offer you the proper length to pull on.

Simon moaned softly, pressing chaste kisses to your clit, but when you tugged harder, desperate for more, he let out a quiet growl and stared up at you as he finally pressed his tongue to your folds.

You knew he had good aim—snipers tended to—but the way he so expertly circled his tongue over your entrance, pressing into you and lapping up your slick made your back arch. You raised your legs to rest them over his shoulders, aching for him.

You could feel his breath coming out in warm huffs against your slick. He ate you like a man starved, and you bucked your hips into his face when he licked a broad stripe over your slit that culminated in him teasing your clit with the tip of the muscle.

“Greedy thing,” he teased, nipping at your inner thigh, “Taste even better 'an I thought.”

“Thought—thought about it a lot?” You threw his words back at him with a shaky voice, nearing the edge, and he laughed.

“All the time,” he wrapped his arms around your legs, forcing you to still as he pressed another kiss to your dripping cunt. “Hand wrapped 'round my cock, thinking 'bout buryin' my face in you,” he teased your clit, licking another stripe over you before continuing his rambling. “How fuckin' pretty you’d look, starin’ down at me.”

His words made you feel feral, and the knowledge that he had touched himself to thoughts of you, just as you had to thoughts of him, forced a whimper from your throat. You looked down at him with parted lips and lust blown eyes.

“Yeah, ’at’s it,” he nodded, staring back at you from between your thighs, face coated in your slick, “Jus' like 'at, sweetheart. Watch me.”

He dropped his face again, hands moving up your legs to grip the flesh of your ass and pull you firm against him as he sucked on your clit mercilessly.

You found yourself writhing beneath his ministrations, pulling his hair harder as you reached the precipice. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop, to go easier on you; or if you wanted him to stay there, lapping at your cunt and overwhelming your senses forever.

Your thighs squeezed around his head, trembling, as your muscles tensed. Your vision went blurry from the pleasure.

“Cum.” He said it like it was an order, licking into you before quickly returning his attention to your clit, sucking down hard around the bud.

What was likely meant to be a scream came out a choked cry as you came, gasping his name and trying to curl into yourself as the stimulation became all too much for you to handle.

With a final kiss to your cunt, Simon removed his mouth from you, stroking his thumb over your hip and watching you shake.

“Good?” He whispered into your thigh, planting soft kisses over your skin as you whimpered through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Yeah—fuck, Simon, yeah. Good,” you panted, “Better than good...Christ.”

He hummed, satisfied by your answer.

You stayed sprawled out with him between your legs for a while longer, appreciating the soft touches of the man who projected such a harsh persona; reminding yourself how to breathe properly.

"Come." You stretched your arms out, staring at him as you encouraged him to crawl into bed with you.

He obliged, standing, and you bit your tongue to keep from taunting him about how easy it was now to get him to follow orders. He pulled you into him, and you pressed your hands to his chest, nuzzling beneath his chin.

“You gonna keep all your clothes on?” You mumbled, teasing.

Simon sat up, supporting himself on his elbow. He tilted his head down as he brought a hand to your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Ask me again.”

“Simon—”

“Nah, c’mon,” he practically cooed, voice saccharine as he teased you. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“You want me to beg for you?” You matched his tone.

“Bet you’d be good at it.” He quirked a brow, smirking.

You sighed, fully willing to give him what he wanted even if it was in jest. Grabbing his collar and pulling him down so that your nose brushed his, you spoke in a whisper.

“Will you please fuck me, Simon?”

He smiled, but the glint in his eyes read almost predatory.

“Good girl.”

He sat up, pulling off his shirt and exposing his chest to you. It wasn’t anything new; you'd seen him in states of undress like this, but when his lips were still wet with your cum, it felt different in the most magnificent of ways.

You watched him stand, sitting up to get a better view; his stitches had already dissolved, but a scar still marred his left side, joining the dozens of other marks he'd collected during his time in combat.

With a smirk, he looked down at you and unzipped his fly, bending down to take his pants off, and you laughed at the showmanship he displayed.

Cocky motherfucker.

But you rubbed your thighs together when he took off his boxers, all the previous teasing production value gone as he straightened up and kicked them to the side with a huff.

You’d long wondered—rather immaturely—whether his size and stature translated to all of him. You felt your cheeks flush when you saw that you had been correct in suspecting that his cock lived up to the rest of him; thick and long, it tilted slightly to the right, and one solid vein trailed up the underside. His tip was pink and leaking, already smeared with precum, and when you realized that it was likely because he had found pleasure in going down on you, you swallowed a moan.

He rolled his shoulders back, and you thought you might be drooling.

He stood at the edge of the bed, looming over you as he always did, but now with a level of hesitation. He bent down to brush his lips against yours, and you eagerly accepted the kiss.

“Tell me what you want.” His breath was hot against your mouth.

“Told you…” You whispered, bringing a hand up to trace the tattoos on his arm.

He shook his head. “Tell me how you want it.”

You were thrown off guard by his prompting; you had been excited to let him do whatever it was he wanted.

And so that’s what you voiced.

“Any…however,” you swallowed, “Just want it to be you.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but you couldn’t admire him for long as he quickly embraced you in another kiss, pushing you onto your back again and moving clumsily to kneel on the bed beside you.

Simon’s hands ran down the length of your body, thumbs hooking between your thighs to admire the soaking mess at your core. He situated himself between your legs, encouraging you to hook your knees over his hips.

You couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe, the once callous Lieutenant who you swallowed your feelings for, now touching you with such care and admiration—and he looked good doing it.

He moved one hand from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek and staring down at you. The iciness in his eyes was back, but it was in a sense of concern rather than ire.

“You tell me if it 'urts.” He traced your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Knew you could be arrogant, but Jesus, Simon,” you barked a laugh, “That’s just—”

“Meant your ribs, love,” he smirked down at you, and you grinned back at him. “But I 'preciate the vote o'confidence.”

“Freudian slip…” You mumbled, not even embarrassed at your mistake, finding the humor in it and relishing that he, too, was comfortable enough to laugh about it with you.

“Right.” He nodded, smug. He maneuvered himself so that his cock could rest against your stomach.

You tilted your head, looking down to admire the image. He was justified in his pride, despite the way he came off so pompous; seeing his cock against you like this made your breath hitch, the comparison it drew to your size versus his was unavoidable and absolutely delicious.

“You gonna fuck me, or just show off?” You wiggled your hips.

“Nice to know you’re still mouthy even on your back.” Simon huffed, amused, as he pulled back to line himself up with you.

When he notched his tip to your entrance, you bucked your hips gently, unable to conceal your excitement. He pressed a hand to your stomach.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” he grunted, “Patient.”

You whined, frustrated and needy, but you didn’t have to put up too much of a fuss before he sunk into you. He watched intently as your cunt swallowed him inch by inch, lowering himself to hover over you on his forearms, pressing his hips to yours.

You squeaked a moan, filled to the brim, and grazed your nails down his back, feeling the occasional indentation of a scar beneath your fingers. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed and breath coming out broken.

It was the most unshielded you had ever seen him, and you felt a sense of pride in the fact that it was you who had caused such a response.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, pulling his hips back an inch only to thrust shallowly back into you. You whimpered at the feeling, the way he had your walls stretched so taut around him. “Oh, fu—ckin’ hell…”

“Fuck me,” you whined, grabbing him by the shoulder blades. You pressed sloppy kisses to his mouth and chin, “Fuck me, fuck me—” It was a chant, a desperate repetition of your needs.

Maybe he captured you in another kiss to shut you up, but you didn’t mind. When his tongue parted your lips just as he began to rock forward, you nearly bit down on it, letting out a broken cry that he swallowed happily.

“Don’t want everybody 'earin’ you.” He shushed you, smirking into the kiss.

“Don’t—don’t care,” and you didn’t; if this was how everybody in the barracks discovered your situation with Ghost, you’d be proud. “Feels—you’re so deep.”

“I know,” he was typically smug, but you could tell he was enjoying himself just as much as you were. “Lift your hips, sweetheart.”  

You did as he said, lifting your hips enough so that he had room to reach beneath your body and grope your ass, tugging you into every stroke.

“Yeah, ‘at’s it—fuckin’ take it,” the pace of his thrusts increased. With his hands beneath your body, he straightened up, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper, rougher. “Fuckin’—fuck, take it, take it, sweetheart.” His head fell back as he moved, and you felt hypnotized by the way his chest heaved.

“Jesus fucking—Simon, please—” You bit your lip, really and truly attempting to keep the volume of your cries for him down, but he wasn’t making it easy. “So good—feel so good, please, just like that.”

His jaw was clenched but his lips were parted, and he looked over you with an intense focus, training himself to identify every little bodily response from you, and every little thing he could do to earn those reactions.

“Christ, look't you, love—” His lips curled into a fucked-out smirk, “Droolin’ jus' like your cunt.”

Dazed, you watched as he brought his hand down to your face, swiping the drool you hadn’t even realized you’d produced from the side of your mouth with his thumb. He pressed the digit against your lips, and you opened, eagerly sucking his thumb while he continued his bruising pace.

He watched on as you moaned around him, filling you at both ends.

His words spilled out of him, the vulgar vice grip your cunt had on his cock working him to peak vulnerability.

“You know ‘ow long I wanted this?” He bent down, slowing his pace to offer long, deep strokes that were just as overwhelming as the previous, faster pace. “‘Ow long I wanted t’see you droolin’ f'my cock? Would’a fucked you every night you slept with me—f’you said that’s what you wanted, would’a fucked you with ‘at bullet in my ribs.”

You could feel his cock punching against your cervix, the sharp, brief pain in your abdomen immediately fading to make room for the pleasure. And even so, with him encroaching on you like this, forcing you to take him as deep as you physically could, you still wanted more.

You moaned, irrepressibly needy as your hands wandered over his body above you.

Straightening up again, Simon pulled his thumb from your mouth. He took it between his own lips, tasting your spit and saturating the digit further before lowering it to your clit and rubbing circles over you.

“So fuckin’ stubborn—you’re a brat, ‘nd even when you make me pull my fuckin’ 'air out, I’d still let you do anythin' you want,” he couldn’t stop talking, and you were fine with it. His rambling on about his desire for you, paired with the motion of his hips, had you hurtling towards your second high. “Fuck, you feel good—fuck.”  

You thought maybe when he tilted his head down, eyes closing as he dropped his chin to his chest, that he was done talking. For a moment, it seemed that way, his attention refocusing completely on your body, as he collected himself and moved lower to hover over you again; nipping at the skin of your chest and licking stripes over your tits, moving his hand from your clit and kneading the pillowy flesh of your breasts.

But he moved to look down at you directly, nose brushing your own, and there was a flash of something in his eyes—soft and completely exposed.

“I love you.” He said it like a secret, the quietest cadence you’d ever heard him take on.

For a moment you thought maybe you were dreaming again—the nightmares morphing into something more akin to psychological warfare that you would wake up from and miss as if it were a nostalgic memory.

But then he said your name.

“I—fuck—I love you.” His breath hitched, and he was clearly attempting to distract himself from your silence by burying his cock into you deeper.

It made you moan wantonly—both his actions and his words hitting you somewhere deep, and you let out a gasp, reaching up to cup his cheek and letting your thumb trace one of the longer scars.

“I love you.” You echoed, meaning it more sincerely than anything you’d ever said to him, and though his brow furrowed slightly, he smiled.

“Again,” he panted above you, “Shit, say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated, hand trailing behind his head and fingers combing through his hair, “I love you, Simon. I love you.” It was the second time in the span of a few hours that you’d found yourself chanting for him, and you were quite pleased.

“Fuckin’—” he sped up again, thrusting into you enough that the bedframe knocked against the wall. You almost felt sorry for whichever poor soul bunked next door. “’At’s it, sweetheart, let me ’ear you.”

He was delirious with lust, overwhelmed by his affection for you. And while it wasn’t something he was used to in any respect, he was certainly enjoying it.

“You fuckin’ tell me—you cum on my cock and you fuckin’ tell me ‘ow much you love it.”

He brought his hand back down to your clit, and your back arched off the mattress when he pressed down onto the bud, massaging over it in time with his thrusts.

“Let me see my pretty girl cum again.” He cooed over you.

His phrasing made you moan. His pretty girl; it rattled around in your brain and you let out a breathy sigh of approval.

“Your pretty girl…”

“’At’s what I said, sweetheart,” he nodded, and he would've been smiling if his focus wasn't entirely taken up on warding off his high. “One more, love. C’mon and gimme what I want.” He growled his words, briefly removing his fingers from your clit to pull your ankles over his shoulders so that he could wrap an arm around your thighs and hold you against him. “Fu—uck, tight little cunt…”

He kissed your ankle, replacing his fingers on your clit once more and watching your face contort in pleasure.

“Simon, fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop,” you stuttered through your whimpers, feeling the familiar heat build in your abdomen, “I’m gonna cum—please—like that, I’m gonna cum.”

He groaned, applying more pressure to your clit as he massaged it to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Go on, sweetheart, gimme another one. Be a good girl, let me see your pretty face while you cum on my cock.”

You let yourself go completely.

“I—I love you,” you mustered the strength to follow his previous orders as the tug that built somewhere in your stomach finally culminated in a pleasant heat coating your skin. Your muscles tensed, your eyes rolling back enough that you could see colors distantly behind your eyelids.

“Yeah, yeah you fuckin’ do. You fuckin’ love it. You love me, sweetheart.” Simon groaned, “’Ere you go—squeeze me tight like ‘at,” his hips stuttered as he fucked you through your high. “Fuckin’ soak me. Good fuckin’ girl.”

His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh, trying to stave off his climax, if only for a moment longer, so that he could continue to enjoy the warm squeeze of your cunt.

When your moans became weaker, battling exhaustion to prolong the delicious overstimulation he offered you, Simon slid out of you with a grunt. He kept your legs up, keeping your thighs pressed together so that he could slip his cock between them and chase his own release.

“Fuck—” you yelped when the underside of his cock swiped over your clit, craning your neck to watch him fuck himself with your thighs.

You could see his abs tighten, desperate moans falling from his lips, and he looked so utterly beautiful as he struggled to control himself against the pleasure.

“Gonna fuckin’ stain you with my cum,” he heaved, rocking against you fervently, “Wanna smell it on you. Mark you up nice, let everybody know who you belong to—show ‘em 'ow good you are to your Lieutenant.”

“Please,” you mumbled your plea, pressing your palm to the back of his hand where it rested on your thigh, “Please…”

With his mouth agape, Simon’s brow furrowed, pushing his hips flush against the back of your thighs; he came with a low groan, bucking against you as he painted your stomach with his spend.

He panted, closing his mouth to swallow and staring down at you in a haze. He tilted his head back, heaving a satisfied sigh, before finding the motivation to move from the bed.

You felt a tug of melancholy, a sudden discomfort in being parted from him, but you watched on as he found what he was looking for and returned to your side.

He wiped you clean with the same goddamn shirt that, as far as you were concerned, started all this.

You fell into a fit of laughter, the adrenaline morphing from physical pleasure to pure amusement.

Simon stared at you like you had two heads.

“After everything that poor fucking shirt has been through, you’re gonna use it as a cum rag?” You tried to explain, and you watched his lips curl into a smile.

“Better a cum towel ‘an a tourniquet.” He quipped, quirking a brow at you.

“Just got the blood out…” You grumbled playfully, and he tossed the shirt off to the side somewhere.

“You’ll live.” He sighed, pressing his palm into your now clean, if not a bit sticky, stomach and appreciating your warmth.

After he had taken a moment to admire you where you lay on your back, he stood, walking around the bed to situate himself next to you. When he’d made himself comfortable, he wrapped an arm around your hips, pushing you onto your right side before tugging you into him.

“Never thought I’d be spooning with Simon Riley.” You sighed, placing your hand over his where it rested on your stomach.

“Consider y’self lucky.” He chuckled.

You fell into a peaceful lull, wrapped up in each other and silent.

“You love me.” You weren’t asking, more so reassuring yourself with a quick statement to ensure that what he’d said in the heat of the moment was true.

“I do,” he nosed your neck, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You whispered it, bringing his hand up from your stomach to kiss his knuckles.

He hummed quietly, and you continued to plant soft kisses over his hand until you were satisfied.

“You still mad at me?” He questioned, and you laughed.

“You really have to ask?”

“Good to be certain.” He sighed, and you shook your head, grinning.

“I don’t want to sleep in your room tonight.” You muttered.

“Don’t ‘ave to,” he responded in a similarly soft tone, “Won’t make you. Say the word, I’ll leave. You can get some sleep.”

“No,” you smiled at his lack of awareness, “Don’t want to sleep in your room—want you to sleep here.”

He was quiet for a moment. You looked over your shoulder, uncertain, and he was already looking back at you with a smug grin.

“’At’s what you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. S’what I want, too.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing your back to his chest.

“Gonna sleep without your mask on?” You teased, eyeing the balaclava where it lay on the floor amongst the rest of your discarded clothes.

“Might as well,” he huffed a laugh, “Cock’s out—nobody’ll notice my face if they come in.”

“I will.”

“I want you to.” He sighed, pressing himself against you so that your head rested beneath his chin.

“Good,” you yawned, “That’s what I want, too.”

Simon chuckled softly, leaning back to reach for the lamp on the nightstand and clicking it off. There was another stretch of comfortable silence, and you felt the soft edges of sleep begin to take hold.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Simon whispered into the darkness of your room.

“I know,” you were just awake enough to respond, “I love you, too, Simon.”

You fell asleep with his arm draped over you, perched over your hips rather than your waist, his hand pressed lightly against your stomach. But this time, you were both under the covers.

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