#so i got the pens i've been needing to get!

[ledder4]

ghost handeling your ass

His office had never been so empty — the hands of his wristwatch, together with the insistent scratching of his pen on the pile of papers, filled Lieutenant Riley's imaginary void almost completely, if it weren't for the sexual memories that insisted on invading his mind and causing great discomfort in his pants.

Thinking about it, it hadn't been long since he had dismissed y/n of their base duties but he was already sending a recruit to call them to his cabinet — his fingers drumming the table as he impatiently waited for y/n.

"About damn time, love," his voice echoed through the office right when the door opened with a soft click and closed behind y/n "I need some warming up, baby, this paperwork is getting on my fuckin' nerves and the only thing I can think of is your fuckin' ass warming my cock as I do my Lieutenant shit" he pushed the chair back a bit with his heels and tapped his lap in an invitation "Jr. here wants some warm hole to bury himself..."

Ghost's eyes raked over y/n's form hungrily as they approached, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He could already imagine the feeling of y/n's tight heat enveloping his aching cock, the thought making him shift in his seat.

"Come here, my sweet little cumdump," Ghost purred, his British accent dripping with lust. "Let's get this show on the road, yeah? I've got a fuckin' ache that only your velvet hole can fix."

He reached out and grabbed y/n's wrist, yanking them onto his lap with a grunt. Ghost's large, calloused hand immediately went to grope and knead the firm globe of y/n's ass, fingers sinking into the supple flesh possessively.

"Fuck, I love this arse," Ghost growled, giving it a sharp smack. "Gonna bury my fuckin' cock in it 'til you're sobbing for me, love. Gonna pump you so full of spunk, you'll be tastin' it for days."

His other hand fumbled with his belt, undoing it with clumsy urgency. Ghost's breathing grew heavier, chest heaving against y/n's back as he finally freed his massive, throbbing erection. It slapped against y/n's ass, leaving a streak of precum on their skin.

"Get this fuckin' slutty hole ready for me, baby," Ghost commanded, pushing y/n's face down onto the desk. "Spread those cheeks and show me where you need my cock, yeah? Beg for it like a good little cocksleeve."

Ghost's fingers dug into the flesh of y/n's ass, kneading and spreading the cheeks apart. He leaned in close, hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of y/n's neck and ear.

"Fuck, I can smell how much you want it, you dirty little slut," Ghost growled, inhaling deeply. "The scent of your desperation is fuckin' intoxicating. It's makin' my cock throb like a motherfucker."

He nipped at y/n's earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue, tracing the curve of it. Ghost's hand slid between y/n's legs, calloused fingers brushing against their most intimate area. He could feel the heat radiating from y/n's core, the dampness that betrayed their arousal.

"Christ, you're fuckin' soaked, aren't you, my tight little fucktoy?" Ghost purred, rubbing his fingers along y/n's slit teasingly. "Desperate for me to split you open on my fat cock and ruin you for anyone else, yeah?"

His other hand continued its assault on y/n's ass, delivering sharp smacks that left red handprints blooming across the skin. Ghost's hips rocked forward, the thick head of his erection catching on y/n's entrance with each thrust.

"Beg for it, baby," he demanded, voice a low, lust-roughened rasp. "Beg me to shove my fuckin' cock in your greedy cunt and fuck you 'til you can't walk straight. Let me hear that pretty voice scream for my dick like the cock-hungry whore you are."

[hatsbuckets]

heyo! So I've been binging your stuff gotta say, it's fabulous! I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of ADHD reader? I have ADHD and have been stuck in a very uncomfortable position for the past few hours. Kind of an in between of zoned out mentally but physically there? Almost like dissociation but coherent enough to communicate. I'm not sure what it is but if I could get some Price comfort that would be lovely!!! Thanks!!!!

Hello Anon! [Thank you ((: ] I'd love to! Ask for Price and ye shall receive! I also have adhd and I think I understand what you mean by the zoning out but responsive thing, although I really only experience it when I'm tired so this def has a bit more of my experience in it but.

Short Vers: You're Price's partner and after the exhausting week you've had, you take a day off from your own stuff to visit him.

Warnings: None? Aside from the zoning out. This is pretty tame and cutesy.

WC: Short (>1000)

Pairings: Price x Reader

...

John's office was as put together and sterile as it always was. Aside from the stacks of physical reports on his desk and a couple of framed photos you'd given him, though they were nearly buried by the paper. It was almost funny, how much paperwork followed him, comes with the job you guessed.

Your own job had been exhausting. It was hell and busy and everyone needed you to do your job so that they could do theirs and vice versa. You put in extra time to get stuff done. You were good at what you did, but damn did you need a break.

So that's what you did. You took off on a random Thursday and told John that you'd be going to work with him. A "take your partner to work day" you had told him.

He agreed, making sure you understood that his day would likely be boring, but you didn't care, it was nice to just sit and watch him work.

You liked your seat on the couch in corner of the room. He wouldn't admit it, but he had gotten the couch to sleep on when there were late nights. When he stayed too late to make the trip to a bed and had to be here the next morning anyway. But for the day it was your place, sitting comfy with your sock covered feet tucked beneath you and a warm drink in your hands.

From here, you could watch him perfectly. You could see the way his jaw unconsciously clenched as he flipped to a new page, the way he'd lean back, only to sit forward again to mark notes on a page, the way his hands fiddled with his pen as he went. It was nice, comforting to see him in his element, as mundane as this side of the work was. He knew how to do it, a necessary part of being a captain.

Your thoughts wandered as your eyes explored his face, the set of his jaw, the new growth in his beard, then to his hands as they twirled the pen once, then to the window behind him. There was a tree outside gently swaying in the breeze. It looked peaceful, with its orange and red leaves beginning to fall for winter.

He asked you a question, and you knew the answer.

"Yes," you responded, though your eyes no longer left the swaying auburn outside the window.

He asked another question and made a comment, and you answered appropriately in turn. You knew you did, though your eyes remained on the tree and your fingers absent mindedly drifted at the lip of your cup.

You didn't hear him as he stood, stepping across the room. You didn't see him as he sat slowly next to you, his weight making the couch dip in his direction. He asked you something else, and you hummed in the affirmative.

Then his hand was on your back, just barely touching your shoulder blade. Your attention crept back to you, and you turned to face him with a smile.

He had that soft look in his eye, and that small comforting smile of concern. He could always tell when you zoned out. After a while it was like second nature. Your answers become monotonous, regardless of their accuracy. You got a look that he could recognize in anyone after the years he's served: that far away stare. Your motions would idle, and you'd simply just be. Sometimes it was worse than others, and you'd been on and off all week, exhausted and trying to hide it.

"Are you alright, love?" His voice was soft.

"Of course," you answered, though you didn't entirely sound convinced.

You scooted closer so that your thighs touched his and your shoulder could lean into his chest. His arm wrapped around you, squeezing your shoulders gently.

"I asked if you wanted to go get lunch," his voice was a whisper, something only you could hear. He tried to keep his voice light, like trying not to make you feel bad. It only worked a little.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you," you murmured, leaning your head into him.

He kissed the top of your forehead. "I know." His response was only warm, filled with an understanding that he didn't have to say aloud.

"Long week at work, right?" He asked.

You nodded against his chest. You could hear him now, but your thoughts still wandered, worrying now about the work you could be doing the answers you didn't pay attention to when he asked.

"I'm glad you're here,'' his voice was loud enough now that you can feel it in his chest. That feeling was enough to keep you grounded, in the moment, even if by a string.

"I'm just tired," you mumbled, trying to hide in his chest.

He hummed as his hands covered yours and he took the cup from you. You'd completely forgotten about it. You would've felt worse about it if you hadn't at least finished half of it. He'd tell you it's not even something worth worrying about anyway.

"Food, then a nap maybe," it wasn't a question, he'd carry you a dining space if he has to. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing gently.

You nodded and slowly sat up. He was smiling softly at you again, his eyes crinkling in that perfect way.

"I brought my own lunch," you smiled, the charming, cheeky light fully returning to your eyes. "There's no telling what they're feeding you lot."

He huffed a laugh. "It's good to be prepared."

You hum proudly as he takes your hand, and you stand from the couch. He escorts you to the mess hall, and gosh were you glad you packed your own lunch.

A/N I hope you liked this anon! I love soft, observant John. It ended up shorter than I thought, maybe there's an expanded version somewhere in my mind idk. I just wanted it to be short and sweet.

[vitaminkenjoyer]

follow-up posted to ao3.

He was grateful that his eyes were dry by time the knock came. A holy brother entered, looking them over with pious disapproval as he dropped a clean set of clothes on the table. When he took his leave he kept the door to their hut cracked open, and the cold stream of air helped rouse them both.

Jaime sat up on his pallet and kept his eyes properly averted while the wench got dressed, staring down at her bruised feet. The pale hair on her calves glittered in the cold light. When he stood to shed his tunic he caught a glimpse of himself in the small looking glass tacked to the wall. He was mottled black and blue and yellow all over from the Northman's kicks and he had been freed of two of his bottom teeth. One of his eyes was swollen, both were bagged. Dirt and grime stuck in the lines of his face, and his hair and beard were wild and unkempt. Jaime Lannister looked a hundred years old, and felt a thousand.

When Brienne tried to assist him in dressing he shrugged her off and refused her stumbling apologies. "It's done, wench. Leave it be," he snapped as he clumsily pulled on a fresh pair of breeches.

The wench looked almost wounded at the rebuke. Though her frown was partially obscured by her bandages, it was so ugly and sad as to almost be comical. Jaime brushed his knuckles tenderly over the cloth covering her cheek. "This was no wolf, was it?"

Brienne's eyes shuttered and she shrunk away. Outside the door a brother clanged a bell strewn about his neck, making his circuit around the neighboring huts. They startled at the sudden noise and Brienne pulled on her boots. "That's the supper bell. We have must slept for so long..."

Jaime made to grab her arm but she stepped out of his grasp, her cloak billowing behind her. Stop running from me, he wanted to say, but his stomach interrupted him with a low growl, and he followed her out the door instead.

They made their way along the stone path and up creaking wooden steps, past long grass weeping with ice and through the narrow paths carved out of snow. Far down the slope the laughter of children could be heard as they pelted each other with snowballs. A pair of holy brothers knelt, their brown robes flowing in the wind, as they built a crude white structure in front of a small audience. "I'll get you, Jon Penny!" one of the girls shrieked, chasing a boy down and tackling him into the bank.

Past the low barn a shepherd was making a clumsy attempt at wrangling a few wayward sheep back into their pens. The brother rolled up the sleeves of his roughspun robe, turning to gather up a rowdy ewe and cursing all the while.

Brienne stopped in her tracks to gawk at him."Gendry?"

When the brother turned Jaime had the queer sense that he was being faced with yet another ghost. The lad was of a height with him, built like a bull, and looked as if he had room to grow still. His eyes were as blue as ice and his dark unkempt hair brushed his shoulders, hanging in greasy tangles.

"Robert?" The word escaped Jaime's lips unbidden.

Gendry furrowed his brow, ignoring him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been here before. Why aren't you at your forge?"

The lad scoffed bitterly. "It's all ash now, along with everything else."

Brienne stared. A fresh bout of snow started coming down and flakes landed upon her head, melting in the tangles of her hair. "What?"

"Do you need me to repeat myself?" He shoved off a ram chewing at his robe, huffing. "Some of the little ones had caught sick so I went out to get some coltsfoot syrup. The nearest apothecary shop was in Harroway Town. Except when I got there the old man said most of his stores were ruined in the floods a few moons back, so he sent me further up the Trident. Took me about four hours to find some damned syrup, and halfway through my trip back I started seeing smoke in the sky. The cloud only got bigger and blacker as I rode and somehow I knew... All the children were standing around crying in the mud outside the gates of Riverbend when I returned."

Jaime pushed past the pain in his jaw to ask, "A kitchen fire?" At the same Brienne said in a hushed tone, "Who set it ablaze?"

The boy glanced between them both. "Men in grey cloaks, Willow said, and a few in green. Three dozen of 'em, all armed and armored, looking for outlaws. She said they turned the whole place over then burned it on their way out when they couldn't find any."

"This Willow, did she see any frogs on the green cloaks?" Jaime asked.

The boy looked at him queerly, his gaze flicking briefly down to his stump. He nodded, brushing the hair from his eyes. "On a lilypad, she said."

Lord Vypren's failure to apprehend the outlaws at Fairmarket must have incensed his goodfather, if he thought this show of force was worth risking his men for.

Brienne crossed her arms, pulling her cloak tight around her front with shaky fingers. "How did you all find your way here?"

"That shoeless septon you visited us with. He came back to the inn after you... When we - " His eyes lingered on the bandage over Brienne's cheek, then he glanced down at his boots, scuffing his foot in the snow. "He tried to get some of the villagers to take some of the children off our hands, but no one would. They all said they didn't have enough food. A few threatened us as well." He frowned, shaking his head. "Children from Riverbend and Nutten used to come around to play with all of ours and Old Dorthy took measure of our hands so she could knit us mittens before she fell down her cellar steps."

Her eyes were round with sorrow. "I'm so sorry."

Gendry flared and she flinched. "Are you? I'm not stupid, I know the lions and Freys are friends. Did you come here with your high lord lover to burn this place down, too?"

Jaime stepped between Brienne and the boy. "It's not her fault your inn burned. Those men were moving under Lord Walder's command, not mine, and you'll notice that we came here with no men of our own. We're here to heal, nothing more."

The boy's fists bunched and unfurled at his sides as they stared each other down. Their cloaks rapped in the wind, clapping in a mocking, uneven beat.

Jaime could only be thankful that there were no stray red cloaks spotted, or the squire and the hedge knight would be strung up as soon as word reached that dreaded hole in the ground. Ser Addam Marbrand and Ser Dermot of the Rainwood had been given leave to search along the Red Fork for the Blackfish, but were given stern commands to tread gently with any smallfolk they spoke to. The whole thing stunk of Black Walder; he had no qualms about putting the people of Hag's Mire to the question after Merret's hanging at Oldstones. Ryman's demise at Fairmarket would only harden him further. Jaime was starting to feel sick of this whole business; this dance of lords and broken men.

"... I'll see you at supper, Jaime," Brienne said with a voice full of hurt. She stepped around him and stomped her way down the path to the great wooden sept. She'll share her tears with a statue before she'll ever share them with me. They watched her go in silence as the chickadees whistled their honeyed goodbyes in the trees overhead.

Jaime grit his teeth, sighing. "How do you and Lady Brienne know each other?"

Gendry's eyes flittered over his bruised and battered face, and his features softened for half a blink. "She and her friends came to stay at the inn when the Brave Companions came down on us," he said reluctantly. "She took them all on herself."

"By herself? Where were you?"

The lad worked his jaw as if chewing on cud. "I was at my forge. It was dark, and raining... when they rode up I thought they were ours. They wanted to rape Willow, but she ran back in for help and the others joined the fight. That fat monster would have killed the lady if I hadn't shoved my spear through his head. He nearly did her in with the fever that followed."

A chill came over Jaime. Fat and monstrous as he was, biting was never Zollo's work. Nor was it the work of a wolf, apparently. Stupid lying wench. "How many were there? I've heard it said that there's been somewhat of a split or two."

"Seven."

Seven. Jaime felt his anger building. "And you captured her after she saved your lives."

Gendry's nostrils flared. "I had no choice in the matter. Lem and Harwin wanted her taken, and Jeyne and I tagged along. She was as good as dead by the time we reached the river so I headed back to the inn."

"Good that you did, since the rest of your merry band was too busy hunting down Freys and performing black magic to protect their own."

The lad stepped forward as if to hit him. "And what has your merry band been doing? All those children would have been at home with their mothers and fathers if you high lords and kings hadn't torn the lands apart. Jeyne and Willow said it was your lot who hanged her aunt. The others aren't perfect but they're sure as hell better than you."

Jaime had to laugh. "Then why aren't you with them? I didn't see any boys built like boars at my farce of a trial."

Gendry blinked. "The lady gave you a trial?"

"At the red priest's counsel, yes." That reminded him. "It's said that the lightning lord is dead for good and all, is that true?"

"Lord Beric passed his fire onto the lady... it was R'hllor's will," he said hesitantly, reaching down to pet the sheep at his legs.

"And what became of the rest of his loyalists? Where have they gone?"

Gendry's eyes turned to stone. "Why do you want to know? So you can hunt them down and kill them?"

"Use your head," Jaime snapped. "Do you think your precious dead lady let me escape the noose because she was feeling particularly charitable?"

"I don't care why she let you go, I have sheep to milk." The lad rolled his shoulders and turned away from him, brokering no further argument.

Jaime's head was starting to ache and he was content enough to leave the boy to sulk. He made his way down to the stables despite the grumbling in his stomach, his fingers itching all the while. Tiny pins of snow pierced his cheeks and the cold hard ground crunched underneath his boots as he approached Honor's stall, passing by a droopy eyed donkey dozing off in a bed of straw. On the blood bay's second handful of oats a crash on the other end of the stable rang out and the donkey stirred, braying obnoxiously. Jaime grit his teeth at the commotion and furrowed his brow as he came upon a stallion throwing a tantrum in his stall, massive and beautiful and black as midnight.

The days past were too surreal, and for a moment he was convinced that he must be dreaming up the absurdity.  

"As quarrelsome as he is handsome." Jaime startled at the voice behind him. The Elder Brother gave a nod in greeting, eyeing the war horse with a certain fondness.

"He's as familiar as he is handsome," said Jaime. "How did Sandor Clegane's destrier wash up here?"

The beast gave another kick and upended his water trough. The Elder Brother looked up from the trickle of water pooling at his feet, nonplussed. "I admit I had a similar question in mind when you stepped off the ferry last night. You and your," he scratched at an ear and gave a brief frown, "friend arrived so late, we didn't get the chance to speak properly."

My whore, you mean. "I'm not in the habit of giving confession if that's what you're after."

"And I am not in the habit of receiving confession, ser. This way," the Elder Brother beckoned him with a flap of his wide bell sleeve.

The faintest of red streaks painted the sky as Jaime followed up a steep set of winding steps and past gnarled barren trees, feeling like a little boy all the while. By the time they reached the top of the slope his bruised calves were aching, but the Elder Brother was wholly unbothered by the exertion. The man's hands were just as calloused as Brienne's, not the soft sort Jaime was used to seeing in those purporting to do the Seven's work, and the rest of him was broad and square and corded in muscle.

At the end of their trek was an ancient door set in the side of a hill. "In here," the Elder Brother shook the snow off his robes and removed his sodden boots and socks, revealing feet as hard and cracked as stone.

"You look as weary as I feel," he placed two crudely carved wooden cups on a long table strewn with books and parchment papers, clearing a spot to sit. "I'm afraid we have nothing stronger than cider to wet our lips."

"Pity," Jaime took a sip and savored the sweetness on his tongue. Not enough to get him drunk and send him back to sleep, but it would have to do. "You aren't the usual sort of septon I meet."

"I am no septon, my lord."

Jaime frowned down into the amber liquid in his cup. "As a boy I had the tendency to doze off during lessons with my septa. What are you, then?"

"A penitent. Like all the other men here, only with a longer list of duties and a much later bedtime."

"And I suppose Sandor goes to bed with the chickens like all the rest? I confess this is the last place I'd expect to find the man."

"Some might say the same of you, my lord."

Jaime downed his cup in one swallow, reaching for the tankard. "Don't fret, I'm not looking to get a tonsure any time soon. I'll only sully your sanctuary as long as necessary." He was overzealous in refilling and cider pooled on table, leaving a ring. "You're quite the slippery septon when questioned."

The Elder Brother's lips pressed together in a tight white line. "If you mean to take Brother Sandor to justice for his crimes, I would ask that you reconsider. Though I would not oppose you if you decide to apprehend him."

Jaime lifted the cup back to his lips, pausing. "You've went to all this trouble to harbor the man yet you'd give him away so easily?"

"You are Tywin Lannister's son. You have all the power of your house and the throne behind you. As loath as I would be to do it, I cannot risk the rest of the isle. We have more to lose than ever." The Elder Brother took the first drink from his cup. A faint sheen of sweat could be seen on his tonsured head. "Every man who takes sanctuary here knows that I cannot guarantee them protection should the hand of justice come knocking. This is an isle of peace, and I am sworn never to kill again. You would not be the first man come to our shores seeking retribution."

Jaime found the man's resignation irksome. "I'm not here to burn down your septry, you can unclench your holy arse."

"What are you here for, Ser Jaime?"

"My salvation," he laughed into his cup, then put it down to scratch at the angry scars on his stump. "I had my suspicions regarding Sandor's involvement at Saltpans. It seemed unusually cruel, even for him."

"You were right to. Sandor has softened some in his time here, but then... I shudder to think of what he would have become if he had not accepted my help. The blame for the slight to his name is mine. When I found him dying on the banks of the Trident I had to strip him of his armor, else I would not have been able to carry him. Whoever came upon his possessions..."

"Took his helm." A part of Jaime was glad to have been proven right for Sandor Clegane's sake. He raised his cup in a toast. "To a sinner reborn. May Sandor live and die on this isle, churning butter or whatever it is that you do. A lifetime of tedium is surely punishment enough."

The Elder Brother was not amused. "I would have your word, ser."

That took Jaime by surprise. He hiccupped and his jaw throbbed. "The word of an oathbreaker?"

"The word of a man. The word of a knight sworn under the light of the Seven."

Nigh twenty years basking in the light of these so-called gods, and yet I've never felt so cold.   

"The Seven can fuck themselves." The Elder Brother didn't so much as blink at his blasphemy and Jaime shifted under his gaze. "You have my word.  Should Sandor ever set foot off this isle again, it won't be my doing." He lifted his stump, waving it. "I'm in no fit state to be dragging the dog around by his tail anyhow. I may get bit." And it hardly seemed just to apprehend the man for desertion, considering his own predicament.

The Elder Brother nodded. "I thank you, Ser Jaime," he said sincerely, and took a modest sip of cider. His chair creaked as he leaned backward. "How is it that the Lady Brienne is back in our company? Last she was here I beseeched to her to return home to her lord father. I fear the third time she washes up on our shores I'll have to hand her body over to Brother Sandor to burn and send her ashes along to Tarth. Corpses still come up on the tide, and the ground has grown too hard to bury them."

That the man thought Brienne could be strong-armed into anything made Jaime want to laugh, but his premonition wasn't far off. That the Maid of Tarth could be reduced to a chest of ash sitting in Lord Selwyn's halls made his guts twist. Arise, Ser Jaime, her voice came back to him, when she had used Oathkeeper to slash through his bonds. He downed his cup once more and refilled it again. "How much time do you have?"

"As much time as your pain will allow." He handed him another portion of crushed up sourleaf. Jaime let the plant do it's work for a moment, then spat into his handkerchief and began his tale. In fits and starts, and in between the time it took to let out the occasional stream of red spittle, he recounted as much as he could. He started at Pennytree, when the wench first stumbled into his tent, and ended at their escape from the dreaded cave she led him to. And the price they paid to walk away with their lives. The price that poor Podrick Payne and Ser Hyle were still paying as they spoke.

Was a castle on a river worth two meager innocents? He wondered. Was treason? He knew the answer Brienne would give.

The Elder Brother had a dismayed look about his face when he was through. He shook his stubbly head in disapproval. "I admit that in my darkest hours I share your own skepticism towards the Seven. I had hoped that with the war winding down and so many brigands captured by Lord Tarly, that these lands might see peace soon. A fool's hope, I know. Bad blood is not washed away so easily. As sad as it is to say, these outlaws would be far from the first to harm innocents in the pursuit of justice."

"The pursuit of vengeance seems more apt."

"Even still, as foul as this brotherhood is, vengeance cannot take root without the seed of justice. Dondarrion and Myr began their journey as King's men."

The words pricked Jaime's anger, and he was starting to wish he hadn't indulged in so much drink on an empty stomach. "Am I about to be lessoned in the ways of broken men? Perhaps I should be asking if you're about to apprehend me instead, if you're so taken with these outlaws and wretches."

The Elder Brother's voice grew stern and his eyes narrowed. "Such accusations are beneath you, ser. We are nearly of an age, and I have seen as much strife and battle as you, if not more. My sympathies lie with all men, friend or foe. And I despair when I hear of any person who chooses to cast aside all that is good and decent to live a life lower than that of beasts."

"Do you think I don't despair as well?" Jaime demanded.

"I see your despair writ on your face, ser," the Elder Brother said hotly. "I do not envy your position. Though a lord enjoys many comforts, his work is hardly pleasant if he has half a heart."

Small wonder my father so enjoyed his work, then. "What would you know of a lord's work?"

"Enough to forsake it in pursuit of another vocation. It is said that your cousin felt the same as well."

Jaime frowned. "Lancel? What of him?"

The Elder Brother gave a rueful smile. "The former Lord of Darry. Though I never met the girl, I rued to hear of the dissolution of his marriage to my niece. Especially when I learned of what he traded it for. Would that Lancel had ridden north instead of south." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Secluded though we are, I do try to stay privy on new developments throughout the realm. My proctors often venture across the Trident for food and supplies and return with whispers in tow. On rare occasion I am heartened by a piece of news, but most times I am left angered or saddened. Saddest of all are the reports from my former home."

Jaime stared at the man, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He recalled his supper at Darry moons ago, when he had spoken with Lady Mariya. They have the same eyes. Kind, yet shrewd. "You mean to tell me that the Lord of Darry has been hiding away on some ghastly little isle in the Bay of Crabs?" He gave a laugh in dismay. "You do know your house is on the brink of extinction, don't you? Worse, that it's being overrun by Freys?"

"I do," the man's tone was grave. He said nothing more.

His finality was baffling and infuriating. "You and my dear cousin share the same pigheaded stubbornness when it comes to vows, then. You could claim your seat, find a wife, have children. And yet you're content to just... give sermons and pick apples all day?"

The Elder Brother rumbled out a laugh of his own. "You paint quite the idyllic picture of my life, Ser Jaime." He downed his cup of cider then rolled up his sleeves, revealing coarsely haired arms veined with muscle. "I could go back any time, it's true. I've thought about it many nights, most especially when I heard what became of Raymun, and his little boy soon after. Raymun always had a thirst for adventure, like the rest of us. Benam and Braddish were the first born, and after my birth came Mariya and Jeyne. There were five years between Raymun and I. My sisters doted on him, and we boys fed him stories of war and battle and great knights, and hoped that he would grow big and strong to fight beside us all on the same field. We got our wish in the end, though our dreams quickly soured once Braddish took a sword to the belly. He bled out in the mud while stag and dragon alike trampled over him. Benam and I were showered with arrows. He took his clean through the eye and I took mine to the leg, then I was kicked into the river by another man's horse.

The next ten years of my life I spent in silence, ignorant to the realm at large. When the last Elder Brother died it fell to me to take his place and his duties. I had to regain knowledge of the world in order to keep a proper peace here. The last seven years are all I know of what became of my house, and of my baby brother. The temptation to forsake my position here and cross the river for good grew stronger with each new revelation, but no sooner did the thought appear that another broken man would appear on our shores with naught but the clothes on his back, crying like a babe, with nowhere else to turn. Raymun had my father and a castle to inherit. My men only had me.

I had hoped, after hearing that he had wed and sired a trueborn son, that my brother's thirst for battle had been quenched. It takes much to change a man's nature, though. And so he died by the sword, just as he swore he would the day we all rode out for the Trident underneath the banner of the dragon."

"He died riding against the Mountain," said Jaime. "I'd have thought you'd find that a noble death in the pursuit of justice."

"Certainly there needed to be recompense after the calamity Ser Gregor visited upon these lands. Would that his overseers had brought him to justice instead of the Red Viper. But Wendish Town would have been better served if my brother had stayed within his domain to rebuild it. Though there were no survivors of the raid, it still lies barren and trampled. If rebuilt so many others could have taken refuge there instead of fleeing south."

And my cousin took his vows before he could address the matter. The call of the Warrior had always been more seductive than the Smith, where boys and men were concerned. Jaime shook his head. "Casterly Rock will fund the rebuilding of it, along with Sherrer and the Mummer's Ford. It was my father's dogs who did the pillaging, no one else. I'll find a way to get a hold of our coffers."

"You are still of the Kingsguard, ser. You have sworn off your inheritance."

He shrugged. "And my cousin is Warden of the West. And another cousin is castellan of the Rock. The word of Tywin's trueborn son holds more weight, they can be swayed to bring forth the gold I need."

The buzz of the cider had him speaking with more confidence than he felt, but it was better than his earlier despair. Daven was one matter, but Damion's appointment to castellan was his sister's doing, and he knew whose orders the old man would obey should the Lady of the Rock refuse to fund such an effort. Cersei had never been the charitable sort and she grew spiteful when slighted. She was still awaiting the High Septon's justice, and if the whispers of her being forced to walk were true she would never forgive him for failing to heed her call. He would have to act fast should she prevail in any trial. Knowing his uncle, he'd have her take up residence at the Rock soon. The stag queen no longer, his sister would live out the rest of her days a lioness. Her rage at being knocked down after reaching such heights would be terrible and beautiful to behold, but it was the best she could hope for after the mess she made of things.

If his kin could not be persuaded to aid him then he'd find another way, and damn anyone who would deny him because of the white cloak. His lord father was dead, House Lannister had lost it's guiding hand, and new rules would have to be forged.

"I wish you luck in such an endeavor, ser," the Elder Brother said with equal parts doubt and hope. "Masha Heddle's inn had become something of an orphanage in the past year. I heard it from the boy Gendry that sparrows had taken to dropping off wandering children there. Since it is no more..."

"Your isle has taken up the load. Those villages will stand again and you'll be able to breathe easier in time. On my honor as a knight," Jaime swore, then leaned back in his chair and smiled. "A sage septon such as yourself would make a decent lord. Perhaps peace would break out once and for all if you took your seat amongst the great council of Riverlords. Castle Darry certainly has room enough for a couple hundred whelps and penitents as well." And House Lannister might have one less enemy...

"You jest, ser, but we both know my return would not be without cost," he responded dourly. "The Freys would not take kindly to losing such a boon as Darry. And as loath as I am to leave what's left of mine own kin to sort out the situation, I'm more loath to rekindle the spark of war. I know the blackness of my heart, and I would not be content to sit out the battle. I would be the first on the frontlines, and soon after, drunk on the frenzy of war, I would find some clever reason to soil my honor. Or worse, someone else's."

Jaime snorted. "Afraid you'd bed a maiden or two?"

"No. Worse."

Jaime's mirth was killed at once. "I see..." He picked at the last remnants of sourleaf clinging to his teeth with his tingling tongue. "There was a man I had picked up at Harrenhal," he found himself saying, "one of the Mountain's soldiers. He tried to rape my washerwoman and I had his head taken off."

The Elder Brother nodded his head. His eyes said nothing. The wind picked up outside and the cave door set to creaking softly on it's hinges. It's squeaking song was strangely sweet.

"A child was crippled by my own hand," he whispered into the silence. "And I almost butchered another one for..." Jaime swallowed. For Cersei, for love, for sex, he might have said, but he could not disclose that. He stared down at the table, searching for an answer in the grains of wood. For no good reason, he really wanted to say, but the words were lodged in his throat.

"I see," the Elder Brother said gently, and stood. "Will you allow me to change your bandages before you leave, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime nodded, and said nothing else.

After, the Elder Brother sent him on his way to the common hall for supper. "So many children about, we've had to start taking our meals in shifts. There should be something warm for you still." He laid his hand on Jaime's shoulder, hesitant. "You'll want to consult Mariya for the rebuilding of Wendish Town. She was made Lady of Darry when she was no more than ten years old after our mother died. Now that she's back from the Twins I know she'll wish to return to her duties. It's been said my niece is more of a frivolous creature."

"It will be my first stop on the way back to Riverrun. Do you have a rookery here?"

"We do."

Three ravens took flight that night, their wings flapping like great bats, traveling north, and west, and further west. All marked with the humble seal of a seven-pointed star, and signed Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

The humble hall was still teeming with life by time Jaime made his way in the door, stomping the snow off his boots. Children and holy brothers flitted about, setting a motley assortment of cutlery and cups and serving bowls on the tables, and driftwood chairs were shoved into empty spaces wherever the long benches could not suffice. A silent brother with a stooped back and a long white beard made his way around the room, spooning portions of fish stew into bowls while the young, rail thin boy trailing behind him poured sheep's milk into cups. The baskets of freshly baked bread in the center of the table were quickly descended upon by a mass of small, pudgy hands, and the children brandished their rounded knives like spades to carve out the hills of butter nestled inside the crocks.

Jaime crammed himself awkwardly into one of the last remaining seats along the bench beside Brienne. She glanced up briefly in acknowledgment, her eyes puffy.

"Did you have a nice talk with the Mother?" He asked.

"No," she said dully.

"The Father?"

"No."

She had shed her bandage from last night, allowing the wound on her cheek to breathe. It was a ghastly sight; a pit of gnarled, angry pink flesh where a full, smooth freckled cheek had once been. The corner of her mouth was taut and stiff, pulled upward from the shoddy mending job she must have gotten, giving her a sort of permanent crooked smirk. I once thought she would never smile...

It made him murderous. His phantom fingers itched for a spear.

The old septon stood at the head of the table, clasping his wrinkled, leathery hands together. The hall quieted at once and the children sat in rapt attention. Down the long row of chairs a boy fidgeted in his seat and a holy brother glared at him, pulling down his cowl to reveal his marred and angry face. The boy gulped.

Sandor adjusted his hood and locked eyes with Jaime, his hand freezing on the hem of his cowl. They stared at each other for a long moment. It was on his lips to come up with some clever jape, but he remained silent, and Sandor was more like to hit him than laugh with him. In all the time Jaime knew the man he was so dour and lonesome that Brienne seemed a ray of sunshine in comparison.

When Lord Tywin assigned Clegane to his daughter's guard after the sack of King's Landing he had been scarce more than a boy, only a few years older than Tyrion. For a time he and Jaime had taken to dancing in the yard together. The boy had been as a big as an aurochs even then, and was one of few in the Red Keep who could be regularly called upon to match his speed and give him a challenge. For all his gruffness Sandor took well to instruction, and each night their swords clanged was a night that Aerys could be forgotten.

Despite the occasional spark of jealousy that flared when the man became Joffrey's sworn shield, they had managed to get on decently and share a few laughs together over the years. Usually at the expense of some green knight who made a fool of himself in the lists or at Robert's drunken antics at feasts. And once more, when they rode beyond the gates of Darry to begin their hunt. Sandor had come back with his game in tow, and Jaime didn't. They had both gotten drunk in the supper hall that evening, and were late to rise the next morning.

He raised his cup of sheep's milk and gave a brief nod in greeting. Sandor gave a nod of his own, his mouth twitching briefly as he donned his cowl again.

Jaime kept his eyes open and his head unbowed as the septon droned out a prayer of thanks for the meal. Sandor did not. Brienne stared glumly down at her plate beside him, unaware of the little girl blinking up at her expectantly in the next chair over. He felt a sticky hand grasp his stump from the right, and glanced down at a ratty haired girl, even younger, silently mouthing pieties. A chorus of small voices rose in unison, singing 'The Mother's Hymn', rounding out the evening prayers. The children unlinked their hands and dug into their food in a manner that was almost feral.

All these whelps, Jaime gave one last glance around the hall, alive and unmolested.

He looked back to Brienne and took her hand in his. A stray tear fell from her cheek.

i'll probably never finish this fic that i'm working on so here's a little drabble. post-stoneheart, jaime's trauma, the quiet isle, etc.

They had ridden in a quiet daze, stopping only for the briefest of moments to piss or shit or redress their wounds. Jaime's blood was still singing from their bout, but he felt no jubilance for his victory, and Brienne's sullen silences only helped to set his teeth on edge.

The girl called Long Jeyne had stitched and patched their injuries before the brotherhood allowed their leave, but it was shoddy work at best. When Brienne had to be coaxed from her mare to sit against the trunk of an oak she insisted they ride for the Bay of Crabs instead of risking any inns or keeps. Her adamancy pricked his anger once more.

"Why, so you can lure me into some other trap?" He paused dabbing up the blood from the cut on her arm to sneer.

"No!" Her eyes widened in dismay. "It's the only safe place I know, ser, please. The holy brothers will heal us - "

"I've had my fill of getting kicked around and my men are waiting for me. I have no time to be lectured by a bunch of tonsured eunuchs on the state of my honor." He threw the bloodied cloth down in the dirt and stood. Every word magnified the pain in his jaw twofold, coming out in a hateful slur. "No doubt you'll be welcome among such pious company, deceitful righteous bitch that you are."

Brienne lurched to her feet and grabbed him by the collar with her good arm, hauling him close. Her nose nearly brushed his. "Honor or no, you still would have found yourself in that cave, and with me behind you. Now we are both soiled."

Jaime clutched her bad arm with his hand and she winced, but did not pull away. Their breath mingled, hot and rank, and for a moment he was certain they would come to blows. A purse of the lips would be all it took to close the space between them...

The muscles in his back tightened, sending a fresh stab of pain beneath the skin where the arrow's shaft was lodged.

"Lead the way, my lady," he wrenched himself free and mounted his horse, sparing her not another word or glance.

The sun had just set when they led their weary horses off of the ferry and onto the dock. A group of men in robes greeted them, silent and somber, and took their mounts off to the stables. Through a maze of steps and stones they walked in a dour procession to the maester's chamber.

Finally, stumbling and crusted in blood, they stopped before a heavy oaken door. One of the holy brothers rapped his knuckles on the wood and the surprisingly brutish healer within widened his eyes at their entrance. "My lady, I had not thought to see you again. Please sit, both of you. Brother Narbert, fetch some more candles, will you?" 

Their wounds were deftly tended to by a pair of hands that looked more fit for killing than healing, and Jaime found his eyes drooping as he sat, though the agonizing withdrawal of the arrow in his back soon woke him. By time they were through he and the wench looked a matching pair; the Elder Brother had stinted his jaw with cloth wound around his head, then cleaned and applied a salve to Brienne's cheek, advising her to keep it covered for the night. "To better soak in, my lady, though you'll want to air this out soon..."

"And you'll want to stick with mashes and stews for some time, my lord." He placed a bowl of crushed sourleaf in his hand. "This will help with the pain. So will holding your tongue as much as you are able."

Jaime would have laughed if he were the man of a few days ago. He let the leaves melt on his tongue and scrunched his nose in distaste. "That may prove difficult," he spat red into a handkerchief. "What say you to giving my commands for me, wench?"

Brienne's big weary eyes flitted about his face and she turned away in guilt, saying nothing. The less she said the more he wanted to shout, but he was much too tired to start a fight, and it wasn't her that did the kicking besides. And how she screamed when the blow landed...

The Elder Brother looked between them then braced his hands on his knees, rising from his seat. "I'm certain you will overcome the adversity, my lord."

He and Brienne were sent off with a dose of milk of the poppy then hastily placed in a small hut on the eastern side of the isle. "Normally we would not permit a man and woman to cohabitate unless they were wed, but circumstances of late have forced us to forego some rigidity," the Elder Brother said as a pair of novices hauled a spare straw pallet in and dumped it on the floor.

His eyes were just starting to shutter when Brienne whispered, "Jaime, can you hear me?" He laid still, slowed his breaths, and waited. And waited. And waited. She said no more and rolled over. The sniffling of her nose lulled him into a restless slumber, and he dreamt he was in the Whispering Wood again, the wind riffling through his golden hair as men fell dead at his feet. The sun warmed his skin and he laughed, but a cloud passed by and blotted out the light, making him shiver.

Enemies surrounded him, faceless and hateful, and he was without a sword or armor, naked. Claws punctured his arms and he was dragged through the muddied field and back into the wood at a tortoise's pace. His felled horse squealed in the distance. "Kingslayer," the shadows spat, and he spat back, laughing. "Oathbreaker," they hissed, and he kicked out his leg, smiling at the sound of teeth cracking on his heel. "Freak," a foul hand pulled at his manhood and twisted, and he screamed like a woman. "You must never do that again," a voice whispered from the trees, full of sorrow and hurt.

Corpses dangled overhead like perverse ornaments, drained of blood and shrunken, their skin turned to leather under the sun's harsh rays. Dwarves, he thought, but that wasn't quite right. Children. Rhaenys and Aegon, aye, and the Stark boy as well. And the girl called Tysha, with tears still wet on her plain but pretty face. Jaime peeled his eyes for Brienne's squire, for Lady Catelyn's daughters, but the sun blinded him, and he was pushed ahead.

Finally, he was brought to the black mouth of a cave. His toes were cracked and bloodied. Pebbles and twigs had dug into his flesh, pushing deeper with each attempt to plant his feet. Desperately, he glanced behind him, searching, waiting. Brienne! he wanted to shout, but no words would leave him. Brienne, where have you gone? He squeezed his eyes shut. They cannot hurt me if I do not see. Wood splintered and scratched at him as he was tied down to a pale chair. "Goldenhand," they jeered, mocking. The more he struggled against his hempen bonds the more he bled, and soon the crude throne he sat upon turned from ivory, to crimson, to rust.

"Goldenhand the Just!" They chanted with false merriment, dancing around him in zealous ecstasy. "Goldenhand, Goldenhand, Goldenhand!" A thousand nails pinched and tickled at him cruelly, and he woke up breathless, the cold echoes of their cackles seeping into the walls around him.

"Ser?" A big hand rested on his shoulder, heavy and warm. Brienne towered over him even as she knelt at his bedside. Her eyes were wide with worry. A girl's eyes, he thought, and shuddered. She palmed his forehead, checking for a fever. "Ser, are you well?"

No, he wanted to say, and to hell with you all, but he only closed his eyes and whispered, "My name is Jaime," as salt trickled coolly into his ear. He turned his head away.

"Oh, Jaime," Brienne gasped, and she trailed her fingers through his hair.

[bataranqs]

5 Happy Things

May 24, 2024

hehe it's the 24th and the year is 2024

my digestive system is working great and i can eat food with basically no problems yayyy

did some work today!!

got to help a friend <3

got to study in a cafe!

[acekindaneat]

sketch dump!

got a new tablet so these are all just me testing brushes and settings 👍

[askbrasil]

"are you back???"

YESN'T

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

[hellonoblesky]

I gotta pack for the. college but like my clothes r in the wash rn like that else am I supposed to pack

[lxvsiick]

KISS ME RIGHT | MYUNG JAEHYUN

PAIRING: down bad! frat boy! myung jaehyun x library worker! fem! reader 

SUMMARY: Jaehyung goes to the library everyday to see Y/n even though he's never touched a book in his life.

GENRE: fluff, imagine, frat boy

WORDCOUNT: 2k

WARNING: kissing scene towards the end!

A/N: Inspired by KISS ME RIGHT by Keshi -- the song is finally out! i've been waiting ever since his last tour ,, this song reminds of jaehyun’s flirty personality so ENJOY!

The double doors of the library swung open with an exaggerated flair, and every head inside turned like it was a reflex. There he was again—Jaehyun, in all his glory. Hair tousled like he'd just come from the gym, a hoodie slung over his shoulder, and that ridiculous smile that could charm the paint off the walls. He strutted into the library like it was the hottest club on campus, and not the quietest place within a ten-mile radius.

Whispers buzzed through the aisles.

"Is that Jaehyun again?"

"Does he even know what a book is?"

"Bro, he’s here every day now. Do you think he lost a bet?"

But Jaehyun didn’t care. He barely noticed the stares anymore. All he cared about was making his way to the front desk, where Y/n sat. She looked calm, focused, her fingers flying over the keyboard, the glow from her computer screen highlighting her face. She didn’t even look up as he approached.

Jaehyun cleared his throat a little too loudly, startling a student reading in the corner.

"Yo, uh... hey," he said, trying to sound casual, like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes rehearsing those two words in his head.

She finally glanced up, her brow furrowed in mild confusion. It was like she was wondering why this human embodiment of a golden retriever was trying to infiltrate her serene library world.

"You’re here again?" she asked, her voice neutral but with a hint of amusement.

Jaehyun rubbed the back of his neck, his usual swagger deflating slightly under her gaze. But he quickly recovered, flashing that winning smile that got him into any party, out of any trouble, and, hopefully, into her good graces.

"Yeah, you know... studying and stuff."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the completely empty table he had staked out for himself behind her. No books. No laptop. Not even a notebook. Just him, spinning a pen between his fingers like he was preparing for the next big test in... nothing.

"Studying?" she echoed, clearly unconvinced.

"Yeah, you know... brushing up on... the Dewey Decimal System." He threw in a dramatic wink, like it was the cleverest thing anyone had ever said about libraries.

She didn’t laugh, but there was a tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of her lips. Success.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need help finding a book... or learning how to read." Her voice was dry, and Jaehyun's grin widened.

"Ouch, brutal," he chuckled, his face lighting up like she had just complimented him.

She turned back to her screen, though he could tell she wasn’t entirely brushing him off. That was all the encouragement he needed. Without another word, he made his way to his usual table—smack in the middle of her line of sight. He didn’t sit like a regular person. He flopped down with a dramatic sigh, then spread out across the chair like he was getting ready for a nap, not a study session.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

From her seat, Y/n could feel his presence, like a beam of sunshine she wasn’t sure she needed right now. Every time she glanced up, there he was, pretending to flip through the pages of some random book he’d grabbed. Every few minutes, he'd peek over the top of the pages to check if she was looking.

At one point, Taesan and Leehan walked by and nearly stopped in their tracks when they saw Jaehyun actually holding a book. Leehan nudged Taesan, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Dude, I think he’s... reading?"

Taesan snorted. "Nah, he's definitely planning something. Probably trying to get out of doing chores at the frat house."

Jaehyun pretended not to hear them, but he couldn’t help shooting a quick grin their way. Let them talk. He was on a mission—a mission that involved far more staring at Y/n than reading anything resembling words.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

As the library’s closing time approached, the once-crowded space thinned out. Y/n was busy packing up her things behind the desk, when she noticed Jaehyun still lounging in his seat, scrolling through his phone. Everyone else had left, but he lingered like he had all the time in the world.

She walked over, standing at his table, crossing her arms with a bemused expression. "You know we’re closing, right?"

He glanced up, his puppy-like enthusiasm returning as if she’d just thrown him a bone. "Oh, yeah, totally. Just waiting for the right moment to���" He glanced down at the book in front of him and then looked back up, suddenly sheepish. "—check this out. For... studying. You know, tomorrow."

She shook her head, but this time, the smile she’d been holding back all day finally broke through.

"You’re hopeless."

He stood up, grinning ear-to-ear. "Nah, just... committed."

She raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. "To studying?"

He stepped closer, playful but serious. "To you."

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the quiet, empty library around them. Then she laughed—soft, real. And in that moment, he knew every second of pretending to study had been worth it.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

The bass from the speakers thumped through the walls of the frat house as Jaehyun stood near the kitchen, laughing with his friends. Red Solo cups in hand, they exchanged stories from the week, loud banter filling the air. Jaehyun was mid-sentence when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

Out of the corner of his vision, Y/n stepped through the front door, her figure silhouetted against the dim lights of the hallway. She was wearing a sleek black dress that hugged her frame just right, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders. The noise of the party seemed to dull in his ears. He froze, his eyes locked onto her as if the world had slowed down just for a moment.

His friends continued chatting around him, oblivious to his trance.

"Yo, bro... hello?" Sungho waved a hand in front of his face. Jaehyun blinked but didn’t move.

"Earth to Jaehyun! What are you staring at, man?" Sohee nudged him, noticing where his eyes were glued.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still trying to process how she—Y/n—was here, in this chaos of beer pong and blaring music. She didn’t belong here, but she looked so effortlessly out of place, it was almost unfair.

"Bro, you good?" Hanbin laughed, realizing why he was distracted. "Dude’s done for, he’s totally smitten."

Jaehyun shook his head, snapping out of it. He chuckled awkwardly, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, uh, I’ll catch you guys later." He set his cup down on the counter and started weaving his way through the crowd toward her, his pulse quickening with every step.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

As he neared her, she looked around the room, clearly unfamiliar with the party vibe. Her eyes landed on him, and she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He stopped a few feet away, his voice unsteady.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, more confused than anything. "Who invited you?"

She raised an eyebrow at his tone, folding her arms over her chest. "Jake invited me. I thought it might be fun." Her voice was cool, as if his question wasn’t welcome.

A flare of jealousy twisted in his gut, and he frowned, glancing around the room, wondering why Jake had to ask her. "You should’ve said no to him. This isn't your scene." His voice came out sharper than he intended, his frustration laced in every word.

Y/n scoffed, clearly annoyed. "Excuse me? You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do." She took a step closer, her gaze hardening. "I didn’t come here for Jake. I came because I wanted to see you. But if this is how you're gonna act, maybe it was a mistake." Her voice cut through the noise, her disappointment evident.

Before he could even respond, she turned on her heel, moving deeper into the house, disappearing into the crowd of bodies and flashing lights. He stood there, dumbfounded, replaying her words in his head. She came to see him.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

His heart sank. He felt like an idiot. Without wasting another second, he pushed his way through the throng of people, his mind racing. How could he have messed up so badly in just one conversation?

"Hey, have you seen—" he asked one person, cutting himself off as he realized they didn’t know who he was talking about. He scanned the dance floor, the kitchen, even outside by the keg, but she was nowhere in sight. His frustration grew with every passing second.

He was a guy who could read a room, crack a joke, keep the vibe light. But right now? He was frantic. His friends slapped him on the back as he passed, asking him what was up, but he brushed them off. He couldn’t let her leave thinking that was all he had to say—that she wasn’t welcome here, when in reality, she was the only person he wanted to be around.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was really just a few intense minutes, he spotted her standing near the back patio, her arms crossed as she talked with a couple of people. She looked frustrated, her foot tapping lightly against the ground.

Jaehyun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and made his way over to her, determined to make things right.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

Jaehyun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and made his way over to her, determined to make things right. 

As he approached, the people around her seemed to sense the tension, exchanging glances before slowly stepping back, leaving the two of them alone in the middle of the patio. The noise around them faded into the background.

Jaehyun opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then the words just spilled out.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out earlier. I was just... I don’t know, I saw you in that dress and... and then when you said you came to see me and not because of Jake, I just—" He paused, his hands gesturing wildly as he tried to find the right words. "I got jealous. It was dumb. I shouldn’t have said you shouldn’t be here, because I want you here. Like, I always want you here, not just at parties, but anywhere, and I—" He was rambling now, his thoughts tripping over each other in his rush to explain.

"—I just, I like you. A lot. And I don’t know how to deal with that sometimes. You’re... you’re like this amazing person, and I’m just the guy who’s pretending to study just so I can see you, and that probably sounds stupid, but—" He was talking faster, his words stumbling over each other. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wasn’t even sure if he was making sense anymore.

Suddenly, Y/n stepped closer, cutting him off mid-sentence. Without saying a word, she stood on her tiptoes, leaning in.

Before he could process what was happening, her lips met his.

Time seemed to stop. His heart did a somersault, and his thoughts went blank. Her kiss was soft, brief, but it left him utterly frozen, like his brain couldn’t catch up with what just happened.

When she pulled back, Jaehyun stood there, completely stunned, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he tried to make sense of reality. For a moment, it was as though his whole world had paused.

Y/n looked at him and burst into laughter—an easy, melodic sound that broke through the tension. "You should see your face right now," she teased.

Her laughter snapped him out of his trance. His shocked expression melted into a grin, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

"Wait, you—" he started, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

She smiled, stepping closer again, her gaze soft but teasing. "Yeah, I like you too. Even if you pretend to read at the library every day." She gave him a playful nudge.

A flood of relief and pure happiness washed over him, and without thinking, he closed the gap between them, gently cupping her face and bringing his lips to hers once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second of it. He could feel the smile on her lips, and it made him grin into the kiss.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[biteyoubiteme]

I make it sticky like

yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: you decide to ditch condoms. 

warnings: 🔞!!! slight breeding kink?, no protection, talk of birth control, yeonjun calls reader baby, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.2k 

an: a little something for yeonjuns bday! not proofread sorry! feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

It wasn't a big deal when you suggested ditching condoms. the two of you on a facetime call while you sat alone in your apartment studying. yeonjun had been tasked by his roommates to pick a few things they had forgotten to grab for dinner. picking up the phone with a single question for you since he was already at the store.

“I don’t remember if I left any spare condoms at your place and I know I'm out at mine after the last time you were over,”

“um let me check,” and even though you didn’t live together you both had drawers of things at the other apartment. spare changes of clothes, toiletries, and random pieces of jewelry found in every nook and cranny. you shuffled over to your side first checking and coming up empty. When you pulled open yeonjuns drawer you found the little empty box holding it up in front of your phone to show him, “Nope all used up,” you crumpled the thin cardboard tossing it in the bin next to your desk.

“I'll pick up a box for mine and a box for yours,” you could see him examining the fruit second in front of him,“how do you know if you’re grabbing good apples?” he asks at the same time you say, “I mean you don’t have to,”

you had already set your phone back up against your open laptop, pen in hand ready to get back to going over your notes when he muttered a soft, “what?” it was the way he had said it that made you look up. all efforts toward picking out the right fruit were gone as he thought over whether he had heard you right or not.

“I mean I've been on my birth control for a few months now but it’s just a suggestion if you’re more comfortable with condoms still that's fine too,”

“No, I'll just leave them off the list then,” and he was back to looking at the apples, brows furrowed and his jaw tight, “and i'll just pick up strawberries instead,”

it was the end of that conversation and you didn’t think about it much, you two had been having sex for longer than you expected the two of you to last without ditching condoms so it seemed so natural a progression. The fact you two hadn’t forgotten once or twice to come prepared was something to be a little proud of. and when you wished yeonjun a safe drive back home hanging up your call you didn't think you would hear back from him until after dinner.

To your surprise, you got a knock on your door and he was standing right in front of you. “what are you doing here I thought-“

“I just dropped off whatever I got I couldn’t stay there,”

you pulled open the door letting him in, “why? I thought you had been excited for-,” you had only just twisted the lock when he had you pinned against the door. hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed his lips to yours, you almost couldn't catch your breath, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt letting him have control.

“You can’t drop a bombshell and not reap the consequences,” he mutters in between kisses, lips working down your jaw, nipping at your skin.

“bombshell? jjunie what are you talking about?” but you realize almost as soon as the words are out of your mouth aided by the way his erection is pushed against you. “oh,” you breathe, his hips rocking against yours for friction. how you didn’t realize the switch in his demeanor as soon as you made the suggestion was lost on you, but it was exactly the look he gave when teased him in public, all his short answers and slight pout making sense now.

“I need you so bad,” his hands already pushing into the waistband of your shorts. the two of you stumbled to your room and when the back of your legs hit the bed you fell back taking him along with you.

In all the time you've been together yeonjun never skipped out on getting you off at least once before having you get off another time on his cock. only he was frantic in stripping you down, your hand instinctively reaching out to the nightstand only for your wrist to be caught in his grasp, “all out,” he reminds you free hand circling your clit, dipping along your folds to check how wet you are.

“habit,” you gasp, spreading your legs, rolling your hips to try and meet his fingers but he pulls his hand away to grab his aching cock.

as soon as he presses into you, you can tell the difference, the both of you letting out deep moans. every slow inch stretching you out, no barrier as you feel every ridge and vein. you’re practically sucking him in, his hips stuttering in their thrusts at the feeling of bottoming out, his face is pressed into your neck as he tries to calm himself, tell himself to take it slow but you’re a little devil as you mutter, “are you going to pump me full of your cum?”

you can feel his moan rumble through his chest, cock twitching inside you at the question. he doesn't even care if he seems desperate because he is, he won't ever hide that he wants you. “yes,” he nods, moving so that he notches the back of your knees in the crook of his elbows. “I'm going to make you fucking sticky with how much comes out,”

you’re completly stuffed full of his cock, hips snapping into yours as he picks up the pace, the soft slapping sounds growing louder and louder, the angel you’re at sends him right to you gspot, your head rolling back as you reach out to grab his biceps, nails digging into his skin. your orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach as yeonjun mumbles, “Beg, beg me for my cum,”

“Please, please, I need it jjunie, I want to be stuffed full of it,” his hair is stuck to his brow, his moans building up in his throat as he gets sloppy with his thrusts. “I'm going to fuck you full of it baby,” he gives a particularly hard thrust that sends you over the edge, pussy convulsing around him as you cum.

“I'm gonna-“ he can’t even get the words out before his eyes are rolling back all his muscles tensing as he cums, body trembling as he shoots his hot load inside you every slow thrust pushing it further and further into you. his orgasm lasts so much longer than usual, the intensity shocking him as he presses himself against you, holding you as close as he can.

“fuck,” he says against your pulse trying to catch his breath, “I didn’t think i’d cum so fast,” you can’t help but giggle bushing your fingers through his hair. When he finally pulls out he looks in amazement, “Push it out baby,” thumb rubbing at your clit making you twitch as he watches how your mixed wetness drips down and out of you.

“I've wanted to see that for so long” he slides his fingers through your folds picking up as much of his cream as he can before shoving it right back into you, your knees trying to close in at the sensation. “just look at that,” he whispers looking at all the sticky slick on his fingers, “I could get used to this,”

🏷 taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

My Darling

"Who even is that guy?"

"That's my darling"

----

It starts with a post.

Eddie had posted a photo on Instagram holding his acoustic guitar, cross legged on a chair.

Recently he had been front cover of a magazine of 'him' wrapped around a young woman. Living the Rockstar life.

His agent had suggested he show a more domestic side to him, a softer side.

Hence the acoustic.

It was summer so Steve was off of work and sleeping on the couch behind him, blankets up to his ears. The only thing visible was his hair peeking out and his arm hanging over the side of the couch. A sleeve of tattoos running down it all the way to his knuckles. Eddie loved that arm. He loved the way the tattoo curved around his knuckles like water. His nice, big. veiny hand that-

WOAH off topic.

He had done half the tattoos himself and made sure he payed for it all.It was the least he could do for all Steve has done for him.

They met eight and a half years ago, Steve had seen Eddie play at shitty clubs and recognized his mop of hair getting hit in the alleyway.

Eddie thought he was a goner for sure until Steve ripped the guy off him.

Steve just shot him a smile and complimented his guitar skills.

Eddie fell to his knees. He was gone for him.

He invited Steve to band practice as a thank you since he didn't have much to offer.

Two weeks later they were dating and Steve has been their number one fan since.

When Eddie got the record deal he dedicated everything to Steve.

Everything always was for him. As it should be.

Anyways,

Eddie posted the photo excited to promote the acoustic cover of his hit song 'My Hero, My Darling'.

The comments instantly went ballistic asking who the random man behind him was. He definitely wasn't in the band and why would notorious lady killer Eddie Munson have a man in his house...he couldn't possibly have friends.

Eddie responded to one comment only, knowing the rest would sort itself out.

"That's my darling ❤️"

----

"Eddie," Steve was frowning at him, poking his side with his foot.

"Eddie look at me this is serious."

"Yes my love?"

"You outed yourself. You were doing such a good job keeping this a secret. This will change everything."

Eddie turns over until his holding Steve close to him, his face in his hands.

"Good. I'm tired of hiding you my darling. I'm tired of the accusations."

"But Eddie you OUTED yourself."

"I won't say anything about you, I'd never out you Stevie. But I'm done hiding that I'm a simple man in love."

"...me too. I'm done too."

"Darling are you sure? This is a big deal. What about your school? Your principal?"

"I don't care. Everyone important to me knows. My family, my real family, know and don't care. They do wonder why I've been single for eight years but they'll get over it."

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me oh my god that's the hottest thing I've ever heard. I love you so much please I can't live another moment not having you mine. Besides, if you get fired that's definitely a lawsuit and you know I've been pleasing for you to quit so I can take care of you, but you love those damn kids. Just...be mine...please."

"I've been yours. Since the start. Since always." They both have tears in their eyes.

"Yes?"

"YES OF COURSE YES!"

They're giggling through their kisses.

---

"Heeeeyyy everyone thanks for joining my live. I have something super important to inform you on! I'm getting married!!!!!"

The comments instantly flood in questioning him on moving too fast, asking if he's on drugs. The usual.

"Oooooh you guys have no idea."

----

The photo goes up an hour after the live ends.

It's Steve sitting on the couch, glasses on, red pen in his mouth. He's wearing a thick sweater and grumbling grading papers.

He looks so soft, so smooth, it's Eddie's favorite picture. The next picture in the carousel is Steve backstage at his concert. They're holding onto each other like they need each other to breathe.

The last picture is a selfie taken minutes after. Eddie with his stage makeup sweating off his face smiling brightly at the camera. and Steve kissing his cheek. Eyes squinted shut and eyeliner thick, he had worn it as a treat for Eddie.

It was well received.

The caption reads:

"I'm so happy to announce I'm marrying my best friend and partner of eight years! Everyone meet my darling. Steve is a local middle school teacher who has literally saved my life more than once. He saved my heart. God, I love him so much.

P.s. yes the tours are in the summer so Stevie can travel with us. I'd never leave him."

---

Bonus engagement edition:

"YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED TO EDDIE MUNSON?!"

"Yes. We've been over this."

Eddie stuck out his hand to shake, "hi, Eddie Munson, nice to meet you."

"YOU HID THIS FOR EIGHT YEARS?!"

"Yes."

"I'M BASICALLY YOUR BROTHER! HE'S MY FAVORITE CELEBRITY!"

"Yes Dustin and you can't keep a secret."

"...fair...welcome to the family."

*inspired by my friend only learning her cousin was marrying someone famous when he showed up to Thanksgiving and she lost her mind

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[vanesycho]

Can u write maths professor Haechan nsfw? And I ssly love your works so much 🥺 you are so amazing 💚✨

• student f!reader x math professor!haechan | m.list

warning | smut, fingering, kinda age gap

word count | 1,4k

a/n | thank you very much for your nice comment love, I hope you like it🤍

enjoy reading！

The corridors of the mathematics department on the vast campus of the university were always quiet. Professor Lee Donghyuck was a figure who brought this silence to life with his energetic demeanor. The reason he was popular among the students was not only his charisma, but also his teaching skills that could make even complex topics understandable. However, at this point, you definitely didn’t care about the lesson.

Your eyes started to focus on him instead of the equations on the board, the way he held his pencil, the way he adjusted his glasses every now and then, the way he explained the problem to the students by leaning slightly towards them, his shirt rolled up to his elbows, the mocking yet warm smile on his lips when one of the students gave the wrong answer...

“Y/n L/n.” When you looked around, an empty lecture hall greeted you, Hyuck’s gaze was fixed on you, you quickly lowered your head and started to pack your things. You were about to pick up your notebook when a hand stopped you. When you looked up, you were met with him. “Should we talk about this constant distraction you experience?” his voice was deep and whispery, making you swallow hard as you looked away from him. “I’m sorry professor.. It wasn’t something I did on purpose.” he slowly pulled his hand away from your notebook, quickly grabbing your last item and standing up. “Did I say you can go?” you were about to walk past him but his voice stopped you. He reached you in a few steps, you felt a shiver run down your spine when his breath caught your ear. “Tell me, what did you learn in this lesson?”

Fuck. Your eyes drifted to the board as you muttered a curse under your breath. Hyuck’s hand found your chin when he noticed it, turning your face to him. "Ah-ah, no cheating. Since when did you stop listening so much?" it was more of a scolding than a question, he definitely didn’t expect an answer from you so you just stayed silent. “Understood. You better come to my office tomorrow. We need to make up for the lesson you missed, okay?” you nodded in agreement as the thought of being alone with him increased your blood circulation. “I don’t think I got an answer, Y/n?” He leaned towards you, the word 'I understand' you mumbled vaguely made him grin slightly, you let out a breath the moment he finally pulled away from you, even this small conversation was driving you crazy so you didn't stay there any longer and threw yourself out.

"Come in." The door opened and Hyuck's head shot up, a smile on his face as his eyes saw you. "Ah..Y/n. I've been waiting for you." He started the lesson without much conversation between you. But the same problem distracted you again, him. His voice had taken over your focus, you looked at the pen he was twirling in his fingers, not even understanding what he was talking about. Was he delicate with his fingers? Or was he the type who acted completely cruel? Oh, you would do anything to get the answer to that.

You licked your dry lips, his hand with slightly veined eyes made you press your legs together. Donghyuck's gaze occasionally went to you, he could clearly see that you weren't focusing, he put the pen he was holding on the book and took a deep breath. "You're not focusing Y/n, what's on your mind, hm?" Your breath caught for a moment, you looked at him, "No- nothing, professor." He hummed. Then stood up and took a book out of his bookshelf and placed it in front of you. It didn’t take long for you to realize that the book you were browsing for a few seconds was about math. Hyuck reached for the book from behind you and opened a page. “Read it. Out loud and if I see you’re distracted, nothing good will happen, understand?”

You nodded quickly, moving to sit next to you as you starting to read. “Integral..” you read the title, you could see him watching you with his eyes locked on your face, the tension gripping you, even though it was hard to continue knowing he was watching you, you knew you had no other choice. “The indefinite integral is found by inverting the derivative of a function and the constant of integration...” was the thing that cut you off mid-sentence is his hand on your thigh, only amusing him as your breathing stopped momentarily. You could feel him moving closer to you, his breath tickling your neck. “What’s wrong Y/n? You seem distracted again.” he knew exactly what he was doing and it was only getting on your nerves. His hand reached up a little higher, thumb gently caressing you over the panties under your skirt. You fought with yourself not to squeeze your legs together, holding your breath for a moment again as his hand squeezed the inside of your thigh hard. “You know I don’t like my questions to go unanswered, do I have to repeat myself?”

You shook your head, opening your mouth to answer. “No- no I..It’s okay Professor Lee.” He removed his hand from your leg and stood up, grabbing the book in front of you. You let out a deep breath and watched him as he finally moved away. He put the book back in its place and spoke as he approached the table again. “This is what’s disrupting your concentration.” He turned the chair towards him and placed one hand on the top of the chair, leaning slightly towards you. “We can’t continue with this lesson until we find a solution to this problem.” His voice was whispery and made your body tremble. “So sit at the table and spread your legs for me, Miss L/n.”

You were afraid to double-check what he said, and he knew that you wouldn’t go against him when it was Lee Donghyuck. So you got up from the chair and sat on the table and soon he got between your legs, went to your panties, he moved the piece of fabric to the side and his fingers found your pussy "Oh fuck.. How long have you been so wet hm?" His middle finger caressed your clit for a while then slid down, slowly inserting it into your hole. One of your hands went to his shoulder and you squeezed it lightly to keep from moaning, his finger was slow but it felt just as good.

After a while you let out a loud moan this time as he added his second finger "Shh.." his voice found your ear, fingers started to destroy your pussy quickly "Professor..." the needy sound made him mutter a curse. You knew you were close to orgasm, his fingers were moving as if he knew your insides by heart.

"Professor Lee, are you there?"

The sound of a knock on the door made you look at him in fear, he looked into your eyes and replied "What's wrong Sion?" You waited for him to stop, but he fooled you. You put a hand over your mouth to keep from making any noise, nothing more than small whimpers, but damn it you knew you were going to cum soon. “I came to ask you a question about the last class, are you free?” he grinned, leaning into your ear before answering. “Am I free? What’s the worst that could happen if he walks through that door, Miss L/n?” You shook your head quickly, adrenaline rushing through your entire body. “Please..” were the only words you could get out of your mouth, the fact that you were in such a tight spot that it only made him laugh, his fingers curling inside you making it hard for you to hold yourself back, you leaned your head against his chest and finally climaxed. You couldn’t help but moan loudly as all your fluids hit his fingers, “Professor Lee? Is everything okay? Think I heard some- ” while interrupting his sentence he pulled his fingers out of you. “Find me back in an hour Sion. I’m busy right now.”

After a few footsteps, the surroundings became quiet, you heard a giggle as you buried your head in his chest in embarrassment. “Good job, Miss L/n. See? You managed to cum without losing your focus, so that must be the problem.” You watched him clean up the place, after a while he came back across you and put his hands on either side of the table, squeezing you. “I hope you’ll be more careful from now on. If I see you distracted again, I won’t care if people see you this time.” You nodded in approval, he placed a small kiss on your lips and whispering, “Well done, my girl. We’ll continue our unfinished lesson tomorrow, okay? Class is over for now.”

[bunny-jpeg]

heirloom tomatoes

simon "ghost" riley

tags: smut/pwp, farmer!au, romance/intimacy, size difference/kink, proposal, fruits and vegetables, sweet & gentle sex, slice of life

a/n: i've been playing too much stardw valley... (there may be more to this)

wilby port was there you got sent to. you had been living in england for some time now, but you were used to the hustle and bustle of london. the constant grind of the day to day. and now you were grabbing your two suitcases off the bus to the small harbour town.

the little house near the edge of town was your new home after your great aunt passed away. you know you could've sold the house and the land around it. but, after years of working so hard in the city. the idea of an escape felt exciting. so you took it as a chance and ended up in the quiet town.

that was where you met simon riley.

the first spring in the town, you had to figure out how to kill time. you had tried a few hobbies here and there, but with the season in bloom. you wanted to try gardening. and while you could've planted strawberries or even some peppers. you decided on heirloom tomatoes, and with poor internet connection in the town and an excitement that left you with little patience.

you had to ask those in town.

johnny shrugged, "i'd say go to ghost." he placed both hands on the bar and leaned forward to look at you, "he lives closer to the river. i'd say be careful. he likes to bite." the snapped his jaws playfully before he laughed.

"ah, ghost." price said when you asked him, "yeah he'd be your best bed." as he had the cleaver in one hand, "quite man, but if you're direct in your questions he'll give you everythin' ya need." then chopped at the meat on the table.

kyle replied when you asked him while he was doing research at the beach, "i'd say ghost, honestly. he has some kind of green thumb that i couldn't imagine. you know it's possible to kill a cactus." he laughed as he got more of the sand into the test tube, "your best bet would be him. ghost."

it left you with one question, who the hell was ghost?

it took a little while before you found ghost's house. you don't know why you expected to find a haunted house at the end of your adventures. something to match this so-called ghost. but instead you found a small farm house, crowded with various plants.

while it was in abundance, every plant looked healthy and well maintained. this looked like someone who would know how to grow heirloom tomatoes. you knocked on the door and when the door opened, you took a step back from the man who answered it.

he stood over six feet, he was broad all over. he was in a red long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up. as a result you could see his arm full of tattoos. it made you swallow as you tried to maintain eye contact with him.

"can i help you?" he asked as he eyed you up and down.

you swallowed, "um hi! i was wondering if ghost was here?" it sounded weird in your head but you straightened up a little, "i was told by others that he could help me grow tomatoes."

the man looked intimidating. he was curly blond hair, dark brown eyes, his nose was crooked probably from multiple breakages. he had tattoos and scars that lined his body. his voice was a rumble as he replied, "name's simon. no need to call me ghost." then held out his hand. you smiled and shook it.

what you thought would have been an easy few tips turned into a pretty hard-core lesson about not just heirloom tomatoes, but all tomatoes. you tried to take notes on your phone, but ended up having to go old school and writing everything down by hand with a notebook and pen that simon gave you.

"no one usually listens this long." he chuckled a little as he took a sip of his water, "likes of johnny get bored after about five minutes." he crossed his strong arms and you felt something quiver inside of you.

you replied, "well, i want to do it right. it's not fair to the plant that i kill it." you tapped the pen against the paper, "so what was that about cherry tomatoes." and you watched him smile a little.

while you didn't have a huge piece of land like simon. but you had enough to build your little garden. it felt weird rewarding as the seasons changed, it grew warmer. and simon came to visit you more often to check on the plants.

johnny made a joke that simon was your shadow now, even referring to him as "the shadow" and you tried not to think too hard about it. simon was just a good friend.

when simon caught wind of this, he had to be a little more forward. over the time you had spent together, he had grown fond for you. so one sunny summer's day, he picked up flowers from the local shop and went to your house.

when you answered the door, you looked at him. and he looked at you. you were in a purple checkered apron with flour on your face.

"what are you doing?" he asked as he looked past you into the house. he could see the mess in the kitchen and the smell of cookies wafting in the air.

you looked at the bouquet of tulips in his hand, "what are you doing?"

"i was bringing you flowers.. to ask you out." "i was making cookies... to also ask you out."

you both looked at one another in the eye before he handed you the flowers and you looked at them then him again. you felt a leap in your chest and felt a heat in your cheek.

in unison you both said, "will you go out with me?"and then both of you smiled at one another. simon gave you that quiet smile he had and you broke into a wide grin. next thing he knew, you were pulling him into the house just as the timer went off for the cookies.

they were your attempt at shortbread cookies in the shape of hearts. but simon thought they were delicious. especially when you sat in his lap and chased every bite of a cookie with a kiss. simon soon learned that he loved your kisses.

"how does it taste?" you asked as you leaned in a little closer.

"perfect." he placed his large, rough hand on your soft cheek and leaned in to kiss you on the lips. you melted a little at the feeling. you felt comfortable with simon.

he was a protective force in your life. he didn't make you feel small, in a bad way. there was an obvious size difference so you were physically smaller. but simon would never make you feel weak. after that, simon was over every day.

he brought vegetables and fruits from the farm. sometimes he'd bring wild flowers from around the property and on weekends eggs for breakfast.

"simon! simon!" during the middle of a warm summer, you called your boyfriend frantically. he instantly was on high alert from your tone. when he asked you what was wrong, you replied, "the tomatoes! they're here!" and as soon as simon hung up the phone, he instantly was getting his boots on to head to your home.

you waved him over when he got there and he saw them. he saw the heirloom tomatoes, his eyes went wide at the sight of them before he pulled you in close to him. you two looked at each other before you leaned up towards simon and kissed him deeply on the lips. you held onto the front of his black t-shirt .

you pressed your face against his chest soon after and said, "thank you so much, simon." you felt heat radiate through you, a deep love for your partner. simon held you close and peppered your face with more kisses.

the kisses got a little deeper and simon held you closer. you smiled against his lips before you pulled away. he looked as red as the tomatoes you were trying to grow.

he swallowed, "as much as i would love to make love to ya out on the grass. i don't think ya want grain stains on everything."he chuckled as he held you face once more in his large hand. he watched you shift a little before you got out of his grasp and took hold of his hand.

once again you were leading him into your home. and simon barely had time to kick off his work boots before you were kissing him passionately on the lips. his arms wrapped around you as he pulled you up against him. your hands in his t-shirt as you both tried to navigate through the small house towards your bedroom.

eventually you pushed you much larger lover onto the bed and he hastily took off his shirt. you had seen him nude before. both in intimate photos he sent, and also when he'd walk out of the shower with just a towel around his waist. but to see his heavy cock one he got his bottoms off and exposed his heavy cock to you.

you licked your lips at the sight of it and got out of your clothes. before you could get onto the bed, he placed a hand on your lower back and pressed his scratchy cheek against your middle. he sighed, visibly relaxing.

"so soft." he said, as he groped your ass. you giggled and combed your fingers through his curled hair. eventually you ended up on top of him in bed. you helped remove his clothes as well, his socks and t-shirt. and you ended up in bed with you. his broad hands mapped your body perfectly, he wanted to feel every inch of warm soft skin.

you looked beautiful when you eventually ended up under him. your head in the pillows and simon was between your legs. his hefty cock was at full attention as he gazed lovingly at your figure. how could a woman so beautiful want to date a man like him? but,he realized a long time ago not to question you. if you wanted to date him, then he'd happily accept your love.

but only if he could give it back in a tenfold. he rubbed his achy cock up against you. it was painfully stiff and he loved the sight of it up against your smaller slit. he was so big compared to you, a fact that turned both of you.

simon had to admit as he sank into you, he liked feeling like a protector. to know that you were safe because of him. that nothing would hurt his darling girl. it made him feel a tug of pride as he slotted himself into your cunt.

the feeling made him shudder for a moment and the stretch made you arched your back a little. he watched your nipples grow hard which only made his cock twitch with lustful want.

he placed his hand over your chest for a moment, but didn't apply much pressure against you. his palm over your heart as he said, "your mine and i'm yours. you, me and all the tomatoes." he smiled down at you before he leaned in further to kiss you square on the lips. his words made you core feel gooey, you felt his love for you in your blood, raising the temperature of it.

he kissed you as he put both hands on your hips and moved against you. he was cautious about hurting you, causing you pain as his cock nudged against you. you moaned against the heated kiss, you shifted a little and he pressed further into you.

when the kiss broke, you looked at one another while the air in the room grew warmer. you felt the heat between your legs as he moved. his gaze was hungry as he moved against you. he admired every inch of skin he could. he couldn't deny it, he never could, but you were the most beautiful woman he ever had the pleasure to love. he wasn't known for being a lady's man, but to know that he had you. he didn't need anyone else.

when perfection was in front of him, he'd never waste you. the pace continued as did the pleasure. the heat between you two as he moved against you. you tightened your legs around him and reached out for him. you were soon chest to chest with simon making sure that he wasn't crushing you.

the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. it would be like crushing a flower, it would break simon. but you soothed any anxiety as you held his face and kissed him passionately with each of his movements.

the pleasure bloomed through both of you as the two of you continued to move against one another. you started to pick up his pace and the kisses became deeper. it felt amazing, you felt like you were on cloud nine thanks to his pleasure. there was something undeniable about him. there was something heated and needy about his movements as you pushed up against him.

"glad i fit." he remarked, "was worried for a moment that she wasn't gonna fit me." he patted your middle for a moment, the action made you squirm and clench around him a little tighter his heart hammered in his chest the more he moved against you. there was a slice of heaven under him and he wanted to make sure his girl felt good.

you giggled a little, "you're not that big. nothing i can't take. i'm strong enough." and let out a sharp moan when simon pressed into you further which made you feel snaps of pleasure in your head.

he chuckled and held onto you a little tighter, he pushed himself further into you and let himself enjoy the sweet, tender feeling of his beloved. he loved you, it was clear from the moment he asked you out. his affection for you only grew with time, he needed you daily. he was constantly around because you made him feel needed and wanted. you were perfect for him.

he kissed you once more and continued his hold on you. he rocked against you sweet cunt and felt the wraps of pleasure in his core. he loved the feeling, being so close to climax with his beloved under him.

you deepened the kiss and threw your arms around his shoulders. he thrusted up into you, his pace steady but not too rough. once again, the idea of hurting you, even by accident, pained him. he never wanted that, he only wanted your sweet moans in his ear and your smiles to brighten up his day.

you two moved against one another, the pleasure continued to course through you. the two of you made love on your creaky bed, but enjoyed each other's gentle company. you tensed up a little bit as you felt the heat of climax was over you. you moaned into the kiss, and quietly said 'i love you' under your breath as orgasm took hold. the thump in your chest made you feel hot all over.

"i love you too.' he said softly as he continued to move against you. you clenched onto him and he loved the feeling of your nails against his skin. he felt extremely hot as he bucked his hips against you. the hammering in his chest only fueled his want for you.

he soon climaxed and felt the shudder through his body. the blossom of heat in his core as he finished inside of you. with a few more heavy thrusts, he slowed his pace to a stop to catch his breath. however that was made hard because you pulled him in for another searing kiss.

you both got under the covers and kissed deeply with one another. you felt connected to him, so close to him. so loving for him. you moaned into the kiss and simon cuddled up against you.

you said i love you to each other many times as you laid comfortable in each other's arms. the love flowed between you two. simon knew and you knew that you'd be together for a long time.

simon looked at you as you laid there comfrotably. you looked like someone special to him. you looked like the future mrs. simon riley.

-

it was a hot summer day two years later, you had come by to visit simon and found him working away at the blueberry plants on the farm. eventually you got him back inside his home. you moved around the kitchen like it was your own home.

you were giving simon a stern talking to while you got him a glass of water to help cool down. simon just watched you from his spot at the kitchen table.

"and you know what happens if you don't drink water! i don't need you passing out and crows peckin you-", when you turned around you noticed a small box on the table. the glass of watr almost fell out of your hand as he opened it. shock marked your expression and he chuckled.

he took a hold of the velvet box and opened it with a smile on his lips. your scarred, famer's tan having boyfriend with a love for heirloom tomatoes, was proposing to you.

"will you-"

"yes!" you squeaked before you quickly put the glass down and went over to him. he grabbed you and seated you on his lap. you held his face for a moment to look into his brown eyes before you laid a kiss on his lips.

he only pulled away to slip the ring on your finger (it was a big too big, but that could be fixed). you looked at the emerald in the ring and felt tears in your eyes. you kissed him once more.

you had everything, a home, a husband and heirloom tomatoes. <3

[darlingdaisyfarm]

feeling pretty low today, so i’m turning to these two old men for a little comfort

nsfw under the cut, fem!reader

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan likes to call you:

sweetheart, honeybun, doll face and on occasion baby girl. when he’s feeling extra bold? princess — always with that unmistakable smirk

calls you “my good luck charm" if you help him out in the Shack, especially when he’s trying to swindle a tourist and you flash a pretty smile.

✦ “c’mere, darlin’. can’t let a fine gal like you walk around without her prince.”

✦ “ah, y’know, you’re the only reason I don’t go completely nuts in this crazy town. sometimes, doll, I think yer my only sane thought all day.” said so casually as if it’s not gonna hit you right in the heart

✦ if you get hurt (even the tiniest scratch), he’s going into dad mode: “who do I gotta knock some sense into, huh?” even if you’ll tell him it was just a clumsy accident, he’ll grumble, “well, now I’m the one hurt. bein’ all worried like that. you’re killin’ me, kid.” 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford likes to call you:

“dearest” when he’s feeling soft, sweetheart, darling, honey, baby

he’ll whisper “love” against your temple when he thinks you’re drifting to sleep, his voice quiet and reverent like it’s sacred to him

starlight – Ford’s been out in those other dimensions, faced down monsters and madness, but he says he’s never found anything so bright, so grounding. “c’mere, starlight, I’m not finished admiring you.”

༄ “don’t laugh, but. . . I’d chase you across universes, even if it took me another thirty years. no dimension is worth exploring without you by my side.”

༄ if you’re reading one of his journals, Ford’ll slide up behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he murmurs, “curious, are we? so, what do you think of my work?”

༄ he’s not a show-off, not by any means, but catch him fixing up a machine? he’ll lift his gaze to you, smiling. “I could teach you, you know. but you’d have to be a very attentive student.”

༄ oh, if Ford wrote about you in his journal, you know it’d be scrawled between notes on trans-dimensional theories and arcane symbols, the ink smudged in places where he hesitated, where his pen hovered just so before he let himself write the truth

“Strange anomalies detected….. not in the temporal or metaphysical sense, but in a far more personal dimension. Subject exhibits an inexplicable gravitational pull, distinct from any gravitational force I've previously documented. When I observe her, I feel an uncharacteristic deviation in my thought patterns, an accelerated heartbeat not caused by heightened blood pressure or adrenaline, but by… attraction. Confounding. She’s somehow eclipsing the most rational parts of my mind.”

And, because Ford’s words can’t capture the whole of it, there’d be tiny sketches of you, like half-finished thoughts.

nsfw

what Stan says during sex:

“Damn, honey, you’re makin’ an old man feel young again. Don’t stop.”

“You’re makin’ me wanna be a better man, but not right now, baby, not right now.”  

“Mmm, there it is— yeahh, keep doin’ that. . . feels so good, darlin’, you got no idea.”

“Makin’ all these pretty noises, huh? Lemme hear ‘em, baby. Don’t hold back on me.”

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? I’m gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout that pussy all week.”  

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t know if I’m gonna last much longer with you doin’ that.”  

“Look at ya, so needy for me, beggin’ to be filled. You got me so riled up, I can barely think— ah, f-fuck. . .”

 Ford:

“Ohh— sweetheart, you feel even better than I imagined, i’ve waited for this.”  

“I need you so much it scares me.”  

“You’re brilliant, utterly captivating. . . yesyesyes, keep moving like that, please.”  

“Tell me exactly what you want, darlin, I need to hear you say it.”  

“I never thought I’d feel this way again; you’ve woken something in me.”  

“God, I can’t— can’t believe you’re letting me have you. I need you so much, it hurts.”

“Mmm, god, yes. . . yes, you’re mine, all mine. . . can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

“O-oh god, you feel so tight around me, sweetheart, I can’t-can’t hold back!”

“Please, oh, please— just, just like that, don’t stop, keep. . . keep going. . .”

“I can’t help myself; I need you. I want to feel you around me.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re like this. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Oh gosh, I need you to take me deeper. Please, baby.”

“Tell me how good it feels; I want to hear it.”

“You feel incredible. I could stay buried inside you forever.”

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

matching bracelets (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: when (y/n) buys kaz a bracelet she does so as a joke, she knows he’ll never actually wear it. imagine her surprise when she sees it dangling around his wrist.

based on the prompt: person A gets person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

warnings: mentions of blood and torture (not explicit, briefly mentioned)

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: guess who's back after a year of being mia!! i've been working on a lot of fics, but inspiration just hasn't been there, so i'm going slow, i don't like to force myself to write if i don't feel like it. anywaysss, i hope you enjoy this one! it was such a fun ride to write :)

Jesper opens the door with a loud bang, strutting into the Slat with his head held high and a slight jump in his step. He’s whistling good-naturedly, his left hand twirling a pistol and his right hand holding a rumpled piece of paper.

(Y/N)’s right hand— which had immediately reached for the pocket knife in her boot at the tumultuous noise— retreats back to her side. She relaxes, letting her shoulders sag and briefly looking down to make the final correction on a contract Kaz had her look over, left hand holding the pen and swiftly moving over the paper.

Jesper makes his way towards her, still whistling. She follows him from the corner of her eye, a slight smirk taking over her features. He’s in a good mood, the kind of mood he’s only ever in when the Gods are in his favor and he manages to miraculously not gamble away all his money. It’s not something that happens often.

“Did you win some?” she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the way the Sharpshooter preens under the attention. Jesper, very much in character and to (Y/N)’s delight, twirls around and does a ridiculous dance before taking a small bow.

“Baby, I won a whole lot.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning back as she watches him place the pistol in its respective holster before plopping down on the chair by her right side and tossing her a small bag.

(Y/N) catches it smoothly, reflexes as sharp as always.

She doesn’t need to open the sack to know there’s kruge in there; the sound of coins jiggling against each other is a dead giveaway.

Jesper winks, a teasing smile on his lips. He tips his chair back, feet on top of the table, “Because you’re my favorite.”

It’s really because he owes her more kruge than he’ll ever be able to repay, but (Y/N) plays along. She’s never cared much about money, anyways.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady,” she smirks.

“I’m good at charming gents, too.”

“Versatile.”

“You know me.”

(Y/N) smiles, softer around the edges this time, something reserved only for her closest friends. She’s about to being correcting another contact— she has twelve to go through, all because she’d been bored and had decided annoying Kaz would be a great way to spend her time, he obviously hadn’t agreed —when Jesper slides over the piece of paper he’d been holding in his right hand. In the time he’d made his way towards her he’d somehow managed to crumple it completely.

She takes it, half curious, half willing to do anything to procrastinate revising and correcting those stupid documents.

“Brought this for you, too. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to enjoy this much more than the money.”

Her eyebrows furrow with curiosity as she slowly opens up the paper.

Ink contrasts the yellowish hue of the paper. Her own face greets her, drawn by hand, but fairly accurate.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Wanted dead or alive.

1,000 kruge.

She can’t help the snicker that falls from her lips

Jesper is right. This is better, much better.

“Can’t believe it’s only a thousand this time,” she huffs, a small pout on her lips. “I must be losing my touch.”

Jesper snorts at that.

(Because she hasn’t lost her touch, not even a little, and they both know it. Just yesterday she’d managed to get vital information out of a Black Tip member with a single touch and a minimal amount of bloodshed. Three days before that she’d disposed of a rival gang member who’d been speaking too freely and she’d made sure his body would never be found. Two weeks prior to that Kaz had sent her to steal a miniature stature and she’d done it without a hitch, forging an identical copy in less than five days. No, she still very much has it.)

“I might have to go overboard next time,” she muses quietly to herself, “do something that will raise the bounty to at least two thousand five hundred.”

She traces the outline of her name, biting down a smile when Jesper snorts.

“You’re insane,” the Sharpshooter deadpans, the fondness in his tone almost tangible.

(Y/N) smiles wickedly at him, “So they say.”

Marbles is what they’ve nicknamed her around the Barrel. They say she’s lost them all. And it must be true, she must be out of her mind, because having a bounty on your head in Ketterdam is nothing less than a death sentence. It means having the most ruthless assassins coming after you, all looking for a way to make fast money. It’s living with the constant fear of someone sneaking up on you and slicing your throat, of having your food poisoned, of being choked to death in your sleep, of having your closest friends betray you as a means to survive. But to (Y/N), who has been part of the city’s underworld since before being able to formulate words, who has had any sort of ability to feel fear beaten out of her, this is nothing but one of the most amazing sources of entertainment. It keeps her on her toes, brings an adrenaline rush that does not compare to anything else. She must be crazy because any sane person would be paralyzed in fear, running for their lives, and yet all she can feel is the comforting thrill of being in mortal danger. (And, yes, it is comforting. She was raised to be a weapon, trained to withstand any form of torture; having Death peering over her shoulder is something she’s comfortable with, something she’s used to, something that soothes her). Besides, even if she wasn’t deadly confident in her own abilities (which she very much is), and even if she was able to feel terror overtaking her limbs (which she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again), the title she holds would be enough to keep her relatively safe; she is Kaz’s right hand, and no one dares touch something that belongs to Dirtyhands.

(Y/N) stares at the poster for a little while longer— they got her nose wrong, made it too pointy —before smirking to herself. She knows how this will all go down, has seen it played out a few dozen times before (this is a regular occurrence, after all, a bounty is placed on her head every couple of months, whenever she loses her temper and murders someone who was deemed untouchable, or steals something much too valuable for her blood-stained hands). So, yes, she knows how this will go; the bounty will stay up for a couple of weeks, long enough for a few to dare try to kill her, and then it’ll be removed by whoever placed it once they realize it’s futile, once they see how everyone who even dares breathe too close to her winds up dead. She hopes the assassination attempts are entertaining, she hopes whoever dares come after her head gives her a good fight, if only to keep things interesting. It’s been a while since she’s had some unrestrained fun.

(Kaz keeps her on a tight rein, knows better than to let her run around freely. To say things can get out of hand when she’s left to her own devices would be an understatement.)

“Again?”

The voice comes from behind her, and (Y/N) doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she heard his steps since before he even walked into the room. (It’s easy to know when it’s Kaz, he subconsciously places more weight on his left leg to keep the right one from aching, it makes his footsteps distinctive.) Still, she angles her head to meet his eyes. He’s leaning over her chair, cold eyes watching the bounty poster with disdain.

He’s never said it but (Y/N) knows that he doesn’t appreciate her life being imperiled. She is, in a way, an extension of him, and therefore any threats to her he sees as direct threats to him. Dirtyhands doesn’t take it well to being threatened.

“It’s okay, boss,” Jesper calls out. He’s still tipping his chair back, now playing with his guns. (Y/N) is kind of tempted to lean forward and kick one of the chair’s wooden legs, just to watch him struggle, possibly even fall. But Jesper’s known her long enough to realize when she’s on the verge of becoming a nuisance because his eyes narrow playfully and he lets the chair’s weight drop forward, “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) can see the way Kaz’s face morphs. It’s almost indistinguishable, but she notices it. She thinks she would be able to spot the most minimal change in Kaz, she’s known him long enough for that. (Y/N) watches in amusement as he opens his mouth, no doubt to argue that he isn’t worrying at all, because Gods forbid he ever outwardly cared about anyone, but Jesper beats him to the punch and keeps going, “Heard some of Pekka’s Lions talking ‘bout how they’re not even going to try to come after her this time.”

“How boring,” she mutters to herself in disappointment, reaching for her glass of whisky. She’d meant for the comment to go unheard but Jesper’s snicker tells her that she wasn’t successful.

She takes a chug as Jesper points an accusatory finger at her and smirks, “That’s all on you, Marbles.”

At her bewildered look, he elaborates, “Two of them said something about not wanting to meet the same fate as the Razorgull guy from a couple of months ago—” (Y/N) smirks at that. The guy had deserved it. He hadn’t just tried to kill her, but also grope her. Murder she could understand, respect even, but touching someone else without their consent? No, she drew the line there. She’d had him swallow his own testicles; it’d seemed fitting enough. “—and the other one said that even if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t come close, not with you being Kaz’s right hand,” Jesper pauses for a second, a smug smile appearing on his lips, “and his best friend.”

Their reaction is instantaneous; Kaz goes rigid at the words and a smirk takes over (Y/N)’s features.

Oh, if the night didn’t just suddenly get better.

She glances up at her best friend, only to find him already glaring daggers at Jesper, who shrugs helplessly and innocently says, “Just telling it like I heard it, boss.” The flicker of amusement in his eyes reveals that he’s very much aware of just how much ammunition he’s provided (Y/N) with.

(Y/N)’s smirk becomes wider and gains a teasing edge when Kaz looks down to meet her eyes. His eyes harden, explicitly telling her to not utter a single word. Sadly for him, she has never been one to follow the rules, and Kaz must notice she’s not about to obey because his face morphs slightly, just enough to show the most minimum amount of discomfort. He cringes just the tiniest bit, bracing himself.

He knows her too well.

“You hear that?” she asks him, tone light and filled with amusement, “We’re best friends!”

“We are not,” Kaz tenses his jaw as he replies. He backs away from her, as if creating physical space between them will somehow stop the words from leaving her mouth and making their way towards him. As if distance could make her less of an bother.

(Y/N) fake gasps, clutching the skin over her heart in the most dramatic manner, “You wound me deeply, Kazzy.”

Jesper snorts, coughing to try to drown the laughter. She might be the only one who doesn’t get a knife to the jugular when calling him that.

Kaz’s eyes snap toward the Sharpshooter and the look must be deadly because Jesper quiets down immediately and tries his best to evade the boss’s glare. Kaz’s gaze then shifts towards (Y/N) and she perks up at the way his eyes harden even further in annoyance. He’s told her a million times to drop that ‘ridiculously stupid’ nickname and she’s decided she never will, not when it drives him to this point of exasperation.

(She’s a thrill chaser, you see. That’s what happens when you’ve seen just about everything and lived twice as much; few things get your heart pumping. And getting on Kaz’s nerves? That’s always exciting. (Y/N) never knows what to expect of him. The Bastard of the Barrel is unpredictable in a way that’s just delightful.)

“If you call me that one more time—”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t possibly try to hurt me. Best friends don’t do that to each other,” she mocks.

His eyebrow twitches, her grin stretches.

Oh, she’s going to have a field day with this one.

It’s obvious that Kaz knows he’s not winning this discussion because he walks forward, snatches the revised contracts and makes his way back to where he came from.

“Get those done before tomorrow afternoon.”

Boring. She was expecting more banter.

(Y/N) turns around to watch him leave, unable to stop herself from throwing a sarcastic, “Sure thing, bestie.” She does her best to sweeten the last word in a way that she knows will infuriate Kaz.

He freezes.

Bingo.

Even from afar, (Y/N) can see the way he tightens the grip on his cane. She’s thoroughly disappointed when he doesn’t throw a dagger her way. That would’ve been exciting. He takes another route, one she should’ve seen coming.

“I’ve got seven more files that need to be corrected. Collect them when you’re done with those.”

The corner of her lips tugs upwards slightly. There’s something thrilling about playing this game with Kaz, of seeing how much one of them can push before the other yields. He’s skilled and she enjoys the competition.

She ignores his order, “Goodnight, Kazzy.”

He slams the door on his way out, the only visible sign that she managed to get on his nerves. That’s mildly entertaining. Causing even the slightest slip of Kaz’s control over his temper is a success in her books.

“You’re out of your mind,” Jesper informs her.

She raises her glass of whisky at him and winks.

And that’s how it begins, as a joke. (Y/N) refers to Kaz as her best friend on every given chance. His reactions never disappoint.

There’s a lot of death threats;

(“Don’t mind him, bestie here is always grumpy.”

Clenched jaw, an exasperated sigh. “I will murder you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Kazzy.”

There’s a knife thrown her way. (Y/N) catches it with ease, whistling good-naturedly. She smirks when she catches the look of annoyance in Kaz’s face.)

and a lot of not so kind words thrown her way.

(“I get special best friend privileges, right?”

“You get tolerated,” Kaz mutters, “barely.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now tell me you love me.”

There’s that Brekker glare, one that would send anyone to an early grave. (Y/N) just smiles sweetly.

“Get out.”

“Whatever makes you happy, best friend.”

She cackles as she closes the door behind her, the curses Kaz is sending her way loud enough for her to hear.)

All in all, (Y/N) is as happy as can be. Having the time of her life, really. It’s not often that she finds something that makes Kaz fume. He plays the game too, of course. He has her going over financial documents and legal contracts on her free time, knowing just how much she hates the bureaucracy, and he gives her the household chores she despises the most. Still, (Y/N) doesn’t complain. She does everything with a smug smile on her face. The annoyance that flashes through Kaz’s face makes it all worth it.

The bracelet isn’t something she plans for, it really isn’t, but the Saints place the opportunity right in front of her and who is she but a mere mortal that must obey the signs evidently laid by otherworldly deities (or whatever bullshit those religious fanatics preach).

(Y/N) inspects the wristlets in her hand. They’re black and rough, made of broken-down nets that fishermen dispose of near the pier when the material has worn down beyond repair and is no longer useful. The little girl who had sold it to her couldn’t have been older than seven, and yet the design was more than decent. (Y/N) had offered three kruge for it, much more than it was worth. The child had looked delighted, had thanked her profusely as she’d placed the coins inside her worn-down shoes.

Oh, (Y/N) cannot wait to see Kaz’s face.

“What’s that?” Jesper asks as she meets up with him, eying the bracelets with a gleam of interest. He twirls his guns absentmindedly, missing the way some of the fishermen glance at him with distrust.

“Oh, you know, just some matching bracelets for me and my best friend.”

Jesper snickers, shaking his head and proceeding to let out a low whistle.

“This might be his breaking point.”

“Wouldn’t that be delightful.”

“You’re insane, Marbles.”

She gives him a wicked smile accompanied by a wink. She’s about to retort when she catches sight of a shadow on the corner of her eye. She recognizes it immediately as her target. Shopping, as fun as it had been, wasn’t the reason she and Jesper were waiting by the pier. They’ve got orders. She has people to torture and interrogate and dispose of— preferably in a quiet manner —and Jesper is Kaz’s way of making sure she’s got her back covered. (Not that she needs backup, but whatever, she has tried arguing with Kaz about it and it’s the one thing he won’t relent on, the one matter she’s accepted she won't ever win. Kaz doesn't play when it comes to her safety.).

“If you’re kind enough to hold these for me,” she places the bracelets on Jesper’s unoccupied hand, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They make it back to the Slat before sunrise. (Y/N) had been quick and efficient, as she always was, and Jesper had been a quiet and solid shadow, as he always was.

“I assume it all went according to plan,” the Bastard asks when he hears their steps coming into his office. It’s late, or rather extremely early in the morning, and yet (Y/N) isn’t surprised by Kaz’s presence. He rarely sleeps.

“It went without a hitch, boss,” Jesper responds, resting against the doorframe.

(Y/N) hesitates for a split second, her memory providing a brief flashback to the interrogation she’d done, to three little words the man had let slip out: they’re coming for you.

A warning or maybe a promise.

Thrilling, either way. It wasn’t often that she was verbally threatened.

At the time, she’d dismissed the words, too filled with bloodlust to pay them any mind, but now, with a clear mind and a steady heartbeat, she suddenly remembers her face plastered on paper all over Ketterdam and wonders if the words might be related to the bounty on her head.

Oh, she hopes so. That would prove to be fun.

They’re coming for you. Good. Let them try.

She nods her head in agreement with Jesper’s words. Kaz nods in approval and then jerks his chin Jesper’s way, a clear sign of dismissal. The Sharpshooter never walks into Kaz’s office after missions like this. He’s an escort, a babysitter of sorts, merely Kaz’s way of making sure she heads his way instead of making a beeline for her bed.

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at him and Jesper blows her a kiss in response.

Lucky bastard. It’s always her that has to stay up to report. And she hates to admit it, but she’s tired, she can feel the exhaustion begin to creep on her bones and settle in. She has been up for more than thirty-seven hours at this point, and she can feel it catching up to her. Still, she knows that Kaz prefers to hear details when the information is fresh on her mind, when she can provide as much detail as possible, so she pushes through for him. She just has to wait a little while longer before crawling into her bed and passing out for the next twelve hours.

“Marbles comes bearing gifts by the way,” is the last thing the Sharpshooters says before exiting.

A smirk takes over her features, sleep, exhaustion and the new information briefly forgotten.

Kaz is going to hate it.

Lovely.

Kaz seems to sense, probably by the wicked amusement on her face, that whatever it is it’s not something he’s going to enjoy. His face twists into a scowl.

“Out with it, then.”

She pulls out the dark bracelet from her pocket as she walks towards Kaz, dangling it in front of his face when she’s close enough.

Jesper had handed them back on the way home, tossing them over as soon as she’d wiped the blood off her hands. He hadn’t said a word, but (Y/N) knew that the action had meant to snap her out of the weird haze that clouded her mind after every mission, where adrenaline still coursed through her body and all she could think about was bloodshed, fingers itching to kill and maim and fight.

(It was a thing, the haze. When taking lives there was nothing but calmness and bloodthirst, the restlessness that always lingered beneath her skin subsiding as soon as a weapon was placed in her hand and orders were given. And as soon as the mission was done, as soon as the target was neutralized and she’d efficiently fulfilled her orders, fogginess followed. Her mind became clouded, as if somewhat trapped in a loop of violence, every nerve on edge and ready for any threat to emerge.

She was brought up as a killing machine, a child soldier, the best out of all the assassins produced by the Silent Blades, her father’s pride. She was ruthless, wretched, or at least those had been the words used to describe her when she’d been a child. She supposed the dissociative state she slipped into was normal when considering her upbringing, some sort of psychological shield that kept her from going insane.

She never spoke about it, but the Crows somehow knew. They often eased her out of it, knowing full well that when trapped in that state she had not an ounce of thought and only muscle memory to rely on, which made her infinitely more lethal.)

Jesper’s actions had worked like a charm. With something else to do with her hands, the fogginess had ruptured. She’d absentmindedly tied one of the bracelets on her own wrist, fingers playing with the edges of the other.

It’s that bracelet, the one on her arm, that Kaz glances at now. It’s brief, but for a split second the scowl etched on his face softens and something that she can’t quite catch passes through his eyes. It’s gone before (Y/N) can even begin to process it.

“Best friends have to have matching bracelets, don’t they?” And if she wonders about it later, she’ll blame it on the exhaustion, but the words come out softer than she intends them to. A jest, but not any less truthful.

Kaz’s face morphs and she gets a fleeting glimpse at that flicker in his eyes again. His scowl melts into something a tad bit gentler, the look contrasted by the aggressiveness with which he snatches the bracelet from her hand, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He means that and his tone has enough bite to make her cackle.

Amusing.

Placing her hands on her back pockets and shrugging, she responds, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kaz snorts, “Go take a bath.” He dismisses her, turning around and making his way to his desk, “Reports can wait until you don’t look half dead.”

That’s unexpected.

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows, “You’re being nice.” It isn’t often that Kaz forgoes a report after a mission. He might’ve been more touched by the gift than he’s letting on.

“It’s for my own sake,” he retorts, not turning around, “you just stink and it’s making me nauseous.”

She does have a lingering smell of blood and sea water.

“Everything in this damned place stinks,” she responds. I know you’re lying, she’s saying, I know you’re being kind.

“Get out.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” (Y/N) mocks, walking out of his office.

She sleeps a full day after that, everyone knowing better than to bother her unless they want to lose to their head, and when she reports to Kaz the next morning the three words she’d heard from the man slip her mind. (Y/N) doesn’t remember them until a few weeks later when she’s tied to the ceiling by her wrists, face bleeding.

Now, she must admit, she’s impressed. No one had ever tried kidnapping before. There’d been more attempts on her life than she could even count; stabs resulting in blood being shed, never one drop of hers, poison that she had either swallowed down like a champ or identified before a single lick of it touched her tongue, because being raised an assassin meant she’d been trained in the art of toxins and she’d built up tolerance to pretty much every substance in existence, and that one time they’d tried to shot at her, which only resulted in (Y/N) stealing Jesper’s gun and placing a bullet right between the perpetrator’s eyebrows. All in good fun. Kidnapping was new, but only because those who had attempted on her life had never tried joining forces, all of them wishing to keep the financial reward for themselves.

Torturing, that was new, too.

She could endure, of course she could, she’d been trained for this. That did not mean she’d missed it.

The poster had stated she was wanted dead or alive and it was clear that the man in front of her wanted to take his time. It was personal, she could tell by the brunt of his hits and the delicate precision of his cuts. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve been begging for it to stop, but (Y/N) was a Silent Blade, even if she’d left the organization and that life behind, and she would never break.

The only reason she was in this situation was because the assailants had gotten the upper hand. They’d used one of (Y/N)’s street urchins— a little girl with piggy tails and two missing teeth, one of the ones who gathered information for (Y/N) and traded it for food and shelter —as leverage. And time had apparently made her soft because she’d hesitated. The brief second of doubt had been everything they’d needed.

Them subduing her didn’t mean she’d gone down without a fight. There’d been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep enough to sever the optic nerve and cause brain damage, and she’d ripped the other’s ear with her teeth before slitting his throat. She’d managed to stab one of the three men remaining with a dagger before being injected with some unknown serum. It hadn’t knocked her out, not the way it was supposed to if the incredulous look on her kidnapper’s face was any indication, but it had drugged her enough to allow them to overpower her.

And now here she was, slowly bleeding out.

“I intent on handing your corpse to them and claiming the reward.” He’s been quiet for so long that (Y/N) had almost forgotten his presence. She doesn’t raise her head, only looks up. It’s hard to do so when her right eye is swollen shut. “But they never specified the conditions it had to be in.”

The man has his back towards her, fingers running through a box of tools. He’s used almost all of them on her by this point. Amateur. A skilled torturer knows to go slow, to drag it out, to choose a weapon and stick to it until the person is weeping and screaming.

“It was my brother that you killed.”

That sparks her interest, a smirk taking over her bloodied lips. She looks at him, dead in the eye.

“Which one?” she taunts.

The sound of her voice, still strong despite the blood loss, startles him. He freezes for a split second, hand over a wooden baseball bat.

“What?”

She snickers, blood dripping into the floor. “I’ve killed a lot of men, darling.” The way he seethes, fury filling his features, amuses her. “So which one was your brother?”

“You had him swallow his own testicles.”

“Oh, him,” she nods her head in appreciation. “Can’t say I regret it.”

Now he’s fuming, hand shaking so badly he almost loses the grip on the bat. If (Y/N) looks close enough she can see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same nose, same crazy look in their eyes.

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“You can certainly try,” she concedes mockingly. Because, honestly, there’s nothing he can do to her that she hasn’t already withstood.

There’s a raging roar and then a burst of pain. A hit to her abdomen, which no doubt bruised a rib, and then two to her back. But it’s okay, she thinks to herself as she wheezes and coughs, trying to regain air in her lungs, she knows how to play this game and how to win it. Keep him talking, keep him angry, let him think he has the upper hand, keep him from noticing how she’s preparing to break free.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, bat dragging behind him. “You’re not particularly remarkable.” She scoffs as he begins circling her, a tactic supposed to drive the prisoner into panic at the lack of vision of their assailant. Her heart doesn’t stutter. She’s trained to identify people and objects by sound not sight. She knows precisely where he is, even if she can’t see him. “So, what makes you interesting enough for the Bastard to keep so close?”

She grins, feral and with bloodstained teeth.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

His face does not change but his step falters. “You cannot believe me stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You were stupid enough to tie my wrists with handcuffs,” is all she replies before dislocating her own thumbs and releasing herself from the shackles.

She hits the floor hard, body swaying for a second. Her hands are numb, nerve endings frayed. It hits her, now that she has to keep herself outfight, just how much blood she’s lost. The edges of her vision blur.

There’s a cut on her thigh, it bleeds heavily. Her back is all flayed skin. Breathing is hard.

It doesn’t matter. She only needs four fingers and half a mind to hold and use a dagger. She shakes the dizziness off.

He comes at her, but she’s expecting that. Sidestepping him is easy, kicking him in the back as he passes by even more so.

“You’re not much without your friends and a syringe full of drugs, are you?” she stumbles a little as she taunts him. Time is not on her side, she knows this. He’s cut deep in her arms and legs, no major artery touched, but with precision to give her a slow and prolonged death. She’s been steadily bleeding for hours.

(Y/N) has to end this. Soon.

He comes for her again, and she dodges, punching him right in the gut. He feigns left and she moves away, noticing too late the fist that impacts with the right side of her face. Despite the pain, she manages to stomp his toes and slam her knee against his balls.

That does it.

A high whimper leaves his mouth and as he struggles for air, she backs up. Keeping her eyes on him, her right arm reaches back to the toolbox. She knows what she’s grasped as soon as her fingers graze it.

“Say hi to your brother for me.”

The scalpel lodges itself right on his carotid artery.

“Nice,” she mumbles in delirium as she hears him choke to death. It’d been a majestic throw.

The adrenaline is gone in a second. (Y/N) stumbles backwards, barely aware of all the tools scattering around in the floor. She lets herself rest against the wall, slowly sitting down on the floor.

She’s going to die.

It doesn’t matter that she’s managed to get rid of that poor excuse of a man. She’s too injured. She knows.

(Y/N) isn’t scared. She’s tangled with Death for a long time, and as cold begins to creep in and the edges of her vision blacken, it feels like welcoming an old friend. It feels like getting what she has always had coming for her.

The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, her body’s desperate effort at keeping her heart pumping. Her ears are ringing, hard enough that when shouts begin all that she can hear are muffled sounds.

Then someone’s touching her face. She greets the warmth.

“Fuck,” she hears as she tumbles forward, her forehead landing on a collarbone. Jesper grasps the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. At least, she thinks it’s him. Her brain feels mushy, but her nose has never failed her, and it smells like gunpowder and mint.

She’s laid down on the ground gently, probably to inspect her injuries before moving her.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Sharpshooter reassures her, but his voice is trembling. He’s scared. She must look worse than she feels, and she feels like she’s been attacked by a group of Heartrenders.

She wants to speak, to tell him it’s okay, but opening her mouth feels like an impossible task.

“Save your energy.” That’s Kaz. His voice is steady, but she can feel the underlying tension, the worry in his words. “You are not dying tonight.” And he says it with so much conviction, like he would hold her soul with his own hands to keep it anchored to her body, like he would keep her heart beating with pure willpower.

Her eyes look for him, but she catches sight of something else entirely.

“You’re wearing it.”

She must make no sense, words slurred, but Kaz understands. His whispered words are the last thing she hears before slipping out of consciousness.

“How couldn’t I?”

Then there’s nothing. She loses track of time. She comes back to her body from time to time, able to hear words but incapable of pinpointing the speaker. She’s floating, but there’s pain and aching.

“…too much blood, I don’t know…”

“…keep her alive.”

“I am trying!”

“Don’t try, do it.”

“…punctured lung, broken ribs…”

“…don’t know how she’s still alive.”

When she comes to the first thing that she feels is blinding pain. Everything hurts. Her muscles complain as she sits up. She clenches her jaw to keep the tears at bay. The worst is already over, she will not cry.

“Don’t move,” (Y/N) freezes at the command, her head snapping towards the voice. “Nina stitched you back together, I doubt she would be very happy to see all her hard work ruined.”

She gently eases herself back on the bed, fingertips running over her bandaged stomach. She can feel the edges of the stitches poking through it. It must’ve been bad, then, if she required stitches to keep the wound together. Usually, she’s a fast healer, a result of all the training she’d gone through.

“How long?” Her voice is raspy after not being used. Her throat hurts, which might be related to the way she was choked to the verge of unconsciousness several times while held hostage.

“Four nights.”

Bad then.

(Y/N) can feel Kaz’s eyes on her, assessing. She meets his stare, and it’s when she’s looking at him that a vague memory comes back.

Her eyes drift down to his wrist.

The twin bracelet to her own, the one she keeps tightly wrapped around her wrist, as if part of her own skin, greets her.

“You are wearing it.”

Kaz frowns in confusion, until he follows her line of sight. He looks away, hand clenching and unclenching over the head of his cane.

“Even after almost dying you’re still insufferable,” he responds.

But when he looks back at her, (Y/N) can see everything in his eyes.

How could I not, he’d said, and he’d meant it. If friendship was something that could bloom in a wretched place like Ketterdam, Kaz was her best friend and she was his, even if they’d never discussed it, even if they would never admit it. You’re the steady order to my unrelenting chaos, she thought to herself, someone I would follow to the end of the world.

He nods, as if reading her mind and agreeing with her.

“Rest.” That’s an order, one she has no intention of disobeying.

“Sure thing,” she responds as Kaz makes his way towards the door, “bestie.”

(Y/N) can feel the amusement in his words, “Absolutely insufferable.”

She smirks, toying with the ends of the bracelet’s strings.

(Y/N) never takes it off. Neither does Kaz.