#so when all the mechanization was going on he could have even ask for cool robotic wing and laser eyes😭

[ghostbny]

Chat is this true or what

[fragglerockopinions]

.

[illusioninfnty]

"i'll do anything!" ↠ day 23 ; virginity loss

↠ bo sinclair x reader

fandom: house of wax word count: 2.8k warnings: nsfw 18+, bimbo!reader, reader has shitty friends, coercion, corruption, dubconish, fingering, blowjob, cum swallowing, dirty talk, kind of semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pervy!Bo, allusion to murder, the plot is like a bad porno but i promise this is good guys

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“God, did you forget to fill the tank again?”

You lean over from the backseat to take a look at the fuel gauge, and see the arrow is nearing empty. You furrow your eyebrows. “I was sure it filled up all the way,” you murmur. You try to recall when you all last stopped at a gas station, and how your friends delegated you to fill up the car while they went into the shop and bought snacks.

“Well it obviously didn’t, you idiot!” Your friend jerks the wheel and pulls over on the side of the desolate road. “This is why we never like to go anywhere with you.” 

You bite your lip, holding back tears. It wasn’t your fault that you were so forgetful sometimes, always getting distracted and lost in your thoughts.

This was supposed to be a fun road trip with your three closest friends, celebrating your college graduation nearing. But after a car karaoke session that went on for too long made you guys miss an exit, you’d been stranded on empty roads with nothing but trees surrounding you for quite a few miles now.

Your friend sitting in the backseat with you turns to face you, her arms crossed against her chest. “You should be the one to go find a gas station,” she protests. “It’s your fault we got stuck out here anyway.”

Your two friends in the front row look back at you and then at each other before nodding in agreement.

You crane your neck to look at the journey that would be ahead of you. It looked as though it continued to stretch for miles and miles with no end in sight, only the empty road and dying trees.

“By myself?” you ask hesitantly.

All three nod in unison.

You huff in defeat, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of the vehicle.

“I’ll try to be back—”

They slam the door in your face before you can answer.

“—Soon,” you finish before sighing and starting the long walk, hoping to find some destination before it got too dark.

~

Bo was not expecting to see a pretty little thing like you around Ambrose when it was nearing dusk, especially all alone. You had your arms wrapped around your bare midsection, and even from his spot inside the gas station he could see that you were shivering from the cool air as the sun set. You were looking around frantically, and he could tell immediately that you were lost and looking for help.

He smirks. Oh, he’d help you, alright. Bo took that as his cue to reveal himself to you. He wipes his hands with a dirty rag and tosses it aside, exiting the station.

You hear the ringing of the bell as Bo opens the door, and you turn your head towards the source of the sound. You scurry on over, seeing Bo in his mechanic’s uniform.

“Sir! Hi!” you start, fumbling over your words. “You work here, right? Do you have some gas? My car—well, it’s my friend’s—but it’s, like, miles back there and we ran out.” 

Your eyes then shift to the side and he could tell you were embarrassed. “It’s kind of my fault.”

Hmm. Sir. He liked hearing that come from your pouty lips.

Bo gives you a toothy grin. “Don’t gotta worry your head ‘bout it, sweetheart. I’ll get ya all settled. Come with me.” He slides his hand across your lower back, just barely grazing your ass. You gasp under your breath at the feeling, and Bo can’t help it when his cock stirs at the sound.

As you walk into the gas station, Bo scans you up and down. He notices that you have nothing on your person but your clothes, and even then it’s just little scraps of a skimpy top and skirt—which means you must’ve forgotten a wallet, too. His grin widens even more.

Reaching behind him without you noticing, he cranks the thermostat down. The air gets cooler within seconds, and Bo revels in seeing your nipples harden as they poke through your top.

He goes to find a can of gas, rolling up his sleeves as he plucks it from a top shelf. He notices when you gulp and stare at his muscles as he flexes them subtly.

You were such a cute little doll. He was going to have fun with you.

He plops the can on the counter. You go to reach for it, but he holds a hand out. “Ten bucks, little lady.”

Your eyes bulge almost comically and it takes all of Bo’s strength not to laugh at your expression.

“Wow, that’s a lot more than I thought it would be,” you say nervously, shifting on the balls of your feet.

Bo exaggerates a sigh. “Times are tough out here, owning a small business like this. We don’t get many customers out here.” He opens his hands to motion to you the desolate town of Ambrose.

You completely buy into his bullshit excuse, nodding your head in complete understanding. “Oh my god, that sucks, like, a lot.” Patting down your lame excuse for a shirt, you look up at Bo with wide eyes, jaw dropped in surprise. “I forgot to bring my wallet!”

You were such a dumb little thing. What were your sorry excuses of friends thinking, sending you off all alone?

“I’m so sorry, sir!” You clasp your hands in front of you in a pleading manner, looking up at him with big, watery eyes. Bo holds back a groan. Jesus, those eyes could make a man cream his pants if he wasn’t too careful. “Please, is there anything I can do to pay you back? I’ll do anything!”

Bo pretends as if he’s thinking long and hard. Oh, he knew exactly what you were going to do as payment.

“You know, I get lonely sometimes,” Bo starts, a mock frown on his face. “A cute lady like you could really help a man like me out.” He shuffles up to you, and palms your ass under that sorry excuse for a skirt.

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing onto his arm. “That’s really sad, sir.” You look lost in thought for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know if I can do that for you though.” You bite your lip, looking unsure of yourself.

“Aw, you gotta be kidding,” Bo clicks his tongue, rubbing his hand around the plumpness of your behind. “I bet you’ve helped lotsa guys out, huh?”

“A-actually,” you look down in shame. “I’m a—” you lower your voice to barely over a whisper, “—virgin.”

Bo blinks. That wasn’t a response he was expecting from you. So the slutty clothes were just for show, was it?

“Oh really?”

You nod, blatant regret all over your face. “I don’t think it’ll be good for you, ya’know, since I haven’t really had any practice and all that.”

He puts a smile back on, laughing gleefully and patting you on the shoulder, rubbing a thumb between the groove of your collarbone. “Well, that’s no problem for me, sweetheart. I can teach ya!”

Your eyes lighten up. “You can?”

“Sure I can!” He starts to undo his belt, throwing it aside on the counter. “Just need you to get on your knees for me and I can show you what to do.”

His cock jumps in anticipation, looking forward to seeing your juicy, plump lips wrapped around—

“Wait a minute!” you cry out, interrupting his fantasies.

Bo pauses in his movements, his jaw ticking at your interruption. “Yes?” he askes, concealing his frustration.

“What’s your name? I don’t wanna do this without knowing it.”

He sighs and points to the nametag on his jacket. “I’m Bo.”

You slap a palm across your forehead and nervously giggle. “Oh jeez, I should’ve known to look first!”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Bo mutters through his teeth impatiently. “Now lemme help you out, alright?” “Oh! Yeah, sorry!” You—finally—drop to your knees in front of him. “What do I need to do?”

The sight of you in front of him like that, so eager and pliant, had his cock jumping in his pants.

Bo lowers his jeans and boxers, his hard cock now revealed to you. He wraps a hand around the base stroking his full length as it puts it on display for you.

“That’s…big,” you murmur. You look up at him, concern plastered across your features. “I dunno if it’s gonna fit.” Your eyebrows crease together and those damn pouty lips of yours come out again.

Bo bites his cheek to conceal his smirk. This was gonna be a lot more fun than he thought. “I told you, that’s what I’m helping you with, ain’t I?”

You nod.

“Great. Now open those pretty lips up for me.”

You open your mouth as wide as you can, giving Bo a perfect hole to stick his cock into. He guides himself inside you, hissing as the warmth of your mouth envelops his length.

“Good girl,” he praises. He begins to thrust his hips slowly, your lips latching onto him as he does so. “You gotta let me move, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you mumble around him, and he groans at the vibrations that travel up his cock.

Your lips loosen and you start to suck on his cock, the suction of your lips making shivers of pleasure run down his spine. He grips the back of your head, controlling the pace of his thrusts.

“Fuck, look at you,” Bo hisses. You look so pretty and innocent with his cock stuffed down your throat, gags escaping your lips. “You’re a natural. Sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I told you—!”

Bo slaps your cheek, shushing you. “Stop talking.”

You nod obediently, the action making him pulse inside of your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens as his thrusts become harder, more primal. He fucks your mouth with vigor, ignoring your gags and the way your nails dig into the skin of his thighs.

He cums faster than he’s ever had before, groaning as his hot release coats the back of your throat. You cough around his cock, spurts of liquid splashing against your cheeks.

“Swallow it,” Bo commands.

You gulp harshly, your lips still secured around his cock. The extra pressure has him bucking his hips and like a good girl you swallow all of his cum. He pulls his cock out of your mouth, and you begin to cough and sputter as you regain your breath.

“Is that it?” you question him.

“Baby, I still gotta get rid of that virginity of yours.”

“Oh.” You giggle behind your hand. “Right.” You start to strip, only taking a couple of seconds since you’re practically naked already. “What do I do now?”

Bo’s cock hardens back to life at your nude form in front of him. Your nipples are hard, attached to your perky breasts that bounce up and down right in front of his eyes. He stares lecherously, licking his lips. “Now that you got my cock all wet,” Bo rubs his length, now slick with his cum and your saliva, “I can stick it in your pussy.” You bite the inside of your cheek and nod, your eyes flicking between his face and his cock. “I know I asked before,” you begin, and Bo moves to place your hand over his cock, “but will it really fit?”

Lord, he was really starting to understand why your friends let you go alone.

“Yeah, I told you, I’ll make it fit.” He lifts you from the back of your legs and places you on top of the counter. He brings his thick fingers to your pussy, sticking a fingertip inside.

You gasp and arch your body into him, throwing your arms around his broad back. Your bare breasts brush up against his chest and he relishes in the contact. 

“That feels really good, Bo!” you cry out. He adds a second finger inside of you, pushing the digits in deeper. He can feel how wet you are and the way you clench around him so desperately. Your hips jerk into him unsteadily, chasing the pleasure his fingers bring you.

He chuckles. “It’ll feel even better when I stick my cock in you.”

Bo removes his fingers, basking in the way you whine as he pulls them out, leaving you pulsing and desperate to be around him. He lines his throbbing cock with your entrance and pushes himself in without hesitation.

“Bo!” You scream, nails digging into his back. Little gasps leave your mouth as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Your pussy grips him like a vice, and it’s difficult for him to move inside you with you so needy for him.

He shushes you, gripping your cheeks and watching as tears leave your eyes.

“It hurts,” you whine to him. Your nails grip onto him as if your life depended on it.

He shoves his face into the crevice of your neck, placing kisses upon it. “Gotta relax a bit for me, okay?” he coos into your ear. “Or it won’t feel good for you.”

“You promise?” you ask through glassy eyes.

He nods, and feels as you unclench just a tad around him. Bo is able to rut himself into you harder now, and he can’t help but be more forceful with his thrusts as it causes your breasts to bounce right in front of him.

“Look at that.” He motions towards where the two of you are connected, his cock pulsing at the way your blood and juices coat the base. “Look at how we're connected now.”

Oh wow,” you gasp in awe. “That’s kinda romantic, huh?”

Bo doesn’t respond. If you wanted to put it that way, he wouldn’t stop you. He ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest.

His hips continue to pound into you, your body bouncing along with the power of his thrusts. The whines that come out of your mouth sound so angelic, and Bo has to fight the urge to kiss you.

“I—I think I’m gonna cum,” you moan out, your head thrown back and your eyes are scrunched up in pleasure.

Bo didn’t need you to tell him that. Your pussy goes back to clenching down on him, your walls tightening around his cock, fitting themselves to the shape of him. He curses quietly into your neck. He never wanted to leave the warmth of your pussy.

“That’s it, baby,” Bo coaxes you. He moves a finger to your clit, enjoying the way you jolt at the newfound sensation as he rubs circles on the bead. “Cum around my cock.”

“Cumming!” Your voice is squeaky as your legs come up to wrap around his backside, and you finally reach your peak. Your pussy tightens around Bo even more, and he can’t help it when he cums for a second time as you squeeze every last drop out of him.

You pant heavily as you come down from your orgasm, sweat rolling down your temples despite the cold air of the station that surrounds the two of you.

Bo’s own breathing is heavy, something he’s not used to much. You squirm out from beneath him as you drop from the counter, legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm. You bend down to gather your scraps of clothing, and Bo has to take all of his strength to conceal his groan as he watches his cum slowly leak out of your pussy.

“Leaving so soon?” Bo didn’t know what compelled him to say that. You were just some cute college kid passing through that was a chance to get his dick wet. Yet there was something about you that drew him to you, like a moth to a flame.

You shimmy back into your clothing, and he notices how you ignore the trail of his cum that runs down your thigh. “My friends’ll be mad at me if I take too long getting back.” You pause in your movements. “I can take the gas now, right?”

Bo’s heart drops in his stomach. He realizes quickly that no, he wasn’t going to let you take the gas. In fact, he wasn’t going to let you leave at all. He wanted you—needed you—here with him. He couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you just pass by him like that.

He glances outside quickly. The sky's already turned to a pitch black hue, and he knows there’s no streetlights on your way back to where your friends wait for you. He turns back to you as you stand awaiting his answer.

“It’s pretty dark out there, little lady.” You peek over his shoulder, and your eyes widen as you realize just how late it had gotten. “It ain’t safe for you ta’ be out walkin’ all alone. Why don’t you stay over at my place for the night?”

“B-but what about my friends?” A pout overtakes your face and you look up at Bo with puzzled eyes.

Bo smirks, holding you close to his chest and running a hand over your hair. “Don’t need ta’ worry about them, sweetheart. My brother’ll come an’ fetch ‘em.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Cheating Heart

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your feeling for John were wrong -- horribly wrong -- but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what's to hold you back anymore? (18+)

Word Count: 20.8k

Warnings: Cheating, toxic relationship, angst, fluff, depictions of violence and gore in flashbacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut, breeding kink, praise kink, Protective!Price, vulgar language, porn with an incredible amount of plot

A/N: Literally just supposed to be smut practice and I turned it into a novel lmfao. I should be getting back to requests after this.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slap a hand onto Soap’s bicep as you slide past the Scot, laughing loudly. The C-17 was still whirring behind you, the engines rumbling and shaking the air over your heads like great waves. Soap had asked you to go out with everyone for drinks at a local bar here in your city, not a moment prior. He was being quite persistent about it.

“Ah, c’mon, Little Lady,” The mohawked man grumbles, jogging to catch up to your fast form. Shit, you really needed a shower – your pores were packed with blood and dirt, “It’s just a few minutes from Base! We’ll all get steamin’ in no time.”

 “Hell,” Your body aches, but there’s a promise of hot water and clean clothes in your Barracks, making your feet move over the tarmac faster. Showering after a tough deployment was better than sex, “I’d love to, man, but you know that Leon makes me homemade meals when I get back home. Sorry, but I hope I make up for it by saying I’d take a bar burger and a drink over his lasagna any day. That thing could kill a horse.” 

Soap chuckles, eyes sparkling, and you send him an inquiring glance, “Price’ll be out with us.”

Your lips thin, the M13 strapped over your back suddenly ten times heavier and digging into your shoulder blades. Inside your chest, your heart sparks to life.

“MacTavish…” You warn, eyes narrowing at the stocky male, “Careful where your words go – I have a boyfriend. Plus, idiot, whatever it is your implying is insanely against workplace policy.”

“Yeah, but that boyfriend of yours treats you like shite.”

“Hey!” Yelling, your eyebrows turn in with a glare, finger pointing at his chest, “That was uncalled for, Asshat.”

Frowning, you watch Soap’s hand go scratch at the back of his head as his optics dart away, grumbling, “I don’t think it was if I’m being honest. Not exactly a prime choice in a partner you’ve got there.” 

The two of you make it to the front doors of the Barracks building, and you huff in annoyance. You were quickly deciding that not even a shower would make you feel better if this conversation continued. It was bordering on too much for your tired brain, sinking needles into your heart and dripping poison. 

Soap wasn’t lying, of course, your boyfriend was a piece of work and everyone knew it. Not only did Leon get pissed when you had to go on deployments – which you didn’t have control over – but he had also made a habit of being a bitch when you came back lately. There was never a chance to relax anymore, and what was worse was that it hadn’t always been like that. Part of you had tried to empathize with him because it was probably hard for someone's significant other to be away most of the time.

Like that gives him an excuse, You think, face heating with resentment as you remember the last argument Leon had dragged you into.

It was the day before your current deployment began nearly four months ago. Leon had gotten angry that you weren’t able to tell him where you were being shipped off to, and, like usual, had made the last day you saw him pure hell. 

“Oh, so It’s my fault that I’m concerned?!” He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice bouncing off the ceiling, “I get it – I’m the problem for wanting you home and safe.”

“My job is important, Leon!” Attempting to keep your cool, you take deep breaths. Teeth nash against your bottom lip and rip it to pieces as you use the pain to call away from the tears stuck in the ducts of your eyes, “You’re acting like what I do doesn’t affect the world. I need to go, otherwise, bad people are–”

“Is that what you tell yourself? Fuck me, how goddamn stupid could you be?!”

Leon growls, sending you scathing glances as he begins to pace the living room.

“Now you’re just being rude,” You whisper, whipping at your cheeks and gathering teardrops on your sleeves, “You know I can’t control when John sends me out with him and 141! They’re my team!”

Mentioning your Captain was a mistake and you knew it just as John’s name came out of your mouth. Leon pauses – his body going very still.

“John,” He whispers, eyes lit with burning fire, “Since when have you started calling him by his first name?”

“Leon–” You tried to salvage the situation but it was already too late. Your boyfriend snarls out accusation after accusation.

“I knew it! You’re cheating on me–”

“No, I’m not!” Pleading with someone to listen can only get you so far, “We’re close because we're always together – just like with the rest of the boys!” Leon shakes his head, hands clenched at his sides and vibrating with rage. Loyalty meant so much to you, trying to imagine a world where you would physically go out and cheat on your boyfriend was like seeing a unicorn out on the street. Your feet take you closer to Leon as the tensions rise, “You’re not listening! Listen to me!”

“Why the hell should I listen to a fucking whore!?”

The memory leaves you tense, remembering for a moment the sound of a tossed lamp and the shattering that followed soon after as it hit the floor. It was silly, but that lamp that Leon had thrown in anger was a family heirloom; something immeasurably precious to you. It was the last object you had left from your Grandma. Now, the remains were probably stuffed in a garbage bag somewhere, but you wouldn’t know because you had left with your duffel bag and slept at Base. At the very least you could hope your Leon cut his fingers picking up the pieces of glass.  

You had thought that everyone hadn’t noticed anything wrong, but had been catching concerned glances when you went into the cafeteria with thick bags under your eyes the next day; hair tangled and matted from your fingers.

Price had brought you outside, only pausing slightly before laying a heavy hand on your arm and squeezing. The man had bent slightly to look you in the eyes, head tilting so his hat blocked the sun from your eyes. 

“Love?” His eyes had been warm, creased with concern around the edges – an emotion you never received from Leon. When you just stared at your Captain, he hummed in the back of his throat, “You alright down there?”

Before you could do anything you might regret, you shook off his grip and disappeared back into the cafeteria. You didn’t eat that day and the next you were off on deployment.

“--soon?”

You blink, noticing Soap had begun walking ahead of you, his gear clinking.

“What?” You ask dumbly, “Sorry, I spaced out.”

Soap smirks, looking at you strangely, “I said I’ll see ya soon…hopefully out with the rest of us tonight?” He raises an eyebrow expectantly with a grin and you force out a half-assed huff. Trying to mask the unease in your blood. 

You had been gone four months instead of the intended three with Soap out in Russia on a Black Op, fighting back in a war that no one would ever hear of. Distinctly, you wondered if John was mad at you for how you acted toward him before you left.

“No promises, Suds,” Striding down the hallway you take the turn on the right leading to the women’s barracks, your back turned as Soap continues to subtly plead to you. 

If you took the time to look into it, you would have realized that the man was concerned for you; his thought process was to keep you away from Leon for as long as he could so you might come to your senses.

“I’ll see you at 0900, then! Don’t keep everyone waiting, yeah? Been too long since you’ve been out with the rest of us!” 

His voice falls away as you open the door to the joint female changing room and showers. Only when the hum of the air conditioning overhead blocks out everything else do you speak.

“You’re nothing if not persistent, MacTavish,” Putting your palms into your eyes, you press until you see stars and take a deep breath. 

Filling your lungs you hold the air trapped and begin to count to five, letting the tension in your shoulders leave as you breathe out. The room was empty of anyone else, white-walled, and tiled floors with rows of metal lockers you needed a key to get into. Digging into your vest pocket, you produce the one you would need to enter yours.

It was the one in the middle of the room, with access to the emergency door in the back and a clear view of the front door as well. Some traits stick with you when you join one of the best forces on the planet.

Since you lived around here, everything you would need was already in the locker, including a gray shirt, baggy sweats, fresh undergarments – thank God – and spare boots. Your duffel bag of belongings was still on the C-17 and set to go through inspection before you could get it back.

Groaning and deading the inevitable stack of reports you would have to go through, plus the thoughts of what to do tonight, you sit on the rickety wooden bench and begin to take off strap after strap of your uniform. 

“This is gonna be one hell of a problem, Isn’t it?” You mutter, body slouching with more and more fatigue as the seconds draw on. 

Maybe I should just stay here, You wonder to yourself, Say the hell with it to both of them and have a girl's night in. Watching a sad movie and crying over a bucket of fucking ice cream sounds better than fighting with Leon or trying to ignore John.

Chucking off your combat vest, you clench your jaw in agitation. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t you just break it off with your boyfriend and be done? It was obvious the love that was there before was gone…but you had known Leon since high school. You bite your lip. There were so many good memories. 

John, as he usually does, weasels his way into your mind from the gaps. 

You unlock your locker and slam the door open so that the hinges rattle back in anguish. Shucking off your M13 your shaking hands all but toss the attached strap on the hook inside as you try to force the brown-haired Brit from your consciousness. You can’t call it love or lust, but somewhere in the spaces between missions and spent bullets you had grown fond of him in a way you couldn’t describe. John. Your Captain. 

As your knives and pistol are placed in the above cubie you run over hand over your face once more, pausing to breathe deeply before regaining motion. Putting your head on the locker’s cool metal corner, your eyes close tightly. 

The Black Op with Soap had been hard. You had been trying to strangle every emotion down like the ball in your throat when the Scot brought up Price or Leon during muttered conversations. 

“That’s why the Captain likes you so much, then!”

“The boy of yours is a pure dafty – why the hell would he say that to you?!”

“Price’ll have my head if you take another shot for me.”

“The two of you would make a fine looken’ couple, y’know. No missin’ the way he looks at you…Hey, now! I meant it as a compliment! Stop hitten’ me woman!”

You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Why were you feeling like this? Leon was a dick sure, but you both had fond memories together – you’d known him for more than half of your life! When you thought of someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with it was always…

Your eyes harden as reality sets in. 

John. 

“Fuck!” Reeling backward, you curl your left fist and send it right into the locker beside your own. 

Immediately a sparking of pain ripples down your limb like lighting, firing off nerves and heating the skin as blood rushes to the affected area. Hunching your shoulder’s in, you bite your tongue and tip your head down. 

Your heart is hammering so hard you hear it echo through the room, bouncing off the tall ceiling – Knock-knock. 

Blinking, you look up, staring in confusion into the depths of your locker before you realize that wasn’t your heart at all. 

A distinctly male voice calls your name from behind the barrier, and suddenly you know why they weren’t coming in. Closing your eyes and sighing, you back up and stare at the door silently. The man calls your name again, accent muffled as knuckles rasp.

Someone’s knocking on the door…? Why would they do that? You wondered, It’s unlocked.

“I know you’re in there – the Sergeant told me where I could find you,” You could imagine the person you had just been thinking about nodding as he always does during conversations; dark eyebrows animated, “ We need to have a word before you clean up, yeah?”

“Price?” You ask, face tightening as you recognize the speech pattern before he even finishes talking. Could you really not get a moment's peace around here? Shaking out your hand, which was bleeding by the knuckles and leaves droplets on the floor, you stutter out, “W-what are you doing in the girl’s barracks?”

Your heart was already running faster than it had a moment ago. You didn’t want to talk to him right now.

The Captain sighs behind the door, and under the crack you see a shadow shuffle from one foot to the other. His voice lowers, losing that formal tone for a second. Your body reacts even as you tell it not to, and your breath gets shallow and your pupils are blown wide. “Would you open the door so I can talk to you, please, Love? I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Sucking down a breath your large muscle palpitates heavily behind your ribcage. Did you really have a choice?

John, separated from you but still sensing your hesitation, feels his eyes narrow. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your last interaction before you left; the way your eyes were red-rimmed and dull. It had weighed on him more than he liked to admit for those few months, and it wasn’t like he could call to check-in. 

Black Ops meant no contact, and your safety was always his priority before anything else. He waited. So when Soap had knocked on John’s office door, the two of you back at Base unannounced, and had looked at him with creased eyes he had known immediately something was wrong. 

For a moment, his heart had stopped, thinking you were injured. But Johnny’s next words stopped him. 

“The girl’s been acting strange, Price. I can’t find any sense behind it – been that way damn near ever since we shipped out. Little Lady’s worrying me. She’s not right and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Maybe this was a mistake, John thinks, eyes narrowing as he itches at his beard, forcing the heated image in his mind away like it burned him. He didn’t know what he felt about you, but the knowledge that you had a boyfriend didn’t sway his sense of loyalty. Even if being around you made his chest tighten and his thoughts run.

If you were in the right headspace the door would have already been open. But then again you were in the locker room. The Captain’s head jerks back, trying not to imagine you naked just behind a thin barrier as his chest sucks in a sharp breath. 

It wasn’t his place to think of such things. To imagine you beautifully naked, laying under him and gasping out his name was…it was immoral. You deserve better than that. But damn it if the thought didn’t make his pants tighten.

A shadow moves under the door and Price straightens his spine, taking a step back before bringing his attention back to the present. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly. 

Your hand lays on the door knob stiffly, shirt already untucked and boots unlaced. You probably looked a mess, you thought to yourself, sticking your tongue out of the side of your mouth with nerves. Freezing, your heart skips a beat.

Why did you care?

Growling under your breath, you swing the door open and plaster a smile over your bitten-to-hell lips that wouldn’t convince a blind man. 

“Sir,” You say, body coiled as your eyes trail your Captain’s figure.

John Price was the same man you remembered. Tall and fit, wearing an army green long-sleeved athletic shirt and cargo pants tucked into boots mirroring your own. Watching his muscles writhe, he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head – where the old bucket hat sits covering his shorter brown locks. 

The hallway lights were doing wonders for his complexion. 

“Do…you need something, Price?” Maybe if you didn’t look at him your head wouldn’t get fuzzy? 

Your eyes shifted up and down the hallways as if you were doing something illegal, listening to his breath and the rattle of his throat as he made a sound. 

If people saw the two of you rumors would start; you could almost hear them now.

“Did you see her talking to Captain Price outside the locker room?!”

“Lord, doesn’t she have a boyfriend here in the city? I feel bad for him...She’ll start one hell of an internal investigation.”

“No loyalty at all. I bet she likes sneaking around. Hey, do you think she’s sleeping with him?! Holy fuck I bet she is!”

“--Love? Hey, hey, Love, look at me, would you?” You blink back to reality, clearing your throat and tensing as a hand levels on your shoulder. 

Staring at John’s chest, you shake your head.

“Sorry, Sir, just tired,” You attempt a chuckle but it sounds like a balloon deflating, “Long mission, you know?”

Your eyes are boring holes in John’s chest, not willing to move anywhere else as your face begins to burn. His hand was so firm, warm, how would it feel when it was digging into the flesh of your thighs? Your waist? Would he be rough like the calluses on his hands would imply? Or would he handle you delicately like his guns, flicking over the safety and caressing the cool metal?

Shut the fuck up!

A moment passes before you notice your Captain hadn’t responded to you. Frowning, you throw him a quick glance and see him intently looking at your clenched, shaking, left hand. His blue eyes are dark, lips frozen in a thin line that has your lungs shriveling and a shiver running down your spine. You try not to follow the tensing of his lower abdominal muscles or the shifting of his large hips as his feet move.

Stop it, You plead with yourself, Please just stop. This isn’t right. What’s wrong with me?

That was the moment you noticed the blood dripping down your fingers, flooding from split knuckles and dotting the floor in red. Widening your eyes, you snap the hand behind your back in panic, clothes rustling.

“Uh,” You fumble, pulse so loud you can hear it in your ear as sweat slicks the back of your neck. Stuttering, you can’t find the words to continue before John speaks.

“Tell me,” He orders, voice so baritone and raspy you feel it rattle in your stomach; at that moment it’s not John you’re speaking to – it’s your Captain. You move out of his hold but he takes a step forward anyways, “Now.”

Freezing, you gape like a fish, mouth moving but no words come out to grace the man’s ears. John’s heart is pounding, snapping from the hidden hand to your eyes that lack the spark they usually had. He hadn’t seen that bit of light in your eyes for a long time and ached to find out why. What had happened? Why were you avoiding him? You usually went straight to his office after you got back from being separated from him – even if you were full of blood and dirt with bags lining your eyes. 

John’s hands clench, jaw following suit. 

You sigh shakily, swallow down saliva, and try not to throw up. 

“I-I…” Moving your head, your fingers shake. How could you explain your situation? Tell your Captain – who you have complicated feelings for – that you wanted to end things with Leon because of him? Fuck, do you tell him how shitty your boyfriend’s been? That wasn’t his business and certainly not his problem. It was better if you held your tongue and suffered, a part of you knew, because the infection of misplaced guilt was wrapped around your heart like thorns.

John would think less of you for staying with Leon for this long; probably put you on leave to figure it out yourself. 

No, You try to tell yourself, He wouldn’t do that – this is John we’re talking about. He’s kind to me and, if anything, he’d be just as pissed as I am about it. 

That you knew was true. John would go to war to make sure you were alright; he had.

The man was silently standing, patient with you even as the telltale sign of concern and muted irritation were painted on his face. John had always been a gentleman – holding doors open for you, letting you sleep in when the nightmares got to you and left you huddled in a corner for hours. He had found your favorite candy on an Op in Italy and bought you some for fucks sake!

But nothing made sense anymore and everything felt like it was at a breaking point. You liked Price – and hated Leon – and that fact nearly sent you spiraling into hysterics. You had been with your boyfriend for so long; he had been everything to you. 

Leon had helped you get through deaths in your family, and before the fighting started, ordered you flowers when you came back from deployments; Leon cooked and cleaned without you having to ask. He knew your life story possibly better than you did, and you knew his.

Your entire life was spent with him. Who were you if all of it suddenly ended? Years of your life thrown away for nothing.

If there was one thing that everyone on Base knew besides that your boyfriend was a bitch, it was that you hated change more than anything. Ironic, considering the profession you were in. 

You just needed silence – space to breathe without getting suffocated. But maybe what you really wanted was for John to fucking hug you. To feel his bear arms wrap around you and squeeze the stubborn tears out of your eyes as you sob. When was the last time you actually cried, anyways? John would make it better; hold you like he cared about you. Like how he had in Madagascar when a bullet got lodged in your side. You swore you saw him cry that day, beautiful blues shiny as your blood pooled out of his heavy, adrenaline-shaking, fingers. The body of the man who jumped you both lay dead and filled with more metal than a construction zone not a few feet away, gurgling. 

That man was supposed to be the target – Hubert Antonin – and you were both supposed to bring him in alive; you never got execute authority. 

But Price had unloaded the clip on him right as you cried out in pain.

“Stay with me, Princess, c’mon. Keep your eyes open for me…Look at me, Love. Hey, I promised I’d get ya’ back safe. Don’t make me lie, now, yeah?”

A weak, velvety, chuckle meets the humid air. It was startling, watching him lose his composure like that.

“It b-burns, John. I…I can’t–”

“I know, Sweetheart, I know. I’ll get you fixed up and good to go soon, Copy? Just like new,” His wild eyes snapped back and forth as your eyesight gets blurry, lids flickering like a candle’s flame, “Where the fucken’ hell is Evac?!... No, no, no…What did I just tell you – Keep those eyes open, Muppet!”

When you were stable in the Med Ward of the local Base, the man had brought you to his chest, letting you feel the rampaging of his heart and the uneven breaths on the top of your head. His hands tightened over you, fingers brushing up and down over your arms. Like he was worshiping you just for living. For being there.

“Attagirl. Just let me hold you for a minute, yeah?” 

As you recovered, he never let you out of his sight. 

If you thought about it too hard, that was perhaps the first instance when you knew something was very wrong with you for liking the feeling of his skin touching yours. His body heat melting into you in such a tight embrace it left you crying into his chest in thankfulness. You had never felt that when hugging Leon – Leon hated hugs to the point you had to beg him to hold you. 

But thinking about that was just another pipedream. Nothing about John Price and yourself would ever come to light as being anything more than partners on the Task Force. 

He was your Captain. You were working under him. 

You had a boyfriend. John had a valuable asset. 

But you really wanted him to be yours. And, never mind how Price felt about you and if it was the same twisted form of disloyalty or lust, you still hated yourself for it. For feeling so deeply.

“No,” You respond blankly to John’s request for an explanation of…everything, but can’t look into his eyes to see the shock that sparks. 

John's shoulders tense, jaw going slack. He gains his senses, but it’s already too late. 

Jerking back into the locker room, you slam it shut behind you and snap the lock in place, feeling the quivering of your lips as the first sob builds. 

Your skin was dirty and layered with grime, hair matted, and gear in need of deep cleaning. But that feeling you carried didn’t change even as you took a shower, wiping away everything down a drain with red-tinged water as a shadow hesitated for a long moment before confidently moving away from the front door.

You still felt disgusting. 

—

Nothing you did made sense to him. 

John was walking away from the locker room with measured steps, head pounding. People passed by and gave him strange looks, but his eyes were dead ahead, glaring at everything and nothing at the same time. This wasn’t like you at all. 

She’s been acting strange for months, why haven’t I bloody checked in sooner? Your actions reminded him of a ghost – walking around the halls at night and steadily dimming. The whole team had seen it; how there was a weight eating at you. Price and the others had tried to get you to talk to no avail. 

I need to do something about this, He tells himself as a thought worms its way into his brain.

Could she be angry at me? Now that he thought about it, every time he was near you trying to engage in a conversation you froze and made some excuse to not speak. And with how you looked at him before you slammed the door in his face…John had stayed shell-shocked behind the barrier with half a mind to rush in and demand you tell him what was wrong. 

But he knew that would only make it worse.  

“She needs time to cool off,” He mutters under his breath, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers and holding his head for a moment, “Get her head on straight.”

But what if you never chose to seek him out after the fact? Could he handle that? 

Why do I want her to come to me when she’s hurting? He wonders with a clenched jaw.

Taking a corner and leaving the Women’s Barracks, John sighs as he walks on. His feelings were getting in the way again – his feelings about you that he had tried to choke down like whisky. Ironic, that it left the same burning sensation in his neck. There was only so much he could do about them, truth be told, because everything about you made the Captain want to disregard every order he’s given. 

It wasn’t right, it was the definition of wrong in both of your lines of work, but this was the one situation he didn’t know how to fix. So he kept silent. 

You had a boyfriend, and that was enough to stay his tongue and keep him watching from a distance.

John made it back to his office quickly and quietly, but would soon find that trying to get reports done was impossible. When his pen would hit the paper his mind would blank, and many times he would have to re-read the contents over and over to retain anything. 

“Fuck,” He breathes out, baring his teeth and leaning back in his chair. 

The most he could do was sit there and wait until tonight; hoping that the bar that Soap was bringing the Task Force to had good Whisky. 

Try as he might, he knows getting drunk would only make him think of you more.

—

The car ride to your house was spent in silence, a sheen of rain making the sky dark. Under you, the fake leather seats are cold, leaving you shivering even as you were wrapped in a thick sweatshirt and your spare cargo pants. Gripping the wheel tighter as the quiet road went on and on ahead of you, the street lamps shine on the old sidewalks corralling you in. 

You had made the tough decision to surprise Leon when you got home. 

Lips thinning, all you can hope is that the stewing anger that had been left behind had calmed and not worsened. But Leon held grudges, and, unfortunately, so did you. Your Grandma’s lamp still made your heart ache if you thought about it too much; left bitter tears and a bare esophagus behind.

He had stepped over a big line – one you weren’t sure you could forgive him for. Sighing and shaking your head, you watch the dark road as the chilled cloud of condensation is expelled from your mouth. It seems you had forgotten to turn the heat on too. 

Taking a turn, you pull the vehicle to a slow stop as its brakes squeal. Months of sitting in the Base’s underground garage would do that to you, but you still grimace at the noise that makes your face tense. Maybe Ghost would fix up your car like last time so you wouldn’t have to fork over a fortune at the dealership downtown. 

You can’t hide the small smile that comes at the idea. Simon pretended to be such a grump all the time, but he had his moments.

Coming to a full stop, you turn the car to park and look outside through the deluge. 

“At least that hasn’t changed,” You utter, breath fogging the window as lashes of rainwater race down the glass, “It still looks as perfect as ever.” 

The house was brightly lit, painted white, and had a large Oak door in the center. In the front, there was a black iron fence with a small gate and a latch. Looking, a prickly sensation enters your body and your fingers twitch over the wheel inexplicably. Your eyes run from one window to the other, all with warm light streaming out from behind the curtains, and furrow. With one hand you go to itch at your nose.

Why were all the lights on anyways? It’s like ten at night…Not the point, I’m stalling.

“Just go and speak to him,” You mutter to yourself, nodding firmly. But your lungs contracted in your ribcage in blatant retaliation. 

You wished playing therapist with yourself was easier.

Turning off the car and stuffing the keys in your pants pocket, you unclipped your seatbelt and turned to grab your small carry bag. Since the Base was so close there was really no need to bring your duffel bag. You’d be back there tomorrow for de-briefings with Price anyways; writing out papers and sighing confidentiality documents until your eyes bled. Would John bring you tea this time to help you stay awake? Or would he give you that look that meant – ‘Go to sleep right now, or do I have to order you to your bed?’

John would give in occasionally, and sit with you as you worked. He would read, or, you would take a break and play trivia with him; sometimes you asked him to tell stories. You really liked his stories. 

On even rarer cases, when the contents of the report brought up bad memories that left your face blank, he would tell you one of his tales unprompted. Usually, after that warm and selfless event, you would wake up back in your bed without the knowledge of ever falling asleep at all. But there would always be a note. Handwritten on your nightstand. 

John Price hand wrote you notes on crappy lined paper with his chicken scratch lettering. You remembered blushing every time you got one and had your favorite memorized word for word. It had meant so much to get one, Leon never wrote letters. 

“Guess my stories are more boring than I knew, Love, you passed out nearly immediately into the first one. Do me a favor, yeah, and sleep in today? Don’t worry about morning drills. I’ve already dismissed you. Sleep tight. 

– John”

Clenching your jaw, you shake your head and close your eyes. Thinking about seeing him tomorrow makes you sick.  

More opportunities to make a fool of myself and cause him to hate me. God, I fucking slammed a door in his face because I couldn’t get a grip. What’s wrong with me? He doesn’t deserve that.

You can’t keep living like this anymore, you try to tell yourself as you dig through your bag. Grabbing your phone, you’re about to shove it in your pocket beside the keys when it lights up, showcasing the wallpaper of you and the boys on a past Op from years ago. 

Everyone had their full gear on, weapons around fronts, and armed to the teeth. Full of blood and other substances. 

It was your favorite picture and you even had it printed out on your nightstand at Base.

John had his arm over your shoulder, staring at you softly with his head covered by his hat – which had burn marks on it – as you pointed a finger into Gaz’s smug, smile-split, face. Soap’s laughing and holding his stomach as Ghost at his side has a hand to his masked face in exasperation. 

You blink in surprise at the text message from your Sergeant as it pops up.

“Soap’s texting me?” Your mind wonders, and you roll your eyes, “I already said I wasn’t going out.” Not looking and turning your phone off, you shove it in your pocket but can’t hide the small sense of annoyance, “I spent four months with the guy in Russia, sorry, but I need a break from him before my brain explodes.”

Opening the car door, you flinch as rain batters your head and stains your clothes, but you just swing your bag over your shoulder and slam it shut behind you. Locking it with the fob, you make your way quickly to the front door, slipping past the metal gate without mishap and jogging over the lawn to the two front steps. Scaling them, you stand under the portico and look behind you, gazing up and down the street. You watch for a moment the family who lives across the street – they were watching a movie in the living room, huddled on the couch. 

Jerking your head back, you take out your house key and insert it into the lock with a grim face. Twisting, your skin shivers once more as a bout of wind shakes your baggy clothes just as you hear the familiar click of the front door unlocking. 

But that damn lamp. Grandma’s lamp. And John’s blue eyes filled with concern for you. His hands. 

When had this place stopped being home for you?

“Just speak to him,” You repeat a second time, gripping the doorknob, “Get it over with like an adult and forgive each other…” 

You clench your jaw and wrench the door open, shaking your head to dispel the water weighing the locks down like a wet dog. Stepping inside with heavy feet, you close the door quietly behind you and lock it. 

“Leon…?” You wonder out loud, slipping your gaze from the empty couch to the blaring TV as you slip off your boots. Muttering under your breath you add, “Where are you?”

“--And in more local news, the grand opening of the downtown café “Four Horseman” has wracked in a whopping profit of–”

Your fingers flicked off the news, the woman’s voice suddenly halting from the speakers. Frowning, your ears twitch. 

What’s that noise?

“Oh, Leon!” Freezing, your legs tense, hands at your sides gradually tightening into fists. Blinking in surprise, your heart begins to pump adrenaline through your veins with the efficiency of a racehorse. You don’t know that voice, “Just like that!”

But you weren’t stupid.

A certain type of dread infects your brain that leaves your mouth opening in shock; eyebrows peeling back to travel up your forehead. Before you tell yourself that it was better just to leave the house now, while your mind is unbroken, you can’t stop your already moving feet. 

You barrel down the hallway to get to the master bedroom, where you shove on the already partially open barrier with a heavy slam. Rage burns in your gut, spreading like a disease into the thin tissue and bleeding out; proliferating with relentless reach.  

Leon was over a random girl in your bed, half-naked and pants already being dragged down his hips by feminine legs. The woman was already bare, perfect skin glowing in the low light of red candles. 

Your rage freezes with a layer of thin ice, and your heart hammers. Sweat gathers in your clenched palms as the stranger’s scream enters the room. Both were already watching you in horror. Leon halts his actions of being knuckle-deep in the girl – the woman had seen you and snapped her hands to the ruined sheets of your bed to try and cover herself with a desperate scream.

“Leon?!” She yells out, face becoming bright as the scent of expensive perfume makes your nose twitch, “Who the fuck is that?!” 

Blankly, you turn your head to look at your boyfriend – former boyfriend. 

“Yeah, Leon,” You’re surprised by the firmness of your voice, the dead tone hurled out with no remorse. It betrays how you really feel. Tears burn the backs of your eyes, and your lungs hurt when you suck in quiet breaths to help your composure, “Do you wanna explain who I am? Or just how you’re fucking another woman on our bed.”

Leon’s eyes are comically wide, mouth agape and fluttering. Cruel satisfaction brews in your heart as your lips flicker into a dark smirk; anger was better than tears, you decided. 

“Our bed?! You said you were single!” The woman gasps, snapping her head to the man still above her, “Get the hell off me!” 

Shoving Leon, you watch the girl scramble to grab her clothes all over the floor as she apologizes to you. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that he had–”

“Just get out, please,” You mutter under your breath, and the lady zips past with her shirt only half on and her bra hooked between her fingers. 

“Baby,” Leon looks like he’s about to cry, getting to his knees on the mattress and you catch a glimpse of his boxers with cows printed on them. 

Before you had found those enduring �� maybe even cute in a dorkish sort of way – but now you realized it was just pathetic. He was pathetic.

“Baby, I swear this isn’t what it looks like!” His fingers are glistening, and his pants are stained. 

You blankly stare at the stranger who inhabits your ex’s body and say nothing back; watching as Leon scrambles for an explanation that changes nothing. There was an absence of anything you loved in this house. 

“Hope it was worth it,” Blankly speaking, you turn around and leave, feet slamming into the floor as Leon calls to you pleadingly. 

“Please! I didn’t–” His voice cuts out as a thump echoes over the home, like someone falling out of a bed before a yelp takes its place. Not slowing, you slip your boots on and unlock the front door. 

Just as fast footsteps rush to the foyer you slam the door behind your back and descend the steps, no longer caring about the rain as you walk in a trance-like state. It hadn’t really hit you yet what had happened, but it was starting too. 

Your breath was getting thinner, hands shaking as your shoulders hunched and waterfalls down your face and neck. The bag over your shoulder is now ten times heavier than it was before.

The door slams open just as you exit the black-iron gate and unlock your car.

“Babe, come back inside, let's talk about this!” Leon screams, and his bare feet seem to slap over the drowned lawn, “You just need to sit down and I’ll speak and explain why I’ve been sleeping with Maxine!”

Your hand freezes on the car handle, slick metal stuck under your grip. 

You whirl around with fire in your eyes, lips snarling.

“Sleeping!?” With your face contouring, your loud voice carries over the storm as Leon – who had gotten quite close by now – reels back a step, “As in this has happened before, you goddamn prick?! How long have you been cheating on me while I’ve been risking my fucking life to get back home to you?!”

Leon’s face twists as you look him in the eyes, nose scrunching.

“Oh, don’t stay on your high horse,” He growls, hands animating his words as you try and keep your cool, “We both know you’ve been cheating far longer than I have.”

“Do we?!” It’s past the point of sense now, and the other lights from the once-dark houses begin flickering their outside lights on from all the noise, “I’ve never fucked anyone while I was out, Leon. You can’t say that, can you?!” 

“You don’t need someone to stick their dick in you to cheat. You’re just as bad as me – John Price must be one helluva guy to ruin a relationship that started when we were teenagers.”

Your breath stutters, and after a moment of shocked silence you shake your head in disbelief, “You’re a bastard, Leon…I wish I’d never met you. Wish I’d never wasted my time with a pathetic man like you. Maybe John is one helluva guy, hm? Maybe I’ll have to tell him that myself.”

Leon’s eyes were red, and his lips, just like yours, quivered as he tried to come up with an answer. You turn around before you can sob and reach for the door once more. 

A heavy weight settled on your arm, your Ex’s fingers suddenly squeezing your skin so hard your lips let loose a muted gasp. Trying to rip your arm away, you tilt your head to look back at Leon.

“Let go of me,” You say the words slowly, feeling rainwater travel down the bridge of your nose and splash to your shoulder, “Now.”

Leon’s hand only tightens, and you hiss, feeling blood vessels pop under the pressure.

“You’re coming back inside and you’re going to listen to what I tell you,” Leon leans closer, eyes dark, “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an–”

Your fist connects with his cheek, and a second later you’re nursing your sensitive knuckles, shaking out your hand and grimacing. Whining reminiscent of a wounded duck rips over the night, and, gripping at his face, Leon lays on the ground half-naked and less of a man than he’d ever been – which was an achievement, to say the least. 

You should have broken up with him years ago. John would never treat you like this.

Getting into your car, you sit down and lock the doors behind you as you insert the key, twisting and feeling it jerking to life. With morbid curiosity, you turn to the opposite window and look at the house across the street.

The family was at the window, no longer enraptured by their TV, and the mother had a hand over her mouth. She was in the process of turning her children away from the scene as the other parent stood watching, slack-jawed. 

Blinking, you don’t know if it’s tears or rain that you’re forcing away from your eyes, but the burning tells you which option you should put your money on. Wiping at your face and sucking down shuddering breaths, you press on the pedal and peel away from the white house with a large Oak door. Taking a peak at the mirror, you spy a man trying to get back to his feet but stumbles, falling once more and slamming into a puddle. 

Driving, you only make it to the next street before you park on the side of the road, your whole body shaking and gasping for breath. With the adrenaline dying down, the pain in your arm becomes prominent, making pain spark as you shift it. The area would most likely bruise. 

Your lips twist and a small whimper leaves your mouth. You smack your forehead to the wheel, hands falling like lead to your lap as a sniffle weasels its way out; tears begin to smack your thighs, gradually increasing until you were concerned your car would flood. 

Crying was never your thing. With all the sights you’d seen, tears felt so small compared to every other horror – they meant nothing in the grand scheme of events taking place. All they were good at was making your nose run and your skin get hot. 

John’s seen me cry before, Your thoughts are running so fast it’s a strange circumstance that they stop when your Captain’s name is filtered through. 

Price had found you in the bathroom, covered in dried blood and shaking just as you were in the present. There had been an accident on the recent Op – a kid had gotten caught in the crossfire and had taken a bullet to the stomach. You had held him as he died; seen the light in his eyes leave in one fell swoop as you drowned in his blood trying to stop the bleeding.

That was what led up to you rushing off the Helo, finding the first bathroom on Base, and rushing inside to throw your guts up. John, of course, had followed close at your heels with fast feet.

“Love,” He said from outside the door slowly, “I’m coming in.” 

Shell-shocked, your hands were strained as you gripped the sides of the toilet, not even picking up on the concern leaking from his tone. Wide-eyed, you stare blankly at the vile contents inside the bowl – throat burning with acid as the image of that dying kid plays on repeat. 

The door opens hesitantly as if any major noise would break you, the hinges squeaking. A pair of feet carefully pad over the tile towards your hunched figure. When his hand slides over your back, his shadow comes to encompass you, shrouding you in its comforting darkness. He made it better.

John’s grip slides back and forth over the gear and other objects along your figure. You hadn’t bothered to take anything off, in fact, your gun was still strapped around your chest and weighing you down. It hit against the toilet with a ‘clink’ every time you moved.

“Sweetheart?” John mutters, body curling around yours.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” You say the words numbly as you glance at the blood on your hands with muted horror, “I…I…He should have been with the other civilians. He wasn’t…”

“I know,” Price whispers, grunting, watching you as your mind breaks to try and think through this, “I know, Love.”

When he knows your stomach has settled, you feel him carefully grab your shoulders and lean you back against the opposite wall. It was like a ramshackle hug, but the feeling of his body pressing into yours made you fall limp. You were safe here. Protected. His fingers go to your weapon, taking it off of you and setting it on the ground as he knees at your side. Soon after goes the combat vest, John pulling at the velcro with confidence. Your body jerks as he peels it off. 

“Lift your arms for me, yeah?” Doing as he says, the article is set by your gun and pushed aside, “Attagirl, just like that.”

The man keeps a hand on your arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth. He was closer than he needed to be, but that was alright. 

Looking down, your thousand-yard stare locks to the blood staining your skin, getting stuck in the grooves and the beds of your nails. Would water even wash it off? You had wondered in silent panic. What if it never came off? John’s other hand gravitates to your cheek and the increased sound of your breath is accented by a sharp inhale.

Blinking to push back the nothingness of your gaze, tears dribble from your tear ducts as your eyes lock with his. 

John looked so sad. 

His expression was pained, lips downturned and eyes painfully narrowed on your form; his eyebrows were pressed in on his forehead, curing in the center and creating creases over his flesh. The beard – still filled with dirt and grime – moved as his lips did.

“Focus on me, alright?” You nod, shakily, and watch his optics flick from one part of your face to another, “That wasn’t your fault.” 

“John,” You whimper, the dam breaking every moment his fingers move and caress your skin. His grip travels to the back of your neck and brings your face to his shoulder, letting you sag into him on a dirty bathroom floor. 

“It’s okay,” He mutters into your hair, lips moving as your hands snap to dig into his vest. His hat was pressing into your scalp – grounding you in the present just as his heartbeat was. The muscle was strong in his chest, pounding, “It’s all gonna be alright, Kid. I need you to know it wasn’t your fault,” John sighs, trying to draw you closer, “You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” You sob, and repeat the sentence once more, like, if you did, whatever God out there would bring the boy back to life. Your lips pull back in pain, wails exiting. 

“I know,” John responded, voice so low your sounds of anguish almost covered it up. His grip tightens, and he lays a kiss on the top of your head. 

You knew, then, that John would give anything to take away your pain. But what he didn’t know was that you would replay his words in your mind to stave off the nightmares – use the image of his face to bring you stability when you woke up mid panic attack. 

It was the only time you didn’t hate crying, because John’s warmth had made it better. Had made it mean something. 

You both spend a long time on that bathroom floor.

When you had spent at least an hour collecting your thoughts in that frigid car, you finally checked your phone. 

Fifty-seven missed calls and thirty-five texts from Leon. Chuckling humorlessly and shaking your head in disbelief, you block him with a quick tap; it was over. You’re about to chuck the phone and go back to Base, but then you pause, eyes locking on a single text notification left on the screen.

Soap: If ya change your mind….’Bottom’s Up Bar’… ;)

He lists the address just below, and your eyes bore into it.

“Fuck it,” Your hoarse voice echoes out in the cool car air, “I need a drink anyways.”

—

Price sits on the bar stool in a black woolen trench coat and a dark beanie, nursing a glass of whisky in his hands that rests against the counter. 

“What’s with the long face, Captain,” Gaz sits at his side, the stools under them uncomfortable and threatening to give out from under them if one happens to take too deep a breath. Soap and Ghost are over playing pool, and the TV behind the counter was showing reruns of some hockey game that was absent of watchers. No one else was there beside them, “Whisky not up to par?” 

“It tastes like piss water,” John mutters but still brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, “But I’ve had worse, Sergeant. You?” 

Gaz smirks, “I’ve had worse…Just tell Soap that I’m never letting him pick the bar ever again. Man’s bloody taste buds must be burned off if he calls this quality.” 

John grunts, tilting his head to the side in an affirmative nod. 

The area lapses into silence, the sound of billiard balls connecting to a cue stick loud as the smell of tobacco and cheap beer perforated the air. There weren’t any civvies left in the old-style building, and outside the rainstorm pounded against the front windows deterring anyone from venturing outside. The group probably should have stayed on Base, but Johnny had been insistent to the point everyone just gave in to the Scot’s demands.

After all, what harm could one drink do? They were all tired.

“Do you think she’ll show?” Gaz asks as the TV erupts with cheers; someone had scored, apparently. The Captain was never one for hockey – Liverpool was his go-to for football teams, and that was about it. In fact, he had a game to catch up on later if he could get the hell out of here in a timely fashion.

Gaz’s question makes the man lightly startle, sliding his gaze to his Sergeant with a sharply raised brow. He brings the glass to his lips once more and takes a swig, missing out on the burn that was found in his own Whisky stash back at his flat in London. It’s not hard to tell who Gaz is talking about. 

“Unlikely,” John speaks through a sigh, going back to mindlessly watching the television as the bartender filters past to clean a table in the far corner. Soap cheers from the pool table, “Her…boyfriend’s making her dinner. Always does when she gets back.”

“Hm,” Gaz chuffs, “Lucky sod,” The Sergeant pauses, and John takes a deep breath at the mischievous tone the man beside him earns. It was too late at night for this bullshit, “I bet you wouldn’t mind having the girl in your home while you make her supper, eh, Cap?”

“Garrick,” Price says the last name slowly, fingers tightening over the cup on the table, “You want to be on sanitation duty for a month – two?”

“...Sir?” Letting out a nervous chuckle, Gaz sends a quick glance to Soap whose ears had quirked at the conversation a few feet away.

“Then I suggest you stop acting like a Muppet and mind your damn business. The girl is her own woman and deserves her privacy,” John sends a narrowed glance with a quirked eyebrow and a warning in his suddenly darker eyes, “Copy?”

“Copy, Sir…Apologies.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” John levels, twirling his glass in his large fingers before tossing back the last remnants inside. Swallowing, he stands and fixes the position of his beanie, feeling his bones creak with fatigue. 

To everyone at the bar, Price looked annoyed that you had been brought up, but those who knew him best could tell that much more was going on. The man had kept the side of his eye on the front door the entire time 141 had been at the bar, shoe tapping against the dark wood floors as hours passed. Even more telling, Gaz had noticed that John had only had one glass of Whisky tonight – even if it tasted horrible the Captain was bound to drink at least three when they all went out. 

It was tradition; everyone knew it. Captain Price of the 141 always had three glasses. Always. You would attest to that, considering that when you tagged along you made fun of him for it. 

“You always have three glasses – I’ve never, for the life of me, figured out why it's always three! Do you never think ‘Oh, gee golly, maybe I’ll bloody have another lad, be a merry good Muppet and pour me another, yeah?’’

Your horrendously exaggerated British accent led to a few snickers that night, and Gaz had seen his Captain’s full body laugh for the first time; watching John sputtering as he coughed down the drink he had been sipping from. 

“Love,” The man had stared at you with a deep smile, eyes crinkling, “Whatever just came out of your mouth, yeah? Never do that in my presence again. Accent’s shaken’ more than your hands when you have to stitch me up.” 

“My stitches aren’t that bad, Asshat! You just move too fucken’ much!”

John scratches his forehead in the present and brushes off his jacket. 

“Alright, Muppets…I think that’s it for the–” 

The bell at the front door jingles. 

Snapping his head over, Price freezes just as he sticks his hands in his jeans pockets, the grumbled words dying on his parted lips. 

A figure was standing at the entrance, soaked to the bone and shivering like a sphinx cat in a snowstorm; water dripped from her nose to the rug. John’s jaw slightly slackens, eyes wide and snapping back and forth. 

You were standing there, eyes gravitating from Soap and Ghost’s pool game – which had halted immediately at your sudden presence – until you blink a raindrop from your eyelashes and lock eyes with John. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Your voice sounds like gravel, Price notes, head slowly tilting to try and understand why His legs had to tense to stop him from rushing over, his training alerting him to the redness of your eyes. You had been crying, why? “Storm’s coming down pretty hard, huh?” Attempting a chuckle, it seems to fall flat.

“Holy shit, Love,” Gaz mutters, snatching a rag from behind the counter of the bar and ignoring the complaints from the worker. He rushes past John, who continues to stare at you and fight his own subconscious, “Did you walk here?”

The Sergeant blinks at you in concern, eyes filtering up and down your body as he stands close and holds aloft the fabric.

“Nah,” Price watched you snatch the towel, going to pat it on your face and neck – running it over your hair and gripping, “Was outside for a little bit, but I came in the car…Oh, speaking of that, Simon,” You turn to the large man who bores his eyes into your face, “The brakes are acting up again – you think you could fix it up back on Base in your free time?”

Ghost taps the cue stick against the ground, lips behind his balaclava shifting as he speaks, “You goin’ to make me fix it up every time you get back? What do I look like, Bird? A mechanic?”

A weak smirk flickers over your lips, but John notices a particular bleakness in your eyes. Soap, who thus far had been strangely quiet, looks at him with flat lips and a small shake of his mohawked head.

Enough is enough, Price decides with a stubble tilt of his forehead, I’ve given her the space she needs – she’s telling me everything. Tonight.

His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets just to cross them over his chest when you respond to Simon.

“I’ll clean your clothes for a month.” 

“...Two.”

“Deal,” Nodding, you smile at Gaz in thanks and splay the towel over the banister beside you to help it dry, “Thanks, Gaz.”

“What happened to dinner with the Stoter?” Soap finally speaks as you make your way farther into the building. You send him a quick glance as you walk closer to John at the booth. The Scot levels you with a heavy stare, feet shoulder-length apart and jaw clicking, “He do something?” 

A tense silence falls, and all the men send each other looks as you slink to the bar, jumping up on a stool and clearing your throat. You itch at the side of your bicep as you lick your lips in hesitation. 

Why were you not saying anything?

John buries his fingernails into the meat of his arms, taking your lack of answer like a knife to the chest. It was like a switch had flipped as he saw your expression drop for a millisecond, layers cracking like you were barely held together. The veins in the Captain’s arms were flooded with blood, and his hands showed white knuckles. 

There was a terrible reality settling behind his eyelids, and the man wasn’t in his job position because he was anything less than an observer. He was angry, that much was obvious by his tight jaw and dangerous eyes on the side of your face. 

But there was something more important than revenge, and she was sitting right in front of him.

Your clothes are still dripping with water, and without hesitating when he spies you shiver, John shakes off his jacket and spreads it softly over your shoulders. When you jerk back in surprise he feels a part of him break, but steadies you with a thin quirk of his lips and pulls the front of the woolen material farther over your form.

What’s that fucken’ prat done to her? He growls internally, Mark my words…

The Captain’s eyes carefully narrow, orbs sliding over your face. His thumb goes to swipe a tear of water from your hairline and breathes out a sigh when your eyelids flutter.

Looking at your Captain with vulnerable eyes, you answer Soap’s question with a muttered, defeated, tone. It was like you were talking to your superior and not the man at the pool table.

“We...uh, I, broke up with him,” A moment of silence. Two. 

John feels like he’s frozen in time, his body stiff, and his lungs shell-shocked. But in the farthest, most forced-down bits of his consciousness, he thinks there’s a part of him that’s…Christ, is he happy?

He nearly has to turn and leave to take a breather – gain his composure at his own disgusting thoughts – but your eyes hold him captive, unblinking despite the revelation.

You had…broken up with Leon. Your boyfriend.

John’s eyes slowly widen. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

—

“Well, It’s about damn time,” Soap interjects into the moment, gleeful, and you feel your eyes slip away from the cerulean blues of John’s widened sockets, in favor of the table-top, “Erm, no offense, of course, but that’s great news!”

“Shut up!” Gaz hisses, going over to slap at MacTavish’s arm, “Can’t you see she’s bloody gutted about it – idiot!” 

“Hey, now. That excuse for a man was in no way worthy of being with a beauty like her–”

“Johnny,” Ghost utters lowly, the only one able to see your quickly deteriorating state besides the Captain who tries to comfort you, “Shut your trap.”

“C’mon L.t, you had to have seen how he…” Soap stops, finally looking at you, and the chuckle that had been building in his throat dissolved. 

A hand settles on your shoulder, and you blink out of your trance, slowly turning your head to look out of the corner of your eye. John squeezes, and you find that his grip over his gifted jacket is warmer than anything you remember. But you don’t look at his face, instead, you tilt your head down and fold your arms on the counter, slotting your skull in the middle of them. 

John’s hand gravitates to your back and rubs small circles, and above you, he mutters, “Talk to me, Love.”

“He…” You interrupt, hands tightening into fists. Your eyes burned something fierce, but you can just blame the shaking of your body on the wet clothes, “I was going to surprise him. He didn’t know that I was back in town yet, anyways. But, uh, he’s been cheating on me, I guess…Found ‘em in bed.”

Price’s hand stutters over its coarse, but he clears his throat and continues as your stomach tightens, 

“Son of a fucken’ bastard,” Simon’s the first one to speak – which would have surprised you if you’d been paying attention, “That prick did what?” 

Gaz murmurs, “Shit..,” off to the side, but your hidden gaze doesn’t bother to move as Soap lets off a string of curses and insults on Leon’s name. 

The hand over your back is intoxicating, and you feel drunk as you focus on it. John’s fingers dig into his jacket, but just enough for you to feel his nails create a light stimulation through the layers. There was a sense to his actions, you know. He was trying to ground you; he wanted you to focus on his caress. 

You didn’t want to admit how well it was working.

But it was a good thing he did because you have a feeling if he wasn’t there you’d be replaying the events of tonight in your mind one after the other like a fucked up movie.

Leon really did that, You suck in a shaky breath that leaves John moving closer, and you hear muttered conversations from above you, All of those years…Did I really miss something as obvious as him cheating on me? 

It couldn’t be helped.

When you came back from deployments your mind let go of the hyper-focus that was ingrained into you – that Price had ingrained into you – and settled into a haze of sanctity. Home meant food, sleep, and a place of comfort. But when the fighting started you suppose a part of that focus came back to you, blocking out everything that didn’t matter. 

Missing pictures, clothes stuffed where they shouldn’t be, your hair products hidden. They were pointless in the grand scheme of things because you were at battle in your own house. It was small compared to your breaking relationship. 

Maybe that’s when I stopped loving him, You reason, and it’s the first time you admit you didn’t care about Leon in that way anymore, When the fighting started. Did I unconsciously know what he’d done?

You had been more irritable when you were back at the house, some fights even instigated by you.

“But how did I miss it…?” You can’t help but whisper, strained, into the woodgrain of the counter in your cocoon. 

“None of that,” John suddenly says, voice low, and his hand over you halts, “That’s a good way to mess your head up, that is, Love. Just stay here.” 

Shivering, you sniffle, lungs stuttering and with a hot face stained with embarrassment, you whimper out, “I’m such an idiot.” 

The stool beside you screeches as it’s pulled out. 

“You say that again I’m leaving you on desk rotation for a week,” John grunts, and from your hiding place your head shifts, one eye peeking out from over your arm. You find the man glaring at you so heatedly you pause as tears start to leak down your cheeks once more, “I mean it. None of that bullshit – you are not at fault – that,” He pauses, and you see his chest sputter as he tries to collect himself. Price’s eyes flash with rage before it’s gone in an instant, “That’s the bloody bastard’s cross to carry, Love. Understand me?”

You stare at him; at his boiling blue eyes as the sound of a hockey game plays in the background of this shitty bar. The warm lights overhead gather in them to flicker like stars when he blinks, creating constellations for you to memorize when his eyelids once more pull back.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” He levels, head with that black beanie tilting closer, “Copy?”

“Copy,” You croak out, blinking to clear the fuzziness of your eyes. Reaching one of your hands, you pull the jacket closer around your neck. It smells like John, and whether you notice it or not, the tension in your muscles leaks when you inhale smoke, pine trees, and gunpowder. 

Patting you on the back, the man stares into you, optics stuck on the image of your tear-stained cheeks and dripping hair. His trench coat was most likely going to be soaked, but he found he didn’t care. If it brought you comfort, the outrageous price he paid for it would be made back tenfold. Maybe he’d even let you keep it; didn’t matter if it was his favorite, he would give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. 

Not able to stop the words coming out of his mouth when you meet his gaze with fluttering eyelashes, John speaks once more as he feels the gazes of his teammates around him. But the words came easily.

“You didn’t deserve to come home to that. That boy doesn’t know what he’s just lost, alright?” When he sees your cheeks move in a small, barely-there smile, and the way your eyes lit with embers at his teasing tone, the Captain let a smirk of his own fall. But he still refused to speak Leon’s name aloud – his own anger was held on a thin string that was fraying by the moment. You? Getting cheated on? Who in their right mind would do that?! The Muppet didn’t deserve to have your perfect ears twitch at his name ever again, “At least tell me you ripped him a new pair, Love? If not, I’ll have to review your training exercises. Maybe add in a bracket for hand-to-hand.”

“...I might have sucker-punched him.”

John’s chuckle is velvet as it slips through your eardrums. 

“Attagirl, I’d have paid to see that, I wager. Everyone knows you throw a heavy hand,” Your giggle makes his heart soar; beat violently in his breast.

He’d give everything to hear you make that noise again. 

“Did it down him?” Your head slowly peaks up farther, perfect chin now visible. Your short-lived tears had stopped.

“Twirled like a dancer on a string.”

“Bloody brilliant, my girl. Bloody fucken’ brilliant.” Nodding, John smiles, beard pulling back to show pearl-white teeth, and claps your shoulder.

You love the way he makes you feel, like everything you do is well-thought-out and not just spur of the moment. Creasing your eyelids, you rub at your cheeks to try and wipe away the heat of them, knowing that wouldn’t work but still trying. John made your brain pump with dopamine, giddiness striking you in the chest like a bullet with a simple smile and his hand on your back. 

…Why was his hand still on your back? 

“This place got any good drinks?” You ask, trying not to look so entranced by the man in front of you. 

John’s grip slips away and you hate that you want to snatch at it; feel the calluses burn your skin and dig into sensitive flesh. Breaking up with Leon had given you an adrenaline spike, one that lasted so long you were still riding it – only just now was the raging of your heart beginning to still.

It was a bad thought, you told yourself, a horrible thought to have right now…but damn it if John didn’t look like the solution to all of your problems, that yearning urge to feel good.

Leon was gone.

“Hm,” Your Captain murmurs, and your trailing eyes snap from his tight athletic shirt to his face. John turns himself to the front, grunting and setting his elbows on the counter, he lifts one finger up into the air to the frowning bartender and sends you a glace, “Unfortunately, MacTavish picked a place before I could verify,” The bartender thumps over and the Captain confidently says, “One Old Fashioned for the lady, and a refill for me, yeah?”

The bartender's eyebrows furrow, “Old Fashioned? What the hell is that?”

John’s body stills, and his face blanks as if he’s been personally offended. Laughing, you move back from the counter, hopping off the stool and going to stand near your Captain. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you tilt your head when his full attention whips to you. 

His eyes glance at your hand before they settle; softening around the cold edges as the pupils widen. You nearly lose your breath at the sight…It made you want to snatch that hat off his head and make him chase you down for it; hold you to his chest and squeeze.

Stop it.

“I think I’m gonna head back to Base,” You say aloud, “Hang out in the Rec room and go to bed early. Maybe get a headstart on reports for tomorrow,” Looking back at the boys, you begin taking off Price’s trench coat, small hesitations in your nerves showing how much you wanted to keep it around you. But you needed to leave – clear your head without John’s scent making you hazy, “Don’t stay out too long, boys, I’m not coming to drag you back.” 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Simon utters, knocking a billiard ball and watching the ricochets. He sends you a guarded look, numb eyes running over you, “Drive safe. Weathers looken’ like it's letting up, but don’t trust it.”

“Right,” You nod. You know what he really means.

Gaz is watching you and sending quick glances to Soap with his dark eyes, and you see the Scot clenching his stick with a white-knuckled grip – blue eyes glaring at the table with a clenched jaw and tensing biceps. Like he was itching to lay someone on the ground and wale on them.

Your lips twitch. Soap had been by your side for four months; watching your back just as you had his. That creates a bond of brotherhood that can’t be overlooked. The stocky man was perhaps more upset about this ordeal than you were, now that you thought about it. The Task Force didn’t even know the extent of your fights with Leon – they’d kill him if they did. 

If you even mentioned your Grandma’s lamp, the boys would rip your Ex apart. 

“Suds,” Calling out, you fold John’s jacket over your arm. Soap whips his head to you, blinking back to focus.

“Yeah, Little Lady. You need something?”

“I need you to stop strangling the Cue Stick. You’re gonna break it before Simon can beat you, and that would just be embarrassing,” Soap stares at you, mouth slightly open, before he snaps to his iron grip and unclenches his hand. 

“R-right,” The Scot’s eyes crease, and he itches at his mohawk with his free hand. A pause, “Are you…alright?”

You hesitate, looking to the floor as your feet shuffle before your right yourself, “I will be.” 

Turning to John, you hold out your arm and feel heat on the tips of your ears when he’s already meeting your line of sight.

“Sorry about the water,” Trying not to let out a weak chuckle, you fail, “It looked pretty expensive just to be ruined by me. I’ll pay you for the dry cleaning bill.”

Price grunts, already shaking his head and lightly gripping you by the arm to push the jacket back to you. He stands up and you suck in a quick breath, nose nearly brushing his peck from how close you both were.

“You’ll need it,” Your eyebrows crease, not understanding, as he smirks at you, “What kind of Captain would I be if I let you drive back alone after all this?” John grumbles, shaking his head and pulling out his wallet, “I’m driven’ that’s an order.” 

He tosses a fifty on the table for the bill and nods to the boys over your head, an authoritative tone leaking out. You don’t move away from him, letting his body heat leave you shivering and taking in shallow breaths. Try as you might, your mouth denies to refuse him.

“Be back on Base by 0100 and up for drills at 0500. It’s your fault if you Muppets only get five hours of sleep,” John lays a hand behind your shoulder blades and you let him guide you to the door, “Soap – you’re due for debriefs at 0800 in my office. I expect you to be punctual.”

A quiet grunt carries over the space.

You slip on the jacket, clearly seeing that John wouldn’t let up on this. Maybe…maybe you wouldn’t mind the company of the large-bodied Captain. Already the pain of being cheated on was dull when he was around. But would you be able to focus if he was right by you like this? You doubted it.

Slapping Gaz on the shoulder as you pass him, he sends you a soft look and utters, “Get some sleep, Love, alright? It’ll all be better in the morning. I’ll make sure the boys are back at Base soon so you don’t have to worry about ‘em.”

“Thanks, Garrick. Means a lot. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“You bet.”

“Behave, Sergeant,” John makes it to the door, opening it for you and feeling the draft enter, “Ghost,” The manchester man tilts his covered head from where he stands bent over the pool table, “watch these two, yeah?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Hey–!” 

“What in the–!” 

Price lets the door slam shut and whispers past your smile-split face, watching through the window as Soap and Gaz level offended gazes out at the Captain through the racing raindrops on the glass. Simon stands a bit straighter and once again scores on Johnny. 

“They’re going to hold a grudge for weeks, John. Putting Ghost in charge of them when they’re on leave? Really? He’s never going to let the two live it down,” You say above the rain as you lead him to where your car is parked on the street, cheekiness littering your words.

“Let ‘em,” Price scoffs, and you feel his hands go to the jacket, puffing the collar up for you. Blinking away the rain, you smile shyly at the action, “not goin’ to change that they still have to get up tomorrow. After a twenty-mile run, I’m sure they’ll be too knackered to care, eh?”

“Hm,” You affirm, envisioning the future in your head with sadistic pleasure, and reach into your pocket. Tossing your keys into the air, John catches them effortlessly with a fast fist, only a small clink of the metal connecting heard.  

You feel his eyes on you as you walk down the street, steadying you with a hand on your back even if he knew you were capable of walking by yourself. Above all, John was a gentleman – whenever you were with him, he always walked near the road, kept a hand in the small of your back, and watched the street with roaming eyes.

This was the first time you’d felt his gaze completely set on you. Had he always done that? No, you knew, but recalled something from the back of your mind as you side-stepped a puddle, moving closer to John unconsciously. His hand’s weight becomes more prominent, angling you into his hold. 

After Madagascar was when he had started looking at you more often...you had thought it was because of the injury, but was it?

Shaking away the thought, you quickly make it to your car and leave Price’s steady side, hand resting on the handle. The familiar sound of the lock clicking open has you rushing inside to escape the pitter-patter of rain on your skull. Snapping the door shut, John in the driver’s seat does the same.

You both look at each other, and can’t help the chuckles at the disheveled looks you both share.

“Wind-swept hair would look dashing on you, Captain,” You tease, nose crinkling as you shake your head. The beanie on the man’s head was weighed down and John grimaces at the feeling, glaring up at it before peeling it off his head. 

His free hand goes to his hair, ruffling it to dispel some of the water. 

“Bloody rain,” He mutters, sparing you a look only to find you’re watching intently with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

A tension grows, and for the first time, you don’t push the feeling away. Your smirk slowly slips, going slack as you watch water drip from John’s nose. The world outside the car seems to blur, and nothing but the pair of you exist in this state of perpetual stillness. John’s eyes are such a shade of blue you have to wonder if you could ever look at the ocean again and not think of him, or even smell smoke on the street and not search him out. 

You shouldn’t be feeling like this about him, but how could you not?

“You’re staring, Love,” John mutters, and you blink, shocked, but the man makes no move to stop looking right back at you in turn. His beard shifts as his jaw moves, bristles accented by the light of the street lamps.

“Well, so are you,” Teasing, you send a nervous smile before shifting away to clip your seatbelt in place. 

His hand stops you halfway, covering your own with a large grip as his fingers glide over your skin leaving white-hot sparks. Freezing you watch as Price’s hand squeezes yours and helps you lock the seatbelt into the clip. The man’s hand stays there a moment longer as you, wide-eyed, feel your fingers twitch under his; memorizing the feel of them.

“Thank you, John,” You breathe, and your grip moves, turning to capture his own and curl his fingers into yours. He flinches, before loosening and he studies your face, cerulean blue jumping from one spot on your visage to another, “For everything.” 

The man’s body stills and he blinks down at you. His breath is shallow, rattling in his chest. Something was in his eyes you couldn’t name.

“...Anytime, Dear.”

Price’s hand falls from your hold and leaves to gravitate toward the keys in the ignition. He twists them, and immediately the shaking of the car tells you it’ll survive one more day. Settling farther into John’s jacket you nuzzle your head into the fabric, curling your arms around your middle and resting your eyes. You try to calm your raging heart as the car peels out into the road, breathing through the stuffy air that smells so much like the two of you.

The ride to Base is quiet, but not at all like the kind of silence that had suffocated you on the journey back to Leon’s home – this was a comforting silence. Once you might not have understood what that meant. After all, how could a lack of sound leave your eyelids heavy and a floating feeling in your head? 

When the parking garage gate opened, you had blinked awake. 

Did I fall asleep? Rubbing at your eyes, the crick in the back of your neck told you all you needed to know. Groaning, a small chuckle to your side leaves you turning to face John, who carefully drives down the ramp as you swallow down the dryness of your throat. 

“Sleep well?” He raises an eyebrow, observing out ahead of him.

You scoff in retaliation and don’t answer as John picks a free spot and parks.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Your ears twitch at his low tone and the rumble like a lullaby in his chest. Was he trying to put you back to sleep?

He gets out of the car and goes to your side as you continue to wake up, opening the door and unclipping your seatbelt. 

“Steady,” John whispers, taking your hand and helping you out as your yawn, “I’ll give your keys back tomorrow afternoon, eh? You’ll lose ‘em like last time if I hand ‘em over to ya’ now.”

“Will not,” You retaliate, stumbling over nothing and causing your face to heat when John smiles, eyes crinkling in a tease.

“Will…You’ll get them back tomorrow. That’s that,” Grumbling, you huff but stay by his side as you both go to the main entrance, sliding past the door and nodding to the guard posted for watch duty. 

“Captain, Ma’am,” The guard greets and a second later you’re both striding down the dimmed hallways with John sending you glances every so often.

“What is it, Captain?” Asking after it becomes too prominent to ignore, you send him a small smile, “I know I look like shit but I can’t be that bad to the point you have to ogle me.” 

John’s face snaps forward and he clears his throat, hands going to slide into his pockets. You pull his jacket closer, eyes turning to silk. 

He’s cute when he’s flustered.

“...Just makin’ sure you’re not going to pass out before you get back to your Barracks,” He blinks, and a blush hidden under his beard makes his ears turn red. You notice with a start that he had left his soggy hat in your car and that his messy hair made him look like he had gotten into a catfight. It was…an attractive look on him, to say the least, “...and you don’t look like shite, Sweetheart. You’re a beauty no matter what happens. Don’t say that about yourself.”

Your breath catches, and in that moment of struggling to breathe, you can only let out a tiny, “Oh, o-okay,” and try to walk straight as butterflies litter your stomach. 

Did…did he call me beautiful? John called me beautiful.

A true, giddy, smile flickers over your lips even as you try to force it down; and just as simple as that, any hurt that Leon had left behind disappears. Everything is replaced by John’s large frame, blue eyes, and grunted words.  

You get to your room and open the door, standing in the opening with dizzy thoughts. Turning around with a content expression, you’re forced to take a deep breath when your nose almost connects with a firm chest. Standing straighter, you snap your head up to find John towering above you, body heat melting into you and causing a reactionary shiver.

“John…?” You ask, head straining to stare at his down-turned face. Something lies hidden behind his eyes, flashing every so often as his gaze narrows. It was the same look as the one in the car, “What are you…?” His lips are thin, and something swirls in your gut when you see how his muscles tense. He’s holding something back.

If you moved any closer your breasts would brush against him, and under your water-heavy sweatshirt, your nipples harden at the idea.

Stop it, You warn yourself, but when he’s looking at you like that – bathed in the hallway light with wrecked hair and widened pupils – you can’t help the way your body reacts to his. Not anymore. 

Leon was gone.

“You mind if I come in, Darling?” Your Captain’s raspy voice sings to your heart, pulse skipping a beat, “Wouldn’t want you to be alone right now, understand me?” 

Taking a shallow breath, your hands at your sides start shaking, subtle actions making it all the more apparent of the growing fire. 

You should say no. Tell him it wasn’t appropriate. But…there was no hiding the attraction you had for Price, not when your boyfriend was out of the picture. You should be mourning the lost relationship of your high school sweetheart, not just hopping into another confusing situation with your fucking superior! 

Frowning, your shoulders hunch. If you said yes – which you really wanted to – that was the final signature on your self-respect and dignity. It would mean a whole stack of paperwork and many late nights. You could lose your job, get John kicked off the Task Force and demoted, the list was endless. 

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Price comments, and he smiles down at you as your eyes widen, tension leaking away as you focus on his words like law, “It’ll be alright. You can say no if you want. You know that. It won’t hurt me.”

But it would, wouldn’t it, because it would hurt you too.

It was more than what was on the surface – the tension in the car that had festered ever since Madagascar told you already what would happen if you let him in. This had been the result of a number of years of pinning building one day after another into a mountain of need and lust. But there had always been a barrier in the way. Leon.

But Leon was gone now; where did that leave you with this stone in your stomach and a want to be with a man you now knew wanted you back?

And John was still giving you an out if you wanted it. A layered warning that this wasn’t the smartest decision for either of you. 

“John,” You breathe, “I shouldn’t.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Neither should I.” 

So that was ultimately why you grabbed his shirt, dragged him into your room, and finally smashed your lips to his. 

John’s arms immediately wrap around your body and peel back his jacket from your form, kicking the door behind him closed so hard the wall rattles. You help, letting him grab the cuff and rip it off as your lips dance in needy kisses that leave your teeth clacking together and air falling from fast breaths. 

His tongue runs over your lip and you open your mouth readily, not caring about how the floor’s going to form a puddle from the soaked jacket or the other water-clogged clothes when they inevitably hit the floor as well. John’s kiss was so intoxicating that when you first felt his hands steady you around your waist you pulled back in surprise, a trail of saliva leaving the two of you connected before it broke. 

“John, we shouldn’t,” You say, breathless as air is sucked back into your red, shiny, lips. It was useless trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t what you wanted since you met him. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe you had been cheating this entire time. A traitorous, cheating, heart.

“No, we shouldn’t,” John growls out, accent far more prominent at that moment than ever before as his eyes darken; boring into your tissue to peel back the layers of your mind until all that remains is him. His lips were so red and shiny you wanted to bite them, “But I couldn’t bloody give a damn.” 

His face once more slammed into yours, and one hand travels to the back of your head, firm. But, if you wished for it, it would leave in a millisecond and you could pull away without a word. All of this could end in a second and John or yourself would never bring it up again; forgetting the unprofessionalism and the way your body reacted to the swipe of his tongue over yours. The sounds you two were making were enough to make you cum right there – the panting, wet kissing. It was improper, dirty, but, beyond all of that…utterly addicting. How high he made you feel needed to be studied, you reasoned, no one could be like this. 

Your hands snapped to his chest and you dig your nails into his shirt, dragging down and feeling his body jolt and squirm. John’s hand on your head tightened as you devoured each other, weaving into your hair as your fingers fall to latch onto his side, feeling the muscle tense and the man groan into your gasping mouth. His pelvis thrusts involuntarily, hitting your thigh.

The way he shutters against you leaves your legs rubbing firmly together as a pounding echoes in your navel. John drags you closer to him.

It seemed you made your decision, but you had a funny feeling you won’t regret it.

Heaving like a wounded animal, John peels back to twist you around, back connecting with the wall as his lips immediately hook onto your neck, saliva dripping down your pulse point in a long, slick, path. A wanton whimper leaves when you feel his beard scrape over your sensitive skin, leaving sparks in its wake that travel directly to your lower body. Using his right foot, the man shoves your legs apart, where you had them previously clenched together and pooling in hot, contained, desire.

“Don’t worry, Love,” He whispers, biting at your ear as your eyes flutter when he slides his thigh in between your splayed legs. You can’t help the loud moan you make when he snaps the thick portion of him up into your core and even through your pants you feel the instinctual, animalistic, urge to roll your pelvis. Fuck, you wanted to ride his thigh, come undone while he watched with those unwavering blues of his, “I’ll take care of you. Make you forget all about that poor bastard. Bloody prick doesn’t even know what he’s lost, but I nearly should thank him for it, yeah?”

“John,” You don’t know what you want, mind a hazy mess as one of your hands snaps to his head just like how he held yours and pulled at the strands tightly. Are you drunk? You feel drunk?

His hand on your thigh forces you to press down into his knee as he grunts in approval of your deteriorating state when you writhe with pleasure at the sensation.

“That idiot just gave me the best damn woman he ever could. Fucken’ fool, he is,” He’s muttering into your ear, head pressed into the wall, as your self-respect flies out the window at his next words, “I’ll fuck you better than he did, Love. C’mon, use me like I’ve wanted you to,” Your hips rut over the substitute for his dick with desperation to stimulate your needy clit, head rocking to the side in a heavy trace of puffing breaths. 

Already the room was heating up, beginning to lose the scent of cinnamon from your old candle and reeking of sweat and carnal urgency.

“Just like that,” John whispers, words slow as the sensation of his tongue licking a stripe over your skin makes you pant and keen. Small jolts of pleasure run from the hard bud hidden behind wet layers, “Steady…Keep your head still.”

He goes back to leaving hickeys on your neck, and through your haze, you know he’s not thinking about how you’ll have to try and hide them tomorrow. John wants people to see the love bites, how they bruise purple and blue all over your throat and under your ear. He lays one on the junction of your shoulder and neck, and your eyes roll at the caress of a hot tongue and immediate sharp teeth digging into flesh a moment later; shuttering.

You hope he leaves some beard burn behind.

That's when you rip his head away by gripping his hair like a vise and then slam it into yours, shoving your tongue so far down his throat you listen to his chest rattle with shock at the action. 

His knee jerks up, and you gasp with nerves that sizzle with lighting and a pool of slick in your core that leaks like a river before a strained plea is said into John’s maw, “Do that again.”

Your Captain doesn’t say anything, but his body shakes with need before doing what you ask. You could feel how hard he was through his pants as the weight digs into your stomach. The knowledge that you would get to feel him inside of you, stretching you open, served to confirm the fact that you would have to throw these panties away tomorrow. 

God, he felt huge, thick, and firm.

John begins to jump his knee up and down, jolting your body as he pulls back to watch with awe at your body’s reaction; setting his forehead against yours. Whining, your back arches, and your shoes brush against the ground every other motion. Every movement sends your nerves alight. It was almost too much – oversensitivity threatening to pull you under with every perfectly angled jumping of your Captain’s knee. 

You slick was staining his pants, completely soaking all layers. 

“Fuck, look at you work, Love,” John was entranced as you got off on him, “Can’t believe that Bastard was getting this when you came back. See how soaked you’ve made me? Shit. Bloody temptress, you are.”

“Need you,” Your lips gasp out, legs shaking violently, “F-fingers. Inside. A-anything! Been wanting you for so long, John.” It was difficult to speak and focus on the pleasure at the same time, but you think he got the point. 

Your pants were too tight, clothes grating to feel on your flesh. You want John’s hands on you. Now. 

“Hm, what’s that?” Price grunts, still watching you move your clothed cunt against him with added fever. 

Annoyance swirls.

“John,” Your mouth snarls, and his face shifts to look back up at you, noses squished together as you breathly sigh at another well-angled jump. Price’s chest rumbles with satisfaction, “Fuck me like how you stroke your cock to the thought of me.”

A moment of shocked silence at your vulgar language.

“Copy.” At once his knee is gone, and you’re squeaking as he grabs you by the waist and the world spins and dances around you. 

John tosses you over his shoulder and the tension in your lower abdomen that had been building turns from a boil to a simmer. You’re about to complain before fingers begin working your shoe laces, tossing the boots off as the man strides to the bed in the corner. 

He lays a heavy slap to your ass that makes you yelp out and hit his back in return. The sparks left behind make your legs clench and your stomach tighten; your hands tear into his back. John chuckles, smoothing over the spot before his grip travels, grabbing onto the waistband of your cargo’s. Ripping them down to your ankles, you moan at the sudden cool air on your cunt and shutter. Anticipation pools to produce a second pulse inside of you, getting louder and more ruthless by the second.

You were so horny it physically hurt to have his grip on you and not inside of you. 

John tosses you to the bed and watches your tits as you bounce on the mattress, looking up at him with black-consumed eyes and a euphoric expression. He wastes no time – the man shucks off his boots and grips his belt with a veiny hand, ripping it from his pants and tossing it to the side. You had the best view of the large tent in his pants, violently straining the fabric in a way your hand can’t stop itself from clenching into the bed sheets. 

“Touch yourself for me, Love, let me see you work that cunt of yours before I eat you out, yeah?” 

Licking your lips, you moan, “Yes, Sir.” 

“Ah, look at my good girl, listens so well to her Captain,” Your fingers aren’t as long or as thick as his are, so they can't do much as you slip them under your underwear and play with your weeping slit as you clench at the comment.

Your fourth and fifth fingers enter you, and your thumb presses into your stiff clit, moving in a tight circle as you stare into John’s eyes. Involuntarily, your lower body rocks in a steady motion as your eyes drink in the man and his heaving lungs... 

You want him naked. 

“Bloody Fucken’ hell,” Price throws off his shirt, and palms at his erection through his pants as his dog tags hit against his scarred and formed chest. 

The sharp ‘V’ of his lower abdomen immediately draws your eyes downwards over the impressive physique, a trail of small dark hairs going lower and lower just to be shielded by the rough material of his pants. John’s skin glistens with sweat, and you want to lick it off of him. If possible, you get even wetter.

You smirk, hips jerking as you send a heavier motion on your nerve bundle; head rolling to the side and mouth opening as you feel yourself tighten around your fingers. That knot was returning, forming as you curl your digits in your slick heat, making your eyelids flutter.  

When you open them again and force them to stay still, you find a heavenly sight beside you. Your eyes widen, and your slit tightens so violently your movements stutter and struggle like a noose had been tightened around your neck. The lungs inside of you gasp.

John’s pants and boxers were gone, leaving nothing on him besides his tags that clink and clatter as he jerks himself off at the sight of you. His sizable dick was red at the tip, lit with fire as precum dribbled out and splatted to the mattress right by your free hand – which clenches the sheets so hard you faintly hear a tear as your ears twitch. But your eyes don’t leave the magnificent sight in front of you watching like a hawk as John’s abdominal muscles tighten with every twisted motion of his hand. 

He was so violent with himself, the exact opposite of how you were playing with your own body. That wasn’t to say the image was anything but fuel to the fire, though.

You whimper and writhe, wrist burning and palm completely soaked with natural lube. 

“Ruining the show, Dear,” The tendon in Price’s neck flares, and a bead of sweat falls down his peck. Inside your sweatshirt, your breasts ache to be squeezed and abused.

Not processing his words for a moment, you pause your fast breaths to let out a high-pitched sound of confusion.

John doesn’t answer, because he moves his free hand and grips your panties, which stretch over your ministrations. He tears them down your thighs, and his touch is like a drug. 

“There we go, Princess. Now I can see that pretty cunt of yours.” Keening at the praise, your back lightly arches from the bed, watching John continue to work himself and matching his pace, imagining him inside of you instead of your fingers, “You like that, yeah? You like when I speak to you like that, dirty girl?”

You bite into your lip, knot so tight you want to grab a pair of scissors and cut it before it tears you up. Fuck, you were so close, the erotic sounds of the both of you fucking yourselves are so wet it increases the pleasure spiking your veins.

A wet hand snaps to your wrist stopping you just seconds away from a release. 

Gasping out in shocked desperation, your mouth releases a strangled plea of, “No, John, please.”

“Answer me when I speak to you,” You stare at your Captain’s bearded face as his hand keeps a heavy weight on your skin. He tears your fingers out of you and keeps them away from your core as you try and ferally move them back. John’s jaw is clenched – he holds you with the hand he was touching himself with not a second before, and you tense at the thought, “I asked you a question, Princess. I expect an answer if you want to cum.”

Tears of desperation form in your ducts. You were so close, but now the sensation was leaving again. 

“Yes!” You yell, voice high, “Yes, John I like it when you tell me how good I am! It gets me wet for you… m-my cunt fucking needs you in it, please! I need you to fucking ruin me, Captain! I want your dick stretching me open like–”

His lips silence your rant, shoving the back of your head into the pillow and moving his body to shadow above yours. The action leaves you moaning so loud at the sensation of his athletic body you forgot the walls were thin and that you were sounding like you were in a pornographic film. 

John smirks above you and replaces your fingers with his own, making your legs shake and twitch at the sensation of his callouses against your walls and his large digits burning as they enter you. He thrusts quickly, sopping wetness quickly making it easy, and the pleasure increases.

“Just had to say yes, Love,” His cock jumps and you feel it brush your lower abdomen, so painfully close but not quite. The man’s dog tags connect right above your face, swinging back and forth as he moves.

You gasp when his fingers curl, squelching echoes over the breathy chants of his name that you release. 

“Look at how fucken’ wet you are,” John praises you, and your walls flutter, as he watches his fingers move in and out of you, “Gotta’ get a taste of that, Love…Take off your top for me so I can see those pretty tits bounce.” 

Fuck you were on fire.

Your shaking limbs don't hesitate, hands snapping to throw the sweatshirt and your bra from you without a coherent thought in your brain. Completely bare before him, John’s expression darkens and swirls with lust. His fingers leave you and he moves down the mattress, leaving back on his knees and grabbing your thighs. Your chest heaves with adrenaline and bare need. This was better than any gunbattle – more thrilling than a training session, and far better than anything Leon had done to you. 

John was focused on you. Entirely. The man was forsaking his own painfully erect cock just to go down on you; to taste your wetness like it was nectar. 

Price hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, and your ankle digs into his back to bring him closer to your cunt. 

“Easy there, Princess. I’ll give you what you need,” His breath spreads over your slit, and your hips jerk before his hand splays over your navel, thumb just brushing your throbbing clit. You try to buck again, whining, “Steady.”

He stares at your face as his tongue goes down to kitten licks your pussy, beard bristles poking your skin and leaving the flesh lit like a glowing ember.

“John!” You moan, and one of your hands snaps to your breast, squeezing as John explores your body, groaning deeply as he collects your slick on his tongue. 

The man’s thumb goes to run circles around your nerve bundle, stimulating you as your body tries to move under his tight grip. But he has you under a tight rope, and the pleasure of it was nearly like being electrocuted over and over again. Your leg over his shoulder traps him there – eating you out like a man starved as his own hips begin to careen into the mattress. The pleasure of seeing you reduced to a blubbering mess that can only chant his name did primitive things to John’s mind. 

And the way you were playing with your breasts…? Fuck, he was addicted to you; the way your body was perfect enough to devour.

John moans into your cunt, the vibrations biting every corner as the tension begins to shatter inside of you when his fingers go to assist his tongue. Your back arches as the muscle and digits work in tandem, pace increasing as the Captain curls over that perfect, spongy, spot that leaves tears falling down the side of your face.

“Fuck, just like that!” You wail, fingers flickering over your hardened nipple, “J-John just like that!”

The words were slurred, coming off as drunk as his beard leaves skin red and scraped on the inside of your thighs. Your cunt tightens, walls closing in around John’s tireless lapping and fingering. His thumb on your clit moves faster, and he lets your hips careen into his face over and over again as his large nose bumps against that same spot. 

Tension builds and builds like an infection, and your free hand snaps to grip your Captain's hair, jerking his face farther into you and ruthlessly twisting the locks.

John whimpers into your slit, cock stuttering in its harsh rutting into the mattress, and your eyes erupt into stars, white light blowing up as your release makes time stand still. 

Gutturally moaning into the hot air, you pant as you come down just to feel a tongue cleaning up your thighs, slurping up cum, and playing around with your sensitive flesh. Fingers still pump inside of you, helping you ride out anything that’s left.

You can’t speak beyond small whimpers and gasps at the movement, but when you look down you’re met with John’s ruined face.

His entire beard was stained, dripping cum down onto your navel as he licks at your clit once. Your hips jerk and you cry in protest at the oversensitivity of the abused area, eyes fluttering.

“Just as I thought,” John’s voice is velvet, dripping just like his beard and nose do as he licks his lips with a demented sucking noise “Boody perfect, doll. Could eat that cunt for hours, just to see you squirm when I’m fucken’ you with my tongue. Better than Whisky.” 

You swallow as his hands caress your thighs, the grip traveling as his body slides up yours. His cock is heavy and leaking as it slides over your drenched slit. Thrusting up into it, the both of you gasp out. John lays drenched kisses all over your sweat-drowned body, leaving a trail of saliva and cum behind him as his own slots over you perfectly. 

“Speak to me,” He groans, and your fingers still in his locks lightly pull as he pushes your still hand over your breast away with his nose. His hot mouth latches onto your nipple and sucks before laying a deep bite around it. 

Writhing, he continues his expiration as a bead of sweat falls down your neck to pool at your bitten collarbone. John licks it up and continues like it’s nothing.

“F-feels good,” Is all you can say, not used to this type of treatment, “R-really good, Captain.”

“Yeah?” He sounds cheeky as his head pulls up to be above yours, hands pressing into the pillow beside your head, “Hm, think my Bird can take a cock? Want me opening that lovely cunt of yours up?”

Your heart pounds, hairs standing on end. The words were so vulgar, but you feel your arousal increase. 

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Y-yes, Captain.”

John lays a gentle kiss on your bruised lips, and you taste your own release as he sighs into your mouth; connecting your foreheads together when he pulls away. 

“I want your eyes on me the whole time, yeah?” He grunts, one hand going to grab at himself as he shivers above you. Chest bursting with anticipation, your free hand goes to intertwine its fingers with John’s beside your head – the other still gripping his hair, “I wanna see the way you lose yourself on me.”

You can’t answer before he’s filling you up.

Your eyes widen at the stretch, embers of pain bordering on the ledge of pleasure as the man pauses at your expression, going to play with your clit. On your face, your nose scrunches, hesitance floating in your orbs as you let out tight breaths even as his finger does wonders.

“S’alright,” John whispers to you, squeezing your hand and feeling the mewls your lips let out at the sensation of deep callouses, “I’ll be careful, Love. You can take me. Breathe.” Muttering paise as his cerulean blues bore into you, he resumes moving. 

How could you even fit him all inside of you? The tip already burned to take so far into your womb.

But you were plenty wet, the squelching sound resumed, and John tilted his head down to see the way he disappeared inside your cunt like magic. Your thighs have to move farther up his own to help, one locking around his waist as a ring of milky liquid forms over the joining.

The man’s eyes widen when he spies the bulge forming in your lower body, the indent popping out like a hole that’s been repacked with too much dirt. For the final last push, the man forces himself to look away and back up at you – he wants to see how you react. But at the last seconds, John’s eyes roll back into his head when he finally hits the base, a throaty groan mixing with your high-pitched moan as he bottoms out. Your chest flutters against his, and both of your hearts are going so fast they can be seen through your flesh.

You were so full, stretching around him so wide it was a miracle you hadn’t torn something. Both of your stay there for a moment, feeling your walls spasm around him and panting. Sweat falls from Price’s chin, splashing to your skin as your eyelids threaten to close at the stranger inhabiting your most sensitive area. It felt so good.

Your mind completely blanks, eyes glazing over with rapture at the feeling of John’s cock curving so far into you that you know he’ll push into your cervix when he moves. Every minute movement – even the deep breath John takes to steady himself – leaves you needing stimulation as the veins of his dick press into your soft walls.

“M-move, please,” Your numb lips flutter, and John’s eyes open from above you, jaw clenched and one orb more squinted than the other. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” He whispers, expression soft as your hand in his hair tightens to ground yourself. 

John begins slowly, letting you get used to him and the burning that he brings to your insides when he retracts and re-enters. His thrusts are measured, at first.

“Such a good girl,” He says above you, and your eyes refocus, body loosening as your form gradually adapts. But you were right, he’s hitting every corner of you as easily as he breathes. So thick it's like nothing you've ever felt. Your hips are canting up to meet his shallowly, but John does most of the work. He wants to. He wants to please you like Leon never could, to treat you right, “Taken’ me so well. See you grippin’ me, Dear…t-that’s it,'' Your pussy throbs, and you feel him move a little faster, “You’re gettn’ it down, eh? There’s that pretty little face of yours – all screwed up ‘cause of me. Hm, don’t go cock-drunk on me yet, Lovely.” 

“John,” Is what you chant as he begins to fuck you in earnest, pelvis slamming into you as you feel him brush your cervix, “Oh, John.”

“That’s it,” He pants and angles his thrusts up. The action makes you yowl, head tossing back as Price goes to bite into your neck again, dog tags cold against your skin, “There’s that sweet spot, yeah?”

He hits it every single time, marksmanship training telling him to keep attacking the most important part; tears blur your wide sight, back arching as his hand at your clit goes to hike your leg farther up his waist, the limb uselessly flying out behind his back. The deep press of his blunt nails into the flesh adds to the overstimulation, and you can’t keep up if you tried. Too pleasure drunk, you let him do what he wants, as long as you can feel his veiny cock hitting that spongy spot again. His dick thrusts into you with such devotion, ringing out pleasure like how one does to a rag.

“Fuck…” He muttered into your neck, “Won’t last long with you squeezing me like that. You’re so bloody tight.”

The snake was coiling in your gut, tail rattling as John throbs inside of your heat, moving over your skin like he was water over a rock. Loosening your hand from his hair, your nails go to dig into the fletch of his back, raking down his spine as he growls under you; sending a sharp thrust up that has you seeing sparks in your vision. It was building so quickly you couldn’t properly speak, only moan and wail and wine.

You were sure your nails were biting into his skin, leaving long red scratches behind as some sick form of proof. Maybe they were even drawing blood. A sadistic part of you wanted them too. 

“C-close,” Your gasp enters the thick air as your legs shake. John bites your earlobe, lifting his head from your skin to look at you from the side of his blown eyes. 

“W-where do you want it, Love?” He gasps, his beard scraping your skin until it’s raw. You hoped you had lotion in the bathroom for tomorrow, “C’mon gotta tell me before I lose myself.”

“Inside!” You yell, not even knowing what you’re saying anymore. If you did a part of you would have died from embarrassment. The man’s eyes snap fully to yours, widening; you feel his body shaking above you, hands clenching too tightly around your thigh and embrace as the flesh turns a different shade, “Please, Captain, fill me up. I wanna feel you dripping out of me for days! Please, I need your cum! Please, please…”

Price only sputters for a second before he begins to move like a man possessed. He pistons into you with heated movements and you gasp out in response, not sure how much more you could take but please don’t stop it feels so good. So, so, good when you move like that. Fill me with your seed.

“Made for me, you were,” John growls, ferally kissing you as you try to do the same back as he relentlessly pounds away, “I said it before, bloody fucken’ perfect. Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need. Make you so full of me you’ll be leaking all over the damned sheets.” 

The coil snaps and you clench around Price’s cock so hard he moans into your mouth as you do the same. 

“Fuck..!” His hips jerk one more time before he spills into you, hot spurts of his seed coating your walls and leaking out of the ring you two had made. 

Shaking, John lets you ride it out as he continues to shakily thrust into you, but it isn’t long before he has to stop and his dick softens inside of you. After a moment of violent deep breaths, he has to shift, exiting from your reddened and leaking hole. Shuttering at the feeling of his ridges once more leaving, the foreign emptiness finally settles into your bones, you feel his cum pooling from you to collect on the mattress; your lower skin feels wet to the touch as the liquid follows the lines of your body and sticks to every part available. 

Lungs desperate for air, your body heaves and shivers; your eyes stay locked onto the ceiling above you, where you wished the metal was the same shade of blue as John’s eyes. You didn’t even notice the man himself had gone into your bathroom to receive a damp rag to clean you up until the rough material was leaving you flinching away from it. 

“Careful now,” John speaks lowly, and you hear his dog tags below you as he swipes at your folds. Your eyelashes flutter, legs tensing, “Need to clean you up.” 

He lays a kiss on your knee and continues for a few minutes, muttering compliments and kind words that you miss as your ears ring; he cleans your combined fluids from your spent cunt delicately, completely different from how he was abusing it a short while ago.

John leaves, and when he returns a second time, he slips into the bed in front of you, taking the wrecked covers and arranging you carefully so you were covered by them.

A moment of hot pressing bodies passes, and your head is pressed into the man’s raging chest, drawn back to consciousness by his heart when he shifts, “...Didn’t hurt you, did I, Love?”

“Hm,” You groan, and moving your legs results in needles digging into the fine tissue, “No. But you’re going to be carrying me tomorrow.” 

Your Captain has the audacity to laugh, his hand going to rest on your ass, rubbing the skin as he draws you closer.

“Wanted to do that for a long time, Y’know,” He whispers, laying kisses to your hair, “Long time.”

“Me too,” You admit, sighing as your eyes flutter shut, “Since Madagascar, I think.” 

John lightly flinches, “Madagascar?” It’s a question, but he already knows the answer, “What about…”

He trails.

“Leon?” You ask and Price grunts, knocking his nose down into your scalp as he draws circles into your skin. He didn’t like you saying that man’s name, “I think I wanted to break up with him…finding him with someone else just gave me an easy out, I guess,” You think over the event. Had you been relieved slightly? Perhaps, but it was easier to tell now than earlier, “It was just…”

Stopping you hum, and turn your head to lay a kiss on a scar on John’s chest in your vicinity.

“Easier.” 

It’s not a question your Captain poses, it's a statement.

“Less complicated, yeah.” He breathes a sigh into your hair and fatigue leaves your lids falling quickly.

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” John mutters, “Copy?”

You don’t answer, because you’ve already fallen to sleep, body bruised and yet feeling far better than you had in years. John wanted to be with you, Leon was out of the picture – it was all turning up. But there was still that part of you that ached with betrayal, that bled when you poked at it with a finger; a wounded heart would do that. It bleeds for a bit.

Though, you knew John would be there with a bandage, to put pressure on the wound and catch the spills. Maybe that was selfish, but maybe you had a right to be for a little while. Your Captain certainly didn’t seem to mind. 

John fell asleep quickly after, content for possibly the first time in years. He gets to hold you in his arms and wake up with you right by his side, even if the paperwork was going to be atrocious.

There was no doubt people had heard them, but it wasn’t like the Captain cared. 

—

“Little Lady?” The knock wasn’t what woke you, John did. Looking up at him, he holds a finger to his lips and has a pleading look on his face. You raise a brow, about to go back to sleep before Soap’s voice makes you freeze, “I know you’re in there – you wouldn’t happn’ to have a clue where Price is, would you? Man missed the debriefing.” 

Your wide eyes stay locked with Johns, Maybe If I don’t answer he’ll go a–

“That’s it, I'm coming in!” 

“Wait!” 

But the door was already opening ��� John hadn’t locked it, too caught up in the stupor of finally getting you into his arms and wetting his dick. 

“...Steamn’ bloody Jesus!” Screaming and a quick rustling can be heard echoing out into the hallway, “...Well, well, well, Cap finally got the girl, did he? Bout’ time, I’d say! Tell me, now, how good was he in bed for an old man?” 

“Stop lookn’ at her, you Muppet! I’ll hang you by the fucke–” 

“How can’t I – her fucken’ tits are out and you’re about a bawhair away from her! Where else am I supposed to look, man?” 

“Out!” 

Soap rushes out, smiling wider than anything with gleaming eyes before stumbling and nearly careening into the wall as John Price rushes after, face red and snarling. The Captain had nothing more than a wrinkled, thin, standard white bed sheet around his tapered waist with dog tags fastened around his neck. 

John’s clenched hand connects with the door frame and the rageful man leans out down the hall and yells, “When I find you, MacTavish, It’s your fucken’ neck under a goddamned rope! You hear me, Sergeant?! Your fucken’ neck!”

Vibrating laughter can be heard from the figure already disappearing down the corner of the woman’s Barracks.

“Wait till the boys hear about this!”

The door closes so loudly behind John that the wide-eyed bystanders in the hallway miss the lock being clicked into place with savage fingers. But the loud, chest-tightening, feminine laughter that forms moments later is none the clearer.  

Well, secret’s out. 

[boothillssugarmomma]

Steel Here

(Boothill x Fem!Reader)

cw-: Body dysmorphia, slight talks of hating themself, other than that fluff fluff

🎀 authorsnote: Rn I'm feeling like my body isn't great so I used this fic to sort of get it out! And it actually felt great!

please don't steal my work!

Taglist🎀HSR Master List🎀Other Lists🎀

Boothill’s quietly sitting in his room that you begged him to have on The Astral Express. As his girlfriend you've been trying to get him to stay around more and he adores it.

But it also gives him more time to really think...and he doesn't know if he likes that part.

Ok...he hates it. He hates that fact that he has to see himself when he passes a mirror, he hates it when he feels his cool steel against his face, he hates how he can't feel your hugs...

Boothill stands and looks in the mirror, flexing his mechanical arms softly and glancing over his fake abs. He shakes his left metal leg and sighs.

He hears the small mechanical noise of his bedroom door and looks over to it. He smiles softly as he sees you.

“Hey sweet thang...” He shoots you a warm smirk, trying to cover up what he was doing as he quickly sits on his bed. You glance over at the mirror and back to him. Piecing it in your mind what exactly he was doing. “What do ya need hon...?”

You're silent as he asks. No response as you just blink. Your eyes communicate to him that you want him to tell you what you saw.

Your boyfriend sighs a little. Placing his head in his hands and closing his eyes.

“Don't gimme that look...” He breathes, obviously frustrated as he looks back up at you, “Fine...I'm startin' to wish I was me again...I don't want this body anymor'.”

"Oh honey..." You whisper softly as you sit next to him on the bed. You place a hand on his back but remember he won't even be able to feel it...

“See...now would ya look at that...?” Boothills voice drawls, he places a hand on your thigh and sighs as you shiver at the cold metal. “I...guess this is ma' life now..." He scoffs softly. "Can't even curse...it's all 'muddle fudger' this and 'fork that' and 'son of a nice lady'..."

"Boothill sweetheart..." You whisper as you lean against him. "Don't say that..."

Boothill hesitates on resting his temple against your head, he doesn’t need his body reminding him that part of his ridiculous body is only metal.

But he doesn’t know what else to do to comfort himself. He’s frustrated to the moon and back, frustrated at being in this body he doesn’t want.

“I don’t think you understand, darlin’” Boothill whispers. “I miss the me I once was. I just… don’t feel quite like myself anymore…”

"You're still...my Boothill..." You pull away gently and grasp his cheek.

The corner of his lips quirk upwards at your words, but the warm touch and caress of your hand on his cheek still doesn’t feel the same. He wishes of his could feel the same kind of texture he once thrived from and took for granted in his human skin...not just his face.

It’s almost...cold to him.

“You’re the only one who can remind me of the old me that’s still lyin’ somewhere underneath this piece’o’junk body.” He murmurs.

"It's not a piece'o'junk..." You imitate him with a smile. "Boothill... you're amazing just the way you are..."

There you go smiling. If there’s anything that’s capable of changing his mood for the better, it’s you.

Boothill gives you a chuckle. “Look who’s sweet talkin’ who now,” his voice is a bit more lighthearted than previously. “You’ve gotta stop bein’ like this darlin’. You’re gonna make me blush.”

You smile softly and kiss his cheek. "Honey...look at me..." You take his face in your hands. "I love you..."

Boothill smiles, feeling your lips press against his cheek. His hands find their way to your wrists, gently caressing them and wishing he could feel your skin. He knows it's definitely a lot warmer than the cold of his steel.

“You’re a real charmer, y’know that?” He says, his voice low and amused. “I don’t reckon I can look anywhere else when ya say things like that.”

"Now...how can we make you feel better?" You hum softly in his ear.

“You have no idea how bad I want that...” Boothill replies with a grin. He pulls your face closer to his and whispers into your ear. “But you’ve got to keep those sweet words of yours comin’.” Boothill’s voice is low and seductive. “I’m starvin’ here, darlin’.”

"Pamper Queen tonight aren't we?" You laugh, placing your hand on his chest.

“Only for my darlin’.” He teases, placing a hand over yours and gently rubbing his thumb against your skin. Boothill’s other hand caresses your cheek. “Let’s be frank; you’ve gotten me spoiled rotten, and I ain’t mad about it.”

Your face contorts into a look of pure thought. "Here...since you give me massages sometimes..." You get up and walk over to his closet.

Boothill’s curious as his gaze follow your movements, hands resting on the arm rest. He wonders if you’re looking for something specific.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, darlin’?” He asks, tilting his head to rest his cheek on his metal palm, fingers pressed against his chin.

"How about we polish your metal?" You pull out some wax and a waxing machine.

Boothill’s expression changes into something resembling a mix of disbelief and shock, then into amusement as he bursts into laughter. He had an expectation for what you were going to do, but this wasn’t it.

“Is that a euphemism for something I’m not gettin’?" He jokes, his laughter trailing into a playful smirk as he watches you closely.

"Well...I don't know the equivalent of a massage for cyborgs!" You whine playfully.

Boothill chuckles as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. “Oh, I’m certain a few people out there would call this ‘metal maintenance’ or something.”

He then rises to his feet. “And I wouldn’t mind havin’ ya give me a good ol’ metal maintenance, darlin’. But I hope you know I’m ticklish in some spots.”

"How are you ticklish..." You murmur and plug it into the wall.

Boothill chuckles again, crossing his arms as he gazes down at the metal machine in your hands. “I’m ticklish ‘round my neck and behind my knee, believe it or not. I ain’t kiddin’.”

He walks over to you and stands before you, a grin spreading on his face. “I’ve got a feelin’ you’re gonna use this as a weapon against me, aren’t ya?”

"Phantom tickles on the knee I guess..." You hum and fire it up. "And it's NOT a weapon..."

“Aww, shoot… and here I was, thinkin’ you’d give me a break.” He quips, shrugging his shoulder and letting out a small chuckle.

In truth, Boothill is a little excited for you to polish him. “How are you at polishin’ machines, darlin’? Cause it ain’t gonna be clean if you don’t know what you’re doin’...” He teases as he glances at the polishing machine, then back at you.

You hesitate and cough. "I'm...great?" You quickly get to work before he can question anything.

Boothill raises a brow as he eyes you with a small, amused smirk. He has a feeling you're definitely not good with these machines.

“I’m sure ya are.” He teases, a small, playful chuckle falling from his lips.

While Boothill initially stands still, he can’t help but feel a little ticklish as he can feel the machine polish the outer surface of his thigh. “Careful with that…”

You giggle softly as you keep polishing his metal body. You slide up to his neck and carefully polish it.

A soft, amused chuckle leaves Boothill as he can’t help it. Your gentle polish on his neck is a little ticklish, which causes him to tense up from the sensation. He’d definitely describe it as ticklishness. He rests a hand on the back of your head as you polish his neck, caressing the underside of his fingers against your skin.

“Oh, what a sight to see. I’ve got my pretty lady polishin’ me to perfection.” He teases.

"D-Don't distract me or I'll move!" You whine.

“Distract you?” Boothill murmurs, his lips tilting into a small smirk. “I’m just complimentin' you.”

He gently moves your chin with a finger, guiding it to meet his gaze as he gazes down at you. “And don’t move. I like the way your beautiful eyes look when you’re focused on me.” A tease disguised as a compliment.

You freeze as your heart pounds in your chest...which was not the best move because the polisher slides right off him and shoots at the wall.

A small gasp leaves Boothill when he watches the polisher slide off him. But then he bursts into a hearty chuckle, his hands resting on his waist. His eyes are closed while he laughs, and when he’s done, he glances at the wall where the polisher’s been launched into.

“That wall didn’t do nothin’ to deserve that, darlin’...“ He teases through stifled giggles.

"Y-Yeah well...you distracted me!" You whine before sitting in his lap.

Boothill pulls you onto his lap and rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms naturally wrapping around your waist. As you lean against him, he can see the machine embedded into the wall from the corner of his eye. He shakes his head and laughs again.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” He teases, nuzzling his face to the crook of your neck and trailing his lips against your skin.

"It's not like I did it on purpose..." You mutter into his hair.

Boothill lets out another chuckle, feeling the warmth of your breath against his head. “I know you didn’t.” He murmurs, letting out a low sigh that’s a mix of contentment and relief.

He gently presses his cheek to the top of your head, his fingers gently rubbing your waist. “I’m just teasin’ ya, darlin’. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. ‘Sides, look at the bright side.” He adds. “At least the machine didn’t land on my toes.”

"You don't even have toes!" You blink and roll your eyes.

Boothill’s expression turns into a grin as he laughs, pulling you closer to him. “See? Told ya you’re the feisty one.” He teases, tilting his head to kiss your temple. He places another kiss on the top of your head, savoring the feeling of your warmth against his.

“Maybe I don’t have toes.” He begins, placing another kiss on your cheek. “But this body’s got everything else ya need.”

"See that's my Boothill..." You smile warmly. "Don't think of yourself the way you were before...and if you do...let me know?" You whisper.

As he hears your words, a soft smile forms on Boothill's face. He places a hand on your cheek, gently stroking the side of your face as his other rests on your waist.

His eyes look deep into yours with affection, and a corner of his lips quirks upwards. “That's a mighty good offer ya’re givin’ me here, darlin’. But I’d rather you stop me from thinkin’ like that before I could.”

"Now that is a better plan..." You smile before leaning in to kiss him.

Boothill’s eyes flutter to a close as your lips press against his, a warm fluttering feeling erupting in his chest. The kiss is slow and tender, and he melts against your touch as he pulls you a little closer and into his embrace.

Once the kiss ends, Boothill opens his eyes and sighs, feeling calmer and a lot more pleasant than before.

“You’re way too good for this broken ol’ geezer.” He whispers affectionately.

"Boothill...honey... you're not even old!" You laugh softly and nuzzle against him.

Boothill lets out a low chuckle, his hand gently caressing your skin as he leans into your touch. "You sure about that, darlin'? I feel like a relic with all this metal on me."

He glances down at his metallic hand, flexing his fingers. Then, he looks back at you with a smile. “But as long as you’re tellin’ me otherwise, I guess I ain’t.”

"That's what I thought~" You press a kiss to his forehead.

A smirk spreads on Boothill’s face as he watches you kiss his forehead. He lifts a hand and gently caresses your face, his thumb rubbing your skin.

“Ain’t you a precious one?” He muses, his grin widening as he gazes at you. “I reckon I ain’t that old after all.” He adds, his teasing tone laced with an affectionate edge. “What gives you the right to be so adorable?”

"I'm your girlfriend, it's my job!" You smile warmly.

Once again, Boothill’s gaze falls into yours, and he feels a flutter in his chest at your words. He rests a hand on your waist, caressing your skin with the back of his cold metal fingers.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, a warm smile spreading on his face as he nods. His eyes lock with yours, and he lifts a hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“And I reckon you’re doin’ a real good job at it, darlin’...” He adds, his voice low, warm and affectionate.

"Y'know... I'm always going to be here..." You smile. "Hey, hey!" You start to giggle. "I'm 'steel' here..." You joke.

Boothill lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head as you throw in a joke. He takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours, lifting it to his lips and planting a kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re real clever,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile grows wider. In all honesty, he appreciates the effort you’re putting into cheering him up.

“Ain’t a doubt in me that you’d always be here for me, darlin’.”

You kiss him one more time. This time more passionate and love infused. As you pull away you smile. "I'll always...be here..."

The unexpected passion in your kiss catches Boothill off guard and leaves him breathless. As you pull away, he lets out a low gasp, his grip on your hand tightening just a little.

When you declare your promise, he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he lets the moment sink in. He feels a wave of warmth wash over him, and he whispers back.

“I’ll be here for you, too, darlin’...”

🎀End🎀

[dontexpectmuch]

Jude with a mechanical engineering student, and she's working on f1 and is a good friend of the drivers and jude gets jealous and hard launches at a race? She works for redbull and is friends with the real Madrid guys, ty, God bless

jude is aware of how much attention he gets, no matter where he goes or whom he talks to. so many people shy away from talking to him due to all the eyes that were on him, yet he tries to stay positive and look at the bright side of the picture. as a rising star, it can be hard to meet someone that would willingly hide their relationship from the world, though when he got to know you, he felt like his prayers have had finally been answered.

it was the miami grand prix he had been invited to, ferrari have shown their interest about his appearance multiple times and when his other friends finally had the time to come along, he immediately went to the race and enjoyed his time there.

it was also the place where he met the cute engineering student that was walking out of the rivals garage, cute cap with the official team shirt on, baggy pants and a book in hand. he sneaked away from the group and followed you to the water fountain in the middle of the two garages, desperately trying to look cool yet uninterested.

so when you two fall into a conversation [slight argument] about the team and who would win the race, jude knew that he had to keep in touch with you, exactly what he did.

now, two years later, the two of you have been in a private and secret relationship, something both of you enjoyed at the beginning. the relationship blossomed quietly, only his most trusted friends knew about it, same with you. having an intelligent partner who works for one of the best sports team ever is something that jude is incredibly proud [and turned on] of, it’s like a match made in heaven. no one could disturb your little bubble of happiness and peace, and you would like to keep it that way as long as you can.

but these days, jude really wants to post about his relationship, just to mark his territory. just to let all of those sneaky, weird, [and attractive, fuck] drivers know that their ‘friend’ slash engineer was off the market.

especially now, when all you talk about is the garage and the people you work with.

“well, and then i told max to-“

you immediately stop talking when you hear jude let out an annoyed sigh, eyes wide as you look at your boyfriend.

the atmosphere around you is quite comfortable, you’d say, or at least it is to you. it has been quite some since you were able to sit down and have a nice, home cooked meal together. normally your schedules clash during the week, and weekends were spent outside the house, exploring new places and trying new things.

and normally, jude would love to hear you talk about your week, about the new stuff you learned that he definitely did not understand, but the sparkle inside your eyes made it all worth it. he didn’t know why he is so annoyed about you talking about the person you literally work with, more likely work for, but just hearing the name drop from your lips makes him want to go and shoot a ball at all of their heads.

“uh, you okay, my love?” your concern for him makes jude melt, and he wishes that he could just ignore this negative feeling growing inside of him, yet he simply can’t.

he shrugs, corners if his lips turning slightly down, “don’t know, why don’t you ask your little friend max. that’s what you always do, right?”

he knew that this was the moment he royally fucked up, no turning back now.

when you frown and look at him with those confused eyes, jude gets even more worked up than he should.

as if you don’t know what he is talking about.

“i beg your pardon, jude?”

you called him ‘jude’, meaning you were also getting worked up about the situation, well, his behavior.

he scoffs again, getting up from the table to put his empty plate away.

it was delicious, he would say, but right now he just wants to be pissed about this whole situation [that he started].

you copy his movements, actually quite sad that your usual chat time after eating is interrupted by this petty argument.

“hey, ‘m talkin’ to you.” your confusion does not seem to go away, no matter how you try to look at the situation. jude simply takes your plate from your hands and places it inside the dishwasher, before he dries his hands to continue the conversation [discussion].

“all ‘m sayin’ is that you love to be seen with your little racer buddies instead of with me.” he moves out of the kitchen back to the dining table to pick up the other dishes and the drinks.

“what the fuck?” is all you can say about his statement as you take the drinks from his hands to put them into the fridge, “what do you mean i ‘love to be seen’ with them? i work with those people and actually get along with them, just like you do with your teammates.”

the tension [not the hot one] between you rises by the second and jude is once again walking around the apartment, “that’s not the same.”

“the fuck you mean it’s not the same? it literally is?”

a few minutes ago jude would have [maybe, probably not] admitted that he might have gone too far with what he had said to you, but now seeing you getting so offensive about something that bothers him, he no longer feels like he should back off. instead he wants to win this, he wants you to understand that he is right and that you being seen with others could be, no it is, disrespectful to your relationship.

“you are my girlfriend, why would you want to be seen with other guys?!” raising his voice was something he rarely did whenever you guys argued. he preferred to keep calm in order to avoid hurting you in any way. but right now, his voice was getting louder with each argument he made, heating up the whole conversation even more.

you genuinely did not understand why he would come up with this argument all of a sudden, it is not the first time that you are seen at max’ side at races or maybe even next to others. you had a healthy relationship with most drivers and pleasant conversations with them in between races and breaks. everyone knew that you are the intern who will soon work for the redbull racing team, and jude actually was the one to be the proudest of you. it is literally how and where you guys met.

“the reason why i am seen with them is because, one; i work with them. we have to talk a lot because of the development of the car and i still have to learn a lot from the other engineers. two, i get along with them, you know, like normal co workers do, because, fuck, why not? you know all of this.” you feel your throat straining with how much and how loud you are talking, but the rage inside of you somehow numbs the pain.

“so people thinking that you are dating one of them also comes with the job, yeah?”

jude now stands tall in front if you, nostrils flared and eyes wide. he isn’t mad at you entirely, he knows it, but more like at the situation and the people that dare to pair you with someone that is not him.

but you cannot know that he isn’t mad at you, because in your eyes it seems like he is blaming you for the stuff the media puts into the news. your heart beats faster than ever and this whole situation makes your head spin.

“i don’t control what the media says? like, it’s not in my hands? to them i am a single woman who is successfully working for a motorsport team, rumors are bound to happen?”

“well, there is always some truth behind rumors, right?”

something inside you snapped, “what about you, huh?!”

jude almost flinched when you suddenly raised your voice at him, a sight he has never seen before.

“you also get paired up with a new woman every fucking day, jude. do you see me complain about it? no! because i trust you.” right now, you really wished to cry. was it that hard to understand?

the comfortable atmosphere from a few minutes ago vanished entirely, coldness and a bitter feeling on your tongue seem to have replaced it. during the two years you and jude havr spent together, you never had such an argument to this extent.

“but i am never pictured next to those people! i never even talked to them ever in my life!”

suddenly still, your eyes widened, mouth dry as you speak up, “are you accusing me of cheating on you?”

silent.

jude looks at you with his mouth open, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

“no, never…” the stark contrast between your voices now compared to just a second ago is almost cinematic, as if you had practiced this scene multiple times already. silently looking at one another, eyes dancing around the others faces in order to understand what just had happened.

“do you also think that way when i talk to aurelien and eduardo?” your voice breaks as you speak up, a defeated feeling replaces the rage inside, “do you actually think like this of me?”

judes shoulders sack down as he listens to you speak, this is absolutely not something he ever thought of, nor would he ever dare to accuse you of such thing.

he wants to speak up, yet you quickly cut him off, “just for your information, to the media and the rest to the world, we both are single individuals who don’t even know each other. and all the guys on the grid know that i am a taken person, they would never do such thing.”

you scoff as you shake your head, turning around to go to the front door.

jude panics as he watches your fast steps, immediately following you, “what- uh, where are you going?”

you quickly put on your shoes and put your bag on your shoulders, not in the mood to continue any of this, “wanna go home.”

“but this is home-“

your head snaps to his direction, eyes cold, “apparently not. at least not now.”

jude closes his hand around your wirst, not wanting you to go away when the situation between you is so heated.

“let’s find a solution, babe, c’mon.” he begs, voice husky and desperate. he did not know that it would escalate like this, but now he regrets to even bring up this topic.

you sigh, all of this arguing took a toll on you and now you want to do nothing more but lay in your bed and not to think of anything anymore.

inhaling deeply, you look at jude, his big brown eyes never left yours anyway, and he truly does look like he wants to fix this, which you do too.

“listen,” you begin, taking one last deep breath, “you cannot accuse me of such thing and then expect me to do nothing about it-“

“i don’t want you to do anything, just, let’s stop arguing.”

scoffing, you tighten the grip on your bag, “you started all if this because apparently, you do not trust me, jude.”

“it’s babe-“

“it’s jude right now, don’t test me.” you threaten him, not in the mood for his little jokes.

shaking your head, an almost mocking laugh leaves your lips, “we decided to keep our relationship a secret. you, by the way, wanted to do it this way the most. i would have launched our relationship ages ago, because i trust you and i trust our bond. y’know, communicating and stuff.”

judes voice cracks slightly as he speaks up, deep sigh leaving his body as he tries to hold your hand, a sign that he is getting desperate, “i trust you, too, babe. ‘t’s just- i don’t know, like, rumors and shit and i don’t want you to have reporters on your neck at all times, y’know.”

you frown at his words, “but that does not explain why you literally sprung at me for mentioning max, or the others. when we first started dating, i already knew what would come along with being with you, and i would take it all, jude, everything.”

jude smiles at your words, now looking down at your hands, so you continue, “all those annoying rumors about me, people following me and what not, i genuinely will take it all, because i love you. not max, not lando nor charles or whomever you’re jealous of.”

“i ain’t jealous.” he rolls his eyes, slowly stepping closer to you.

“don’t lie to me, belli.” you smirk at him.

jude chuckles, his thumb dancing across your knuckles help you to be at ease.

“soo.”

“sooo?” you look at him confused, waiting for him to continue.

“do we just post a picture together? or like, do a sex tap-“

“shut it.” you pinch his waist, chuckling as he squirms away from your touch, “we will do a, hm, maybe a soft launch? yeah, something like that.”

jude groans, throwing his head back, “that takes way too long.”

“well,” you shrug, “ that’s what you get for literally yelling at me for doing my job.”

“and i’m sorry, love.” judes hand now caresses your cheek softly, head tilted down as his bog brown eyes apologetically look at yours, “next time, i will calmly ask you about something that bothers me, okay?”

“okay.” you smile at him, leaning into his touch.

“you have a race this weekend, no?”

“yeah, in belgium this time, why?”

“just because.”

-

“still trouble in paradise?” you hear landos [annoying] kind voice from behind you, making you draw your eyebrows together.

turning around, you tilt your head in question, “wait, how do you know?”

lando innocently smiles at you, shrugging his shoulders, “max and i are somewhat besties, y’know.”

“max.” you grumble, already planning on how to get your revenge from him.

“so? everything okay now?” lando questions again, this time in a slightly more serious manner than before.

“it’s always okay between us, just rocky at times.” you tell him, not stopping yourself from smiling when you think of your boyfriend.

lando nods his head at something behind you, “seems like goal-machine over there still wants to rip off my head, though.”

“goal-machine-?” you turn around and are immediately met with the sight of jude leaning against some tires in the garage.

he looks good, you must admit. sunglasses on too of his nose, oversized shirt with the first few buttons undone, night dress pants and matching shoes, a real snack.

a snack that should not be here, or well, a snack you did not know that would be here. so, you bid your goodbyes to lando and walk closer to jude, coming to halt a fee steps in front of him.

“eh, hi?” you greet him, confused but happy.

he smiles down at you, taking off his glasses to get a better look at you, “hey there, sexy lady.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms in front of your chest, “not now, i am working, y’know.”

“chatting it up with little lad over there is quite some work, huh?” jude points at lando with his head, who still, you don’t know why, is standing inside the redbull garage, subtly [nit really] glancing at your direction every now and then.

“lando just likes to annoy me, nothing more.” you explain, smiling as you watch jude stand up straight.

“well, let’s annoy him back.” he smirks down at you.

“how-“

jude cuts you off by placing his soft lips on top of yours as his muscular arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. at first you feel like resisting, but the more he deepened the kiss, the more you could not get enough of it. tilting your head to gain better control, you feel up his chest before you place your hands at the back of his next, enjoying this public display of affection more than ever. maybe because it is the first time you’ve ever done something like this in a place like the garage-

you immediately push jude away, eyes wide open, “jude! there are cameras everywhere!”

he just smiles down at you, that little tease, before taking your hand into his, “you wanted to go public anyway.”

“i wanted a soft launch, though! i always wanted to soft launch a relationship.” you whine, moving closer to out your forehead against his chest in defeat.

“you can still soft launch it, love.”

you shake your head, still against his chest while you feel his hand move up and down your back, “no, let me grieve in peace, please.”

“love you too, babe.”

“shut it, you ruined my dreams.”

“you’re welcome.”

———————————————————————

enjoy 🥰

[russellsppttemplates]

Lando being obsessed with poking your baby bump cause he just loves how matilda always kicks his hand when he does it🫠

Cw: reader's pregnant

"I had to spend the whole meeting standing up because she kept kicking if I sat down", you groaned as Lando poked your baby bump, fingers tapping the skin as Matilda kicked back.

"She's a very excited little lady, aren't you?", he spoke just above your belly button, kissing the skin as she kicked everytime he touched you somewhere, "but you have to behave for mummy, okay? She's doing such a great job at making sure you're growing well and she's keeping you safe. So no kicking, okay? At least no kicking unless daddy is near", he said as she kicked into his palm that settled near your hip.

.

"Enough of hogging my wife, please!", Lando said to his mother, who as soon as she walked into your living room proceeded to hug you and ask you all the questions.

"We're not hogging", Flo defended them, "we just want to know how our two favourite Norris are doing", she teased him, sitting next to you.

"Me and baby girl haven't even had our greeting today", Lando recalled. Because he had picked them up from the airport, he left you asleep on the bed, not touching the baby bump because he knew it would cause you to wake up, and right now, you should get all the rest you could get.

Landing his palm soflty by your belly button, the baby was quick to kick, wiggling around at the voices around her, "Oh, look at that!", Cisca cooed, noticing the movements since the strappy top your were was thin enough for them to see the movements, "Hi, Matilda, good morning, beautiful girl", Lando cooed.

.

Lando made sure that you were as comfortable as you could be in the garage so you could watch the race from there. The chair had padding everywhere you needed, a cup holder for your bottle of water and strategically placed so the fan would keep you cool but not cause you to get a sore throat or chills.

"LANDO!", one of the mechanics called, "we need you in the car in two minutes!". It was enough for him to approach you, letting you kiss his lips good luck along with him kissing your left ring finger, a little pre race tradition you started on the first race you watched on the paddock.

"And you, little one, one last kick and wiggle before daddy goes and wins this race for you and mummy, okay?", he said as he poked your baby bump, Matilda kicking back immediately, "daddy loves you so much, Tilly", he cooed, kissing the top of your head one last time.

"Is she having a dance party of her own again?", Adam asked you as he replaced your bottle of water with a new one, "thank you, and yes, yes, she is. She actually slows down a little when the cars start going on the track, but until then it's Matilda Norris' dancing and kicking party, isn't it, my love?", you poked your bump back.

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[oneofstarkskids]

a girl

peter parker x female!reader

setting: civil war, meeting for the first time

genre: a little angsty at the beginning but it's mostly fluff

you're lost in a trance as you use the blowtorch to reshape the dented metal on one of tony's suits. you insisted that he let you work in the lab because it had a way of taking your mind off of everything else.

and right now, you could really use a distraction. steve was god knows where and the whole team just seemed to be getting closer and closer to falling apart. your family was falling apart.

there was nothing you could do about it and it killed you. of course your dad's way of handling things was just to make demands and empty promises, so you had a hard time seeing a way back from all of this.

natasha tried to tell you that you were wrong. she consoled you and reminded you that tony and steve aren't as different as they think. she held you and told you that everything would be okay.

but how could you believe her when all the evidence showed otherwise?

peter wandered around aimlessly with his head up in the clouds, looking for tony. he popped his head into the doorway of the lab that you were in.

when he saw a person covered head to toe, wearing a mechanics apron, a face shield and gloves that were way too large for their hands, he automatically assumed it was tony. "mr. stark! hey, i was meaning to ask you-"

he was interrupted by you pulling up the face shield. you were exhausted and your hair was stuck to your forehead by the sheen of sweat covering your face. and yet you still managed to take peter's breath away.

"wow," he swallowed. "you're a-uh...a-" he choked on his words.

"a girl," you finished his sentence for him with a smirk.

he let out an awkward laugh that was partially a sigh, "sorry."

"what for?" you asked.

peter just stared at you with big doe eyes.

"i thought you were..." and just as he began to say his name, tony walked in from behind him looking for something specific.

he didn't even spare peter a glance as he spoke, "you better not be flirting with my daughter, parker."

peter's jaw almost dropped. daughter!? it made sense the more he watched the two of you, but it surely wasn't what he was expecting.

"no, sir. i would never. well, it's not that i wouldn't," he changed the subject before he could get himself in anymore trouble. "i was just going to ask where i should come in during the fight. like, should i have a cool catch phrase. maybe something like," he lowered his voice, "a spider bites to kill."

you rolled your eyes and tony looked peter up and down, thoroughly unamused.

"let's skip the catch phrases and instead you can go help rhodey with surveillance," tony clapped him on the back.

"okay. so we'll just say it's a work in progress?" peter asked hopefully.

tony shook his head, "don't push it."

peter slowly backed away, "i'm not hearing 'no'. is that a 'maybe'?"

you couldn't help but laugh at the interaction. the new kid was kind of adorable.

your dad quickly spun around to give you a disapproving look.

[robolvrr]

I love love looove the way you write!! I'm 22- and i wanted to ask about your Headcanons for a bi bumblebee.

He's always been proud of looking good, so maaaybe you could give him an opportunity to show off? A car show, or maybe a car wash could be fun.

hot motor oil ☆∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

hahaaa fffkxzkdk. bet! you speaking my language, anon.

bumblebee x gn! human headcanons.

warnings: suggestive/nsfw. exhibitionism, praise, voyeurism.

bumblebee when on earth at his prime is cocky, playful and a thrill-seeker.

while the inability to vocalize is a sore subject, he's never been insecure about his appearance. he's considered very attractive wherever he goes, cybertron and otherwise.

much to optimus's disapproval, he takes the time to find the newest speedsters to scan regularly throughout the decades.

while he's particular with what automobiles he claims, there's a clear taste for flashy, fast horsepower.

he adores weaving between traffic, secret drag races, because the racers and humans react. it's either anger, frustration, awe or jealousy. makes his chassis get all warm knowing that just being in his alt-modes gains attention without applying much effort.

the thing is though - he does. constant buffing. avoids mud like the plague and never gets insects stuck in his grills. his bumper never gets scuffed and he might have found a car wash or two with easy on the optic workers who gladly accept fat tips and rub between his panels and exterior with feather light touches.

they don't look too much through his tinted windshield or question the pink fluids collecting near the drain when he zips off.

when he meets you, he's almost shaking when he learns of your hobbies.

a mechanic? and you spend hours in your garage just.. fixing up cars?

his spark stutters one day relaxing in your detached shed, as you mumble under your breath with your ungloved fingers coated in oil with the popped hood of an '99 ferrari, tongue licking sweat off your top lip so slow he has to lock his tires not to accidently skid the concrete.

"mmm, there ya go. shiny and just as gorgeous. bet i could go on a real fast ride with you now, huh?"

"kkkrrtt! my chick do stuff that your chick wish she could — chhhtk — krrrz!"

"oh my god, bee, please — hey! do not leak in my garage baby."

he has never made his attraction for you quiet.

it's difficult to course through radio signals in regular conversation but you always look so charmed when he chirps out song lyrics you know, so chatting you up during repair sessions is frequent.

once his leash has been loosened some and you're teetering ripping back the veil of platonic and more, you let him know the other aspect of your interests.

he stares at the shiny poster in your hands, watching you animatedly explain just what a "muscle car show" was. his brow ridge raises. okaay, you got his attention.

while you didn't expect to win (which he rolled his optics to because really, this is him you're talking about), it'd be fun. it would only last a few hours. all he has to do is sit still and look pretty.

look still and look. pretty. his flaps flutter, proud. damn straight he's pretty.

when you roll him to the flat plain one saturday afternoon, his wheels look brand-new and his hood has signature, thick black accents.

even has that "new smell" to him, rubber flawless and paint with that glittering coat.

fancy little bastard managed to get some butterfly doors. you coo between his engine revving he's being such a little show-off.

what he didn't expect was the constant attention to be so distracting. it's warm and there's an internal message to start blasting his cooling fans because his temperature is starting to up a tick.

there's so, so many cars. yet he's fully in the center, which means at times he feels like he's being surrounded.

bumblebee takes a gander while he plays some old rock softly to cover the fizzle of his motor, eyeing the classics and more modern bodystyle frames.

almost beeps when you bend down to show a man his chrome mufflers. your hands run along his rims and he's starting to feel.. funny.

"damn. how'd you get such a sexy car?"

"ahh... magician never shares their tricks. wanna feel the inside?"

cue the radio shorting out, because suddenly his doors are unfolding and men and women alike start to crowd him, cooing and taking pictures.

the sensory overload from curious palms smoothing over his dash? you lean into him to adjust his mirror and cheekily grab the clutch. his engine roars.

"you know. i never thought i'd say i fuck a sports car but jesus, you've outdone yourself... oh, cmon, how much you selling for?"

"my bumblebee? girl, i ain't ever putting him up for sale. he's my sweet stallion."

his processor is humming. angles his frontal mirrors as you keep teasing him, even going as far to spank his bumper slightly before bragging about the genuine leather interiors and letting his admirers lounge inside, encouraging them to ask questions.

exhaust slips from pipes as he tries not to let the electricity cloak his frame suffocate when you press a silky smooch on his window. the kiss-mark looks like it's been left behind on foggy, shower glass.

is it a shocker you win? nope. easiest $5K of your life.

there's a final round where you get to drive him around a lap so motor-enthusiasts can gander a final time. he's almost thankful the announcements echo because you're leaned over the wheel, chest pressed up near the horn.

"you like that? you did so fucking good."

"tcccthtt -- whoa, baby you're killin' me! "

"aww, don't get shy. there's a warehouse four miles west from here. take us there. i wanna thank you."

his speedometer breaks when he drifts right out and down the highway, wind zipping back your hair as your laugh cackles out ajar windows.

pure nsfw.

the golden-black charger rumbles down the highway. it's minimal interference, though the turn signal never flashes and it's difficult to see any drivers or passengers inside.

pebbles pluck up and ding the exterior, which is such a shame, because it's such a pretty car!

however, that isn't on anyone's mind at the moment.

bumblebee tries not to hydroplane, because it'd be stupid dangerous and it's not even raining. but you're a tsunami, a distraction of disastrous proportions. your hand is shoved down your shorts and you trail down your tummy before the straps of your underwear twist.

it's a wildly salacious position. your right leg is hiked up on his - your - dash. your left hand rubs vigorously while the right squeezes his clutch and rubs the silver button positioned at its knob.

his engine snarls. his radio glitches and you can hear the rhythmic churn of metal buzzing and gurgles that suggests he's trying to speak.

"yeah? yeah? such a pretty speedster, bee. f-fuck. you're so hot. you're the best."

"breeep!"

"awww, haha -- nnf, did you just honk?!"

the opening to a dilapidated hanger lingers on the horizon. he bulldozed through gravel and rolls up his windows fully to avoid any flying in your face. your hair is messy and both of your feelings are floundering, the beat of your heart loud in your ears.

he can't erase any of this. those wet cries have his intake salivating with lubricant.

there's a wet spot on the driver's seat and he's almost mad that he can't lick it off.

transforming mid-kneel, you're gently shoved out and his servos snatch at you like a toddler with a toy. his bright, blue gaze edged needy when he's pawing off your clothes and manhandling you to get up on his lap.

his pedes scratch against the concrete for purchase. he's whipped. he's so fragging on edge. all the compliments, all the comments, all the touching - he's gonna overload.

let's just say you two aren't getting back to base for the night. especially not with that wry grin on your lips, before you rub down his body like melted rubber.

robolvrr 2024.

[lalunanymph]

who’s your (baby) daddy. [3] 

╰┈➤ After being dumped by your boyfriend of 3 years, you decide to switch things up and go on your own version of a “hot girl summer”—subsequently finding yourself with a surprise that would arrive in 9 months time. The catch? You have absolutely no idea which of the men you slept with is your baby’s daddy.

𖨆♡𖨆 nanami x reader, gojou x reader, toji x reader, sukuna x reader

# mechanic!toji, explicit smut, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of babies, girlies fighting, mentions of food, toji is a deadbeat dad wbk minors and ageless blogs dni

‗ ❍ masterlist  

You were never one to be this reckless.

All your life, you were raised by two strict parents who always taught you to look both ways before you crossed the roads, to always ask as many questions as you could and never take things at face value.

Growing up, you were defined as being ‘bossy’ by people around you, a term loosely thrown at any young girl who exhibited even a shred of backbone; the kind of treatment that a man would never get in this world. 

And so, this perspective was what shaped you to be the best at what you did—to give your all, but to always be cautious in what you were giving away in the first place. 

What your parents, school and life failed to teach you was to not believe in a handsome and charming man. For the day you met Fushiguro Toji was the day when that caution all went down the drain. Little did you know that a chance meeting with him would result in you fainting in the middle of an OBGYN’s room like one of those delicate princesses from cartoons you used to watch when you were younger, with that man being the first one to catch you before you jarred to the ground.

But, to get to the present, you had to first backtrack through the past. 

It was a few weeks after that party in the Getos residence when you were given an assignment to go to the countryside—of all places—to interview an anonymous worker who wanted to spill on the conditions of his factory.

Mia had once told you that a good story was like a sandcastle—you could build and build it as much as you wanted from a variety of leads, but once the relevant people caught wind, they would descend upon that little sand house of evidence you built to knock it back to the ground. But, there was another thing those secretive higher-ups failed to recognize; how journalists always waited for the tide to recede before striking. 

At that time, the case had been red-hot and you were the first one on the frontlines to catch it. 

You had driven all the way towards the outskirts of Tokyo, towards the sleepy town of Kamakura—a journey of almost 2 hours with the traffic—where the worker would be waiting for you in a nondescript cafe to tell you his side of the story. Back then, you had no idea if you were already pregnant or if it had not happened just yet; all you recalled was how swelteringly hot it was. 

The cafe offered a cool respite and you ducked under the awning, tightening your blazer around your shoulders. He was a short, flat-nosed man with a northern dialect who gestured too much that he almost knocked back your cup of coffee. Nonetheless, you did your job, hmming and ohhing when he divulged a new piece of mistreatment, only getting to the juicy parts half an hour into your conversation.

“And that's why the deal fell through.” You perked up and positioned your recorder closer to him, frowning. 

“Are you positive?”

“Yes,” he enthused, “It was because of that near lawsuit. All the big guys were talking about it near the watercooler,” he puffed out his chest, mimicking the deep drawl of Kaizen’s top executive. “‘Those damn assholes—they always ruin everything. Told ya we shouldn’t have made a deal with those trigger-happy vultures’.” 

“I see,” you furiously scribbled down his words verbatim. 

He was happy to spill more about the company’s numerous HR violations, and you had literally gasped when you heard they were denying work VISAs to their immigrant workers. It all made your blood boil. 

Towards the end of the interview, you bowed to him and he did the same, double and even triple checking that you would not mention his name in your piece. You made the solemn promise that you did not, and that he would be termed as an ‘anonymous whistleblower’. 

The sun was already setting when you decided to drive back to Tokyo, and you reasoned that it would not take you long. That was before you drove over a nail, and your back tire exploded, causing you to swerve and hit the side of the road, your yell of fear giving way to the unbearable stillness of disbelief.

No fucking way. 

You exhaled out a low groan and slammed your head to the steering wheel. Just fucking great. Here you were, stuck in the middle of god knows where on a stretch of road with nothing but a field of wildflowers as far as the eye could see. Miserably, you stared at the clock, watching the minutes slip by, stubbornly refusing to head out and check on your tire; maybe if you closed your eyes hard enough, you’d awake in your bed to find this all a horrible nightmare. 

Fingers twitching, your first instinct was to call Kento. 

But, reality set in and you remembered that he was no longer someone you could freely call. You no longer had the privilege to call him up whenever you wished, to hear his voice and how he sighed in defeat at your clumsiness but would always come to save you even if you never asked.

It wouldn’t hurt to call him just this once… wouldn’t it?

You had no idea which entity possessed you to reach for your phone. His number was always the first one on your contact list, where it rightfully belonged. But what if he blocked you? You shook those thoughts from your mind and focused on the dial tone.

Ring… ring… ring…

Your heart sank all the way to your stomach. Of course he would not pick up. It was a Friday evening and he was probably with another girl. Kento did not need you in his life any longer. 

“Hello?” 

Your voice caught at the back of your throat.

“Hello? Y/N?” 

It’s incredible how someone’s voice had the ability to bring back a wave of memories. You closed your eyes and did not reply.

“Y/N? Hey—you okay?” Nanami was not a man who was easily concerned, having been around enough volatile situations at work to hone his veneer of apathy. But, the worry in his voice was unmistakable. “Y/N? What’s wrong? Are you hurt—?” 

Suddenly, your common sense returned. You shouldn't have called him in the first place. Clicking the red button, you ended the call and sagged forward, clutching the phone in your hand and pressing it to your forehead. Idiot. You were such an idiot. Your cheeks were wet and you sniffed, wiping the back of your hand over your nose. 

A familiar chord from a well-loved song played from the radio. 

Living alone… I think of all the friends I've known… But when I dial the telephone… Nobody's home…

All by myself, you mouthed the song's lyrics, sinking back into your car seat. “Damn it,” you groaned and forced yourself to straighten, roughly pushing the button to cut the song off before you could faint from crying too much and dying of carbon monoxide poisoning. Silence descended upon you like a thick fog.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to spend the night here, you reasoned.

Skyscrapers and tall buildings were swapped out for thick trees and a lack of light pollution. Perhaps you could even see the stars tonight, something you had not done since you were a little girl. Perhaps—

A loud knock on your window jolted you from your reverie. 

It was the bulk of a man and judging from his frame, he was huge. 

You shrank back into your car seat, praying he did not see you. “I’m going to die, I’m going to die.” So this was how you were to meet your demise; murdered in the middle of a flower field. Did your insurance cover this? You really should have read the manual. In the throes of your thoughts, you hadn’t anticipated him moving to your window and tapping on it. 

A squeak fell from your mouth and you cracked the window open slightly. 

The face that greeted you took your breath away. Dark blue eyes that were closer to navy, inky black locks that fell across his forehead and a smirk on his scarred lips. Holy shit. 

“Car trouble, miss?” 

You meekly nodded and scanned down his impressive chest and abdomen. You wanted to tell yourself you were searching for a hint of a weapon, but that was a lie. God, how was his chest that defined under that tight black shirt? 

Swallowing, you cracked the window wider and meekly nodded. “I t-think I ran over a nail.”

“Let me take a look,” he offered and raised a thumb towards the front of the road. “I have a workshop nearby. I can fix it for ya. That good with ya?”  

You were surprised to find a tow truck in your rearview mirror and gazed at him with wide eyes. “H-how did you know—?” 

“I was driving past here and saw the flat tire,” he explained with that same infuriating smirk. “Thought I could try my luck and see who needed my help.”

Your answering laugh was hollow and you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out of the car. This close, he was taller—almost towering over you and you felt like a rag doll next to him. Though he seemed nice enough, your guard was still up. 

“Sure. That’d be great.” 

At your words, he nodded towards the tow truck. “Get in the front. I’ll hook ‘er right up.” His jeans were covered with grease stains and his hands had the hard look of labor on them. Perhaps he was telling the truth. By now, the sun was slowly making its grand exit, the shades of night soon drawing close. There was no way you could drive back home in this state, not when your chest felt tight and you were terrified of driving in the dark. 

You obediently followed and sat in the cracked passenger seat, fidgeting with your fingers. He got into the driver’s side and with his sheer size, his shoulder was almost brushing yours. He looked like one of those obnoxious gym bros but the way he carried himself was more subdued, a confidence that did not need to be compensated with flexing and Instagram likes. His vibe was unmatched and you found yourself easing around him. 

He drove the tow truck forward and you observed his roughened but deft hands hitch the hook underside and secured it in place. In a matter of efficient minutes, he had done the job and hopped back in, the truck jerking to life.

“Wear your seatbelt.” You scrambled to click the buckle and continued fidgeting with the straps of your purse.

“So, where’d you come from?” he asked amicably and you glanced at him, startled that he was making conversation. “Ya look spooked, so I’m guessing not from here, eh?”

“No,” you murmured, “I’m from Tokyo.”

“What’s a city girl like you doing here?” A lilting teasing tone that made you wonder if he was holding back laughter at your state. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you shyly laced your fingers together.

“I was here for a business interview. I work at a newspaper publishing company.”

You had no idea why you were divulging this to him. For all you knew, he could’ve been an axe murderer who picked up women using this modus operandi and he was planning to take you back to his lair before chopping you up into pieces. 

As if sensing you tense, he glanced at you. “The name’s Toji. Fushiguro Toji. What’s yours?”

“Y/N,” you said and did not give your last name. “Thanks for helping me, Fushiguro-san.”

“I ain’t doing this out of the goodness of my heart, doll,” he drawled and there was something in the wake of his mischievous smile. “I ain’t charity.”

Somehow, this prickly admission made you loosen and you found a smile on your face. “Honest. I like that.”

His laughter was low and almost smoky, which gave you the illusion that he was someone who smoked. The scenery flew past—rolling hills and miles of fields that sprawled out like a Van Gogh painting. Though you had never been much for the countryside, you could understand why city people regularly flocked to the safety of the greener pastures when the smog and fray got too much.

Ahead, a simple mechanic workshop attached to a double-storey home came into view. Toji carefully parked the tow truck and told you to wait inside. Those rippling muscular arms were put into good use when he physically pushed your car into the workshop, immediately getting to work. 

He toiled under your curious stare. For someone of his build and burly strength, he was surprisingly nimble with the tools, and in what seemed like a whir of screwing, pumping and a lot of grunting, your car was fixed. By now, it was purely dark and you could barely make out the fields outside his windows and shivered to think of what could hide inconspicuously in those stalks of waving, tall grass.

“Okay, I’ve fixed your tire.”

You nearly jumped from your skin, momentarily forgetting that he was here with you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Toji’s curiosity edged you to explain, not wanting him to get a wrong impression of why you had suddenly paled. 

“It’s—uh… dark.”

“That tends to happen when night comes.” He was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of worry in his tone. Something about him—whether his presence or his unassuming dark blue eyes—made you blurt out the truth. 

“I’m…” you twisted the keys in your fingers, stalling. “... do you know if there’s a motel nearby that I can bunk in for the night?”

He snorted. “You ‘fraid of driving in the night?” 

When you didn’t reply, he got his answer. “Shit. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark?” 

Wincing, you cleared your throat, adopting an air of sheepishness to ward off his judgement. “Yeah. I had a bad accident when I was younger; I tend to stay away from roads when there’s no sun.”

There was contemplation when he rapped his knuckles atop your car’s roof. 

“You said Tokyo, right?”

“Yeah.”

Toji kissed his teeth and stared out of his workshop’s window. “Hmm. I have a spare room. You could crash there.”

You didn’t dare believe it. The cautious part of you—the one that looked twice before crossing any road—was screaming at you to not take him up on his offer. But the other part—the one that could not even bear to look out the window when driving past a pitch black road, shuddered at the thought of making the arduous journey back into the city.

Images of thieves, ghosts, scarecrows and even aliens flashed in your mind. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he amended and you considered your options.

“You don’t mind?” 

“If by not minding ya mean I won’t charge ya, then no,” he said, a tinge of amusement in his tone. 

You couldn't’ help the grin that tugged at the corner of your lips. 

“Okay. I’ll stay out of your way—it’s just for tonight.” 

Toji nodded and swept one large hand in front of him, gesturing for you to follow. You did, staring at the broad muscles of his back and wondering how a guy in the countryside got this buff. But, it made sense; he was a mechanic and he seemed to work alone. 

He fumbled with his keys before unlocking the door, letting you step in first. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Like his workshop, his home was bare and sparsely furnished. Everything had a use and everything was in its place; it seemed ordinary enough. 

“This is… nice.”

“You think so?” 

“There’s no axe hanging on the wall so I guess I have to count myself lucky.” 

He laughed at your joke; a full-bodied, low sound that was pleasing to hear. Toji showed you to your room and even left you a spare towel and a set of old clothes that looked like it belonged to a woman—perhaps a girlfriend. 

“Hey, you sure this person doesn’t mind me using her stuff?” you poked your head past the door to quip at him. Toji was halfway boiling some water and he flickered his gaze to you, shrugging. 

“She’s not here.”

“Your girl?” you frowned, wondering if it was too late to refuse his offer despite how much the simple yet wide bed was beckoning you for rest.

“Ex,” he intoned from the kitchen. “Broken up months ago. She left some clothes here so might as well, eh?” 

Pursing your lips, you decided not to push him too much on this. Rather, you shut the door, locking it for good measure before starting to undress. The hot water was a soothing salve on your sore muscles and you sighed, dunking your head under the stream and letting it wash your tiredness away. 

You scrubbed your skin until it shone, washed your hair and even used some of his shampoo. Halfway through, the stream turned into a trickle and eventually, the water stopped altogether. Still with suds in your hair, you frowned and wrapped your towel around you. 

“Hey, Toji?” 

“Yeah?” 

He sounded far away and from the distance, you could hear the commentary of a sports event or another humming low in the background.

“Your shower isn't working.”

“Seriously? Fuck—this dump always had plumbing problem.” His grumbling grew closer and if he found you disconcerting in just a towel, he didn’t comment on it, averting his eyes politely. Toji bent down to check the pipe, mumbling under his breath and you tried not to get too puddles on his flooring. 

“Fuck!” 

A jet of water seemed to explode around the both of you, drenching you and completely soaking him, your shriek echoing across the tiles. Toji blindly reached for the piping and twisted it, the water stopping and leaving the both of you blinking.

“Shit, you’re all wet.”

Toji groaned, scarred lips twisted into a frown. Uncaring that a stranger was right in front of him, he peeled his shirt from his glistening abdomen, tossing it onto the floor. You fought hard not to ogle at his defined muscles, preferring to drop your stare and find the cracks of your toes more interesting than this fine specimen of a man. 

“Not exactly something a man wants to hear.”

“Not exactly something I envisioned telling a man in the first place.”

Your retort caught him off-guard and his gaze touched yours. Biting down on a smile, you had to stop yourself from laughing at how the strands of inky locks dripping down his chiselled features reminded you of a disgruntled dog. 

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not! Here—” you quickly passed him the smaller towel and he wiped the droplets from his face, his exacerbated annoyance making it hard not to burst out into peals of giggles. His annoyance was palpable and you reigned your reactions in, taking a step back to give him space, but it was a wrong move.

Your feet slipped on the slick floor and you squealed, heart dropping to your stomach as you lost your balance and jarred onto the floor. 

“Y/N!” 

Strong arms reached for you, holding you up and bringing you back to your feet. Your heart was hammering a mile a minute, your cheek pressed to his pecs as you steadied your breathing. 

“Shit.”

“Y-you okay?” you were surprised to find a waver in his tone when he eyed your quickly scrambling form. You cursed and hitched the towel higher around your bare breasts. 

“Y-yeah.” 

The towel had slipped up and exposed the split of your thighs where a searing pain was spreading across your hip. You cursed and rubbed the bump, cursing under your breath, face twisted in pain. 

“Shit—looks like it’s g’na bruise. Wait, I’ll get first aid.” 

Toji gingerly let you go and left the bathroom. You hobbled out, mindful of your steps and collapsed onto the bed, still massaging the tender spot, your teeth clenched as the waves of pain ebbed and flowed around you. 

He returned and found you on the bed, still alleviating the pain and burying your groans into the sheets. Gentle hands brushed yours aside and you jumped when you felt him prod the bruise.

“Ow!” 

“Sorry—needed to see how bad it was.”

You whimpered when he rubbed some ointment onto the welt, his touch now softer than before. He barely gave you time to flinch away when he peeled your towel back further, the dark triangle between your legs peeking through, your modesty all but ruined in front of this gorgeous stranger. 

His touch was soothing and instead of closing your eyes and enjoying it, you preferred to use humour as a tool of deflection to ward off the awkwardness that clung between the both of you like a film of grease. “Do you always bring women home to your shitty plumbing and give them near concussions?”

You winced when he placed a bandage over the injury; his snort of laughter both reeked of annoyance and amusement in one breath. 

“Nope. You’re the first.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Despite meeting him for a short moment, you could tell that he had rolled his eyes. Once he patched you up and left you to dress, you took the chance to make amends and sought him out. He was seated at the dining table, dressed once more and nursing a mug of tea. Without asking, he reached for a spare cup and poured you a drink, asking without words to join him. 

And you did, tentatively taking a seat opposite of him. 

Understanding the fact that this night had already started off on a weird footing, you decided to lean into it rather than resist. 

“So, Toji from Kamakura. What brings you here?”

He clicked his tongue, a sly grin in place. “Tryna unearth my deepest secrets already?”

You took a sip of the warm beverage, feeling its curls of comfort radiating deep in your chest. You had no idea why you were so adamant on telling yourself you were never one to be reckless when here you were, drinking from a stranger’s cup, staying under his roof and hoping to God he did not lace your tea with a roofie. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll recognize your name?” 

“Maybe you would.”

You couldn’t tell if he was serious and he let you ferment in your discomfort before breaking the tension with a snort. 

“I was from Tokyo, too. Came from a rich but terrible family. Ran away when I was 17 and never looked back. You?” 

Oh. You deflated a bit and shared with him a fleeting smile. 

“My parents were accountants but I never took that route. Loved words more than numbers.”

He hummed. “So, you combined them both?” 

“Well, you gotta appease your parents sometimes.”

“I get that.” You had a thought that no, he didn’t. Toji did not seem like a guy that played by anyone’s rules or games; he marched to the beat of his own damn drum as evident from the curling tattoos around his arm and the unusual scar across his lips. 

Without thinking, you reached out and brushed the tips of your fingers lightly on his skin, admiring the pattern and swirls. 

“I like the design. Was always thinking about getting a tattoo.”

“You should,” he said, voice gruff. But, he did not make a move to shift away from you. 

“May I see more of it?” Your request was timid, and from the pause that vibrated between the both of you like the echoes of a gong, you would think he was going to refuse. But, Toji was proving to surprise you at every turn and pushed the sleeve of his black crew neck sweater up, revealing more of the distinct whorls that seemed to bloom from his tanned and scarred skin. 

“Here.”

You traced one design lightly, unaware at how his breathing had turned ragged, not when you glanced up at him. 

Those dark blues drowned you in their depths and you felt like you could not breathe. 

“Toji—”

He leaned in, palm skimming your cheek. The air seemed to spark and burn like metal meeting metal and you found you wanted to discover if those flickers would catch aflame. 

“You know… I never do this, but…”

He did not finish his sentence, not when you bridged the gap and pressed your lips to his. He tasted of chamomile and nicotine, and when his tongue dipped into the crevices of your mouth, cajoling yours into a sultry dance, you found you liked the weight of his unsaid words between your teeth. 

Toji pulled back slightly, flickering his eyes back to your lips as if he could retrace them by memory alone. 

“Do you wanna—”

“Yeah,” you tried to hide how heavily you were breathing but it was no use. Every rise and fall of your chest throbbed with the growing attraction you could not hide. “Want it.”

“Y/N—”

Proving to yourself that you were more reckless than you discredited yourself with, you clambered onto his lap, thighs pressed on either side of his hips, the shirt he gave you riding up slightly to reveal the soft flesh of your stomach. 

Toji cupped your face in both of his palms, calloused thumbs brushing your cheekbones. He brought you forward, tipping you over to him and drinking from your lips once more, a desperate edge in his kisses this time. Your moans were swallowed by his infuriatingly soft kisses, that plush mouth like a flower blossoming under your lips, letting you shyly sampling the stain of nicotine on his tongue. 

How could a mere kiss leave you panting like you had run a marathon? Whatever spell Toji casted on you, it worked and you fixed him with a half-lidded gaze. “More—please.” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Putting those burly muscles to good use, Toji picked you up effortlessly, your bare thighs straddling his tapered waist as he took swift strides towards a room you haven't noticed—one hidden behind a wall. Keeping you still in his arms where you could feel every ripple of his defined muscles pressed against your body, you could not stop yourself from nibbling and sucking the salt off his neck, your moans clashing hotly on his sensitive skin.

A quick grunt, and your pajamas were ripped off your body, leaving you bare and spread for his eyes. Tonight, you threw away your preconceived worries about constantly being the cautious one and embraced the insanity. It seemed that Toji and you were on the same wavelength and he peeled off his tight black shirt off his frame, letting you ogle at just how ripped he was. 

It was obscene how good he looked above you, and it seemed like your legs parted automatically for him to settle between them. Those dark blue eyes were riddled with lust, a smirk growing on his scarred lips—the same lips that made their way down the column of your throat. There was no reason why you let out a lustful moan beyond the fact that every touch of his lips on your skin sent jolts of pleasure down your spine, going south to settle deeply in the centre of your body; your clit twitching when he tongued your nipples. 

There was no gentleness when he flipped you over to your hands and knees, your face pushed into the woolen blankets that smelled musky and almost soapy—exactly like how Toji smelled like. Imbued with the scent of him that seemed to saturate your every pore and the feel of his lips on your neck, the hot press of his calloused fingers mapping a straight line down your back like he was tracing the spine of a book. 

Like a well-loved story, you unfurled yourself for him, letting him pinch your nipples and teasingly run his cock through your soaked folds. Heavy breathing filled the space between the both of you, curling around like thick smoke, choking you back with the pressure of his cockhead slowly splitting you open. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.”

You scrambled to hold onto reality; it had been far too long since you felt a cock this good in you. “Toji—ngh!”

It was dawning on you how much of an enigma Toji truly was—he fucked you like you were nothing but a whore, ramming his hips against yours, palming your breasts and slapping the plush flesh. But there was a softness in how he placed hot, open mouth kisses down your neck that made your toes curl, how those same rough palms ran down your sides, the callouses rasping against your skin leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

With his larger build, it was easy for him to bear down on you, press your entire frame to his bed and manoeuvre you however he wanted. Those same coarse fingers touched your clit, rubbing tight circles on it, leaving pangs of pleasure that got you clenching down on his cock. Tips of his inky locks brushed your shoulder and you gasped when he bit down on your pulse point, that sudden sharp burst of pain getting you threateningly close to the edge.

The slick feeling of his precum staining your thighs and your juices barely gave his cock any friction and restraint from reaching all the way to the neck of your cervix. 

“God—Toji!” you cried and pressed one palm onto your lower stomach, eyes growing wide at how you could feel him there. “C-can feel you so deep.” 

“Yeah—I’m all the way here, beautiful?” he draped his larger palm on yours, grunting when your soft mewls touched the shell of his ear, the pleasure growing too much for both of you to hold back. Like a tidal wave, your orgasm was building, reaching massive heights and you were half afraid to come down. 

“Toji—!” 

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Go ahead and mess up my cock.” One strong arm wrapped around you and pressed you tight to his defined chest. “I’ll be here to catch you, baby.” 

“Condom!” you gasped and patted his hand to let you go. Rather than letting you out of his sight, Toji lifted you up, twisting you so that your tits were pressed to his chest and all you could do to not let your bum slam to the ground was to keep your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Where?” he grunted. Your head was growing lighter—Toji was literally dragging you up and down his cock as he walked, strong enough to keep fucking you without a break. 

“My room,” you squealed and he brought you to a different spot; you had never been this fast in your life to rummage through your purse and reach for a packet, ripping the silver square in haste and letting him pull out long enough to cover his lewdly shiny cock with the rubber. 

Taking over from where you both left off, Toji slammed you against the wall, his scarred mouth to your eye level and you tipped your head up, your legs helplessly shaking in the air. There was no doubt your arms would be sore tomorrow, your core all but bent in half to take his thick girth into your creamy depths. 

“Toji, Toji—”

“Cum for me, doll. Cum for me.” 

Who were you to deny him, especially when he snarled at you to give in and flood his cock. 

Your release broke with a vengeance and you screamed out his name, hips canting madly to milk his cock, feeling his seed dripping down your thighs. You were too tired to even complain when he sat you down on the bed and removed the condom, splatters of white droplets painting your lower belly. 

“Mhm—Toji...”

“Go to sleep,” he reassured, “I’ll get cleaned up and join you.”

But, you were out before he could even fulfill his promise and as he returned back into the guest room to find you completely out cold, he had to smile. Getting in next to you,Toji leaned over and clicked off the light switch, the room drenched in darkness and the soft whistles of your snores. 

“Goodnight, Y/N from Tokyo,” he whispered as he pulled up the quilt to your chin, hiding your naked body from his sight to give you some semblance of decency. He was unsure of how you would react the next morning when you woke up… or god forbid when you found out the truth about him. 

But, Toji did not let those thoughts ruin the glow of his post-orgasm bliss. 

If there was one thing Toji was certain about, it would be this—there truly was not another woman like you for miles around him in this sleepy down. 

Sunlight tickled your eyes and you pried open your lids, finding yourself pressed close to another warm body.

The memories of last night came back with stunning clarity and your cheeks were warmer than a sun-drenched rock, disbelief in yourself for how you had given yourself completely to this stranger. A handsome stranger, but regardless, he was still someone you didn't know very well.

“Morning.” Crap—the hot stranger was awake. 

You did not respond, scrunching your eyes close tightly in hopes he would believe you were still asleep and did not force you to go through with this awkwardness.

“Your snores stopped—I know you’re awake, Y/N.” 

Deciding that you could not delay the inevitable, you pried your eyes open to fix him with a sheepish smile. “Morning,” you croaked, stale breath making you wince. But Toji did not pay any mind to these natural occurrences and offered you a small smile. 

“Gonna take a shower.”

You hummed, peeling your sticky, naked body out of his embrace. “Don’t bump your head.”

“Ha—fucking—ha.” You watched the ripped curve of his back leave the bed and forced your eyes to tear away from literally ogling at him and risking being called a pervert this early in the morning. 

You laid in the wide bed, stretching your arms overhead and enjoying the thrill of birds outside the window. Something about the country seemed charming enough and you briefly allowed yourself to muse how your life would be if you were to leave the city and start a new life away from the fog, the noise pollution, the memory of Kento on every street you walked on—

The loud ring of the doorbell jolted you from your musings, wondering if you would go get it. You reasoned that this was Toji’s home and he should be the one to answer it, but the rapid stream of water that echoed from the bathroom reminded you that he was currently occupied. 

Another grating ring and you stifled a groan, standing up on shaky legs and picking up your pyjama top from last night. Toji’s old shirt was large enough to fall to your thighs, giving you at least a semblance of decency. You staggered to the door, unlatching it only to come face to face with a pair of brown eyes that widened at the sight of you.

The woman at the other end blinked once, twice, and then raked her gaze up and down your barely dressed form, a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. 

“Who are you—?” 

“You slut!” she screamed and pushed past you, wild dark hair mimicking the storm in her almost black gaze. “Where is he? Is he here?”

“Whoa—“ you stumbled back, surprised at her rage, “Who are you?”

Nothing you did could prepare you for her next words. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“W-what?” Through this sudden flash of realisation, you failed to notice the little boy clinging to her leg. 

“He was supposed to be watching his son today.”

Her words didn’t seem to make sense. A son? But the longer you looked at him, you couldn’t deny it. There he was, standing wide-eyed, a full carbon copy of the man you slept with last night. Your stomach sank like you had swallowed a stone. 

Bracing all her anger into her raised voice, she bellowed, “Toji!” 

At this altercation, the dark-haired man came staggering out of the bathroom in nothing but his towel, flabbergasted at the sight of her. 

“Shit—Mira.”

“You gonna explain this to me?” Jabbing her finger in your direction, you couldn’t help but feel as though she was disgustingly pointing out at a bug she had accidentally squashed under her old sneakers. 

Toji flitted his gaze from your shocked expression to her fuming one and furrowed his brow. “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“Who is she?!” 

“Just some rando—ow—hey!” Mira had raised her hand to slap him, and you gasped, hand flying to your mouth at her audacity. 

“You’re such an asshole, Fushiguro. You didn’t send me any money last month—”

Toji rubbed his cheek and growled at her. “I told’ya! I was running low—”

“So you’re resorting to fucking your customers, now?” Hurting worse than her blinding slap was her sudden accusation that all but threw your dignity under the bus.

Right. Of course. You were just his customer; last night didn't mean anything, definitely not to Toji. 

Despite the fact that none of this was making any sense, you swallowed the bile you wanted to hurl at her. If this was his girlfriend, why was she speaking as though she was a spurned wife? 

But, you decided you had intruded enough. Not only were they bickering in broad daylight with raised voices, but they were doing it in front of their son who could only glance back and forth at his mama and papa with wide, hurt-filled blue eyes. 

Stepping back into the room, it seemed that they both did not notice you until you stood before them with your purse in hand. Fishing inside your wallet, you produced a substantial amount of money and passed it to Toji. 

“Here—the money you need.” 

As if he were stepping out from a nightmare, the burly man blinked and gingerly took the cash. “Y/N—wait.”

You paused, waiting for him to struggle with his words. Mira was nowhere to be seen, the world growing smaller to encompass your cold fury and this stammering man before you. 

“I can explain. Mira is not my wife, she’s just my ex who’s taking care of Megumi. My real wife died a long time ago.”

You sighed, rubbing your aching temple. “Toji, I don’t—argh!” 

Something cold and faintly smelling of cream collided with your cheek and you touched your face, pulling your hand back to find it covered with whipped cream. You were confronted by the sight of Mira—her chest heaving, face red and holding that incriminatory can in one hand, a mad gleam in her eye. 

“You crazy bitch!” you yelled, swiping off a glob of cream that threatened to glop into your eye, fixing her with an incredulous stare. 

“Get out!” 

“Mira—” Toji was about to stop her when he got pied in the face with another spray, this one landing right in his mouth and making him choke on his next words. 

“I was gonna!” The anger and indignancy rose in you and you have never felt this humiliated in your life; cream in your hair, cheeks burning and your pride smashed into a million pieces. 

This is what you get for fucking random men, Y/N. 

“Mira—stop. Y/N—”

You stepped back, raising your hand, about to smack the can out of her grasp when she jettisoned you with another stream of cold cream. Having had enough, you wrenched the can out of her hands and gave her a taste of her own medicine—literally and figuratively. She sputtered out a mouthful of that sweet cream and launched into a mad tirade, about to lunge at you before Toji ransomed her into his unyielding arms.

“Guh—bitch!” 

“My hair!” you screeched. “You ruined my hair you fucking batshit insane bitch!” 

Wiping the last glob of cream and shaking off the flecks onto the floor, you threw her a glare so unnerving that even Toji flinched. 

In a voice colder than Arctic ice, you turned your anger to the tall, deceptive man who winced at the sight of more cream dripping down onto the large shirt he had borrowed you. 

“Goodbye, Toji.” 

Despite how badly you wanted to walk out with your dignity intact, it was undeniable that a half-naked woman covered with cream was about as dignified as a drunk person who shat their pants in a club. 

You scuttled past the small, wide-eyed boy in nothing but his father’s shirt, whipped cream dripping down your chin and your burning cheeks. 

“Papa, why is she not wearing any clothes?” That innocent question was the last straw and you quickly closed the door behind you, trying and failing to bite down on your groan of shame.

The last thing you heard as you hightailed it to your car was Mira’s condescending, 

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with your disgusting ass, Toji.”

You came back to the present, rousing to consciousness on the hard examination bed to find three men staring at you in blatant concern.

One of them—the one who had seen you butt naked and covered with whipped cream (but not in a sexual way), was gazing down with barely concealed disbelief.

Toji was the one who first broke the silence. “Y/N?” 

Sukuna was less delicate, getting to the bone of things. “Why didn't you tell us you were pregnant?” 

But, you couldn't speak up, vocal cords ransomed by fear. 

“So, you don’t know which one is the father?” Gojo. His piercing cerulean eyes were filled with an unnamed emotion. 

In the end, it was Shoko who broke the tension by muttering, “I can take some samples from each of you and run it with Y/N’s amniotic fluid.” 

Before you could speak, or even give a rousing reasoning as to why this was important not just for you, but for the baby, Sukuna scoffed and stepped back, his arms crossed. 

“Count me out.”

You swallowed down on your mortification and turned your wide gaze to the tattooed man who looked like he would rather be suffering in the pits of hell than stay for one more second in this crowded, overstuffed room full of potential fathers.

“Sukuna—”

“Yeah, me, too. I already have a kid. I ain’t gonna pay for this one, too.” 

It hurt that they were not willing to even take an hour out of their day to help you find out the truth; that they would discard you just like that—like you didn’t even mean much to them in the first place.

To your surprise, it was Gojo who was trying to convince the dark-haired man to stay. “Toji—”

Finding your voice, you glared at the two men who were the personification of a dog with its tail between its legs. One quick blow and you’re positive the both of them would’ve folded like they were a house of cards. 

“This isn’t about us anymore, okay!” 

You softened your tone, imploring them to understand. “At least just take the test. Please. We have to think about the baby—regardless of who it belongs to and until the test is ready, don’t you want to at least know the child?” 

None of them spoke, too stunned by your outburst. Toji cleared his throat and shook his head, about to retort when Ieiri supplied softly: “It’s a girl.”

There was a collective sharp inhale from each man. 

This time, it was Sukuna who exhaled. “A girl? Damn.” The rosy-haired man’s musing fell on deaf ears for the others, but not on yours. You heard him crystal clear. “I’ve always wanted a girl…” 

“A baby girl, eh? Guess we have to show a good role model.” Satoru winked at you and this tiny show of acceptance warmed your heart that had long gone cold from the previously hostile interaction. 

However, the atmosphere in the room came crashing down again when Toji scoffed. “You both can do that. I’m out.”

There was nothing you could say to convince him. This time, you let the tall, dark-haired man go; thinking it was useless to hinder someone who didn’t even want to be there in the first place. 

You had thought that Sukuna would stay to at least provide his sample, but he sighed and turned towards the door, following Toji's heels. 

“If you would please excuse me.” 

It was just you and Gojo left in the OB GYN room. 

You turned your dulled gaze to him, gently pressing your palm to your stomach where your baby girl was currently growing. With a jaded sigh, you asked him, “Don’t you want to leave, too?” 

Proving that he was a bag full of surprises, the white-haired CEO snorted. “Nah. That baby girl may be mine and I wanna be there for her.” Twinkling cerulean eyes filled you with hope for the first time during this long day. “Besides, you said it yourself—this is not about us. It’s about her.” 

His words melted your heart and you were grateful that even if no one would be there for you, at least Gojo would. 

“Thank you… Satoru.”

— reblogs and feedback are very much loved <3

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost, or claim as your own

[lucifertoxics]

missing pieces: marcus lopez

| pairing: marcus lopez x reader

| genre: exes to lovers

| warnings: angst, swearing, minors dni

| word count: 1.3k

| aura's note: this fic is for @chericherilvr who has an obsession with marcus like, so girly this is for you, enjoy🫶🏻

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

Ever since you and Marcus broke up, your only mechanism was singing. To say the least, you were actually good at it. That's when you found yourself with your schools band practicing a cover. Unfortunately for you, the rain started pouring soon after you finished, which forced you to stay under a bus stop.

Sadly, as you did not own a car, you had to call your brother, Billy. He said he'd pick you up, but that's when you saw Marcus car, probably a stolen one, pull up in front of the school.

The two of you dated for 3 years, until you decided to end it, without giving him any reason why. That was 5 months ago, until now, you haven't talked since. The only person that you didn't want to see right now, surely, the break up was a complicated one to say the least.

"Get in." He says. From the tone of his voice, you knew one thing, he was pissed.

"No fucking way!" You say in an annoyed voice, crossing your arms. You two are like magnets and you didn't want to be stuck in a small place with him. He was bad for you. He brings out the worst in you.

"Are you seriously going to stand out here?" He says with the same tone. Marcus knows that he is being irrational, but he can't help it. He's just mad and heartbroken right now, seeing you just makes it even worse. He hates you for breaking his heart, but he's not going to let you know that.

You roll your eyes, knowing that he has a point never the less. And you wanted to be home faster, so having an argument with him, wasn't useful. As you open the passanger door to get into the car, you look at him.

Marcus starts the car and pulls out of the bus stop, onto the road. He doesn't say anything, just drives. The windshield wipers make loud screeches as they fight to get the rain off the windshield. The heater blasts as it tries to warm up the car from the outside cold. The air makes the windshield foggy. Then suddenly, Marcus sights loudly and looks over at you. As you were looking outside the window, gathering your thoughts about what just happened.

Turning around to look at him, you decided to ask him. "What?" Looking at him with confused eyes.

Marcus just stays silent, he just stares at you, trying to gather his thoughts. You can see his anger and frustration written all over his face. He doesn't want to look at you, he doesn't wang to look at anything. He's just so angry. Finally, he breaks the silence with a blunt ask. "Why did you dump me?"

"Marcus..." You look at him and then out the window, sighting, trying to find a good way to answer his question. You hate this situation that you're in. This was not the right time to talk about the break up, not with him.

The classic answer, and the one that he didn't want to hear. He hated when things were "complicated". He hates uncertainty. He wanted an answer and he wanted it now. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as his anger builds up. "Jusf answer me, god fucking damn it!" He snaps a little at you. He doesn't like losing his cool, but he's already too far gone.

"Because i'm leaving for university..." You talk in a low tone, looking outside the window. "I got accepted into Harvard." You explain yourself to him, staring at him, hoping he understands your intentions.

Marcus felt an intense wave of jealousy wash over him as soon as you finish the sentence. He could never get into Harvard. He's not smart enough. He knows you are and that bothers him. He hates that he feels jealousy of you, but he can't help it. "So you dumped me because you got accepted into a stupid school?" He says completely ignoring the fact that you're going to Harvard.

"A stupid school? I got a full scholarship to that stupid school." You say in an annoyed tone whie looking at him, feeling that he doesn't care about your achievement. "You'll only be three hours away.." You say trying to find something positive in your departure.

"Oh three hours away, really?" Marcus says sarcastically trying to ignore the jealousy that's building up inside of him. "And i'm sure that this full scholarship is a huge achievement." He says mockingly. Marcus knows damn well the school isn't stupid and he knows how hard getting a full scholarship there is but it just pisses him off so he can't help but belittle your achievement.

"It is, Marcus! I didn't want to leave you...I didn't want to leave you in the first place. I was scared that this won't work, us, fuck i want this to work out cause i miss you." I explain myself to him on a calm tone, trying not to be affected by his words. Coming closer as you say the words "I miss you"

The words "I miss you" make him soften up, but only for a bit. He still doesn't know if he should forgive you or not, but hearing those words come out of your mouth makes his heart feel a little warmer. He slowly turns to look at you more. He reaches his hand over and places it on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. Marcus likes to hide his emotions but that small act kind of gave him away.

"I missed you! You have no idea..." You lean your head on his shoulder as he drives. The truth is that you missed him. His kisses. His hugs. His affection, You were craving it.

Marcus blushes a bit as you put your head on his shoulder. He can barely believe he's allowing you to do these things. Maybe part of him is ready to forgive you...but another part of him is not. He stays silent as he continues driving, his hand firmly planted on your leg. He can't help his attraction towards you and his desire for you. The silence is getting more intense as the minutes go by.

"My brother said that long distance relationships don't always work out...so that's why i thought it's for the best...but it's only three hours..." You say sighting interlacing your fingers with his, still having your head on his shoulder.

Marcus wanted to argue and say that three hours is too much but he knows is his own jealousy getting the best of him. A small part of him, a very small part, has forgiven you for breaking his heart. He's not completely over it but he's slowly starting to terms with it. "You know, I could drive over and see your every weekend." He says finally, turning to look at you as he tries to gauge your reaction.

"Really? You would do that for me?" You look at him surprised, hy his answer. Jumping into his arms, hugging him tight, still surprised by what he said.

Marcus freezes up with surprise. He was honestly prepared for you to reject him, but now? This is...unexpected. He feels your tight embrace and a wave of butterflies washes over him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you even tighter. "You can't get rid of me that easily you know?" He says with a smile, brush a piece of hair out of your face.

"I don't wanna get rid of you." You smile, looking at him as he brushes the hair from your face. That's when you take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his.

What was once a small wave of butterflies now turns into a tidal wave of euphoria. Marcus is swept away by the kiss, he wraps his arms arouns you and pulls you in closer. All the emotions and feelings that have built up during the car ride come bursting to the surface. He kisses you hard and agressively, like he wants to make this moment last forever.

© LUCIFERTOXICS ⎯ do not translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[hotchshands]

for my cocktober request is that Hotch has a breeding kink with fem/afab!reader please 🥺🥺

Thanks for the request! Since it's cocktober, I decided to make this vamp!hotch simply because I can. Enjoy!

Note: This is extremely NSFW! You have been warned! Oh, and you can find all kinktober/cocktober requests here.

The cracking of the fireplace and the rain outside the castle are the only things you hear as you curl up next to Aaron on the sofa. You were reading a book as he stroked your hair, lost in thought.

"We should have a baby," Aaron says, breaking the silence.

You close your book and look up at him, "A baby?" You're not sure where he got the idea from and why now. After losing Jack all those years ago, you figured he would never want another child. Could we even have a child? Aaron had Jack back when he was a human, but he had been a vampire for the last hundred years.

He meets your gaze and continues stroking your hair, "Yes, my love. A baby."

"Is that even possible?" I ask, pointing out that he was a vampire and I a human.

Aaron seemed unfazed by the question, slightly chuckling, "You think I'm going to let that stop me? Stop us?" His eyes darkened as he stared into yours, looking for the green light. You didn't give it to him, and you were too concerned with the mechanics of the matter. Would our baby be a vampire? Would I survive giving birth to one?

Aaron noticed your concern and kissed your head. "Y/N, I would never let anything hurt you, much less suggest hurting you. I love you, and I want us to have a family. I'm ready now."

You curl further into his body, knowing that you are loved by him. If you were being honest with yourself, a baby sounded nice. You always wanted a family with Aaron, but you never thought it was possible. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try? You drew circles on his chest as you spoke, "Okay."

"Okay?" he asks, hoping he heard you correctly.

"Okay," you say, looking up at him. With that, Aaron pulls you into a kiss, washing away all your worries. He always had the power to put you at ease with just a kiss.

He moved so that he was above your small frame, never breaking the kiss. The rain continued to pour outside, putting you further at ease as you let Aaron worship you. He was quick to remove your nightgown, leaving you bare underneath him. "You are breathtaking, my love," he whispers against your lips. You smile into his mouth as you run your hands down his back before pulling at the fabric of his shirt. He pulled away to remove it upon your request. His now bare chest glistened in the light of the fireplace.

You trace every inch of exposed skin as if it were your first time seeing him like this. He looked heavenly despite being a monster—To you, it didn't matter that he was a vampire because you loved him, and he loved you. The two of you continued to kiss on the sofa, the fireplace warming your bare bodies.

It didn't take long til Aaron moved his lips down every inch of exposed skin. Starting with your neck, leaving a few marks in all your favorite places. Then, down your chest, kissing each breast while holding your hips in place, ensuring you don't squirm away from his mouth.

Your back arched the further he went. When he reached your center, you were already wet. He lapped at you with his tongue, causing you to moan out his name, "Aaron." In response, he smiled into your core, inserting his tongue inside you. Your body felt like it was burning up from his touch, but he had no intentions of letting you cool down.

He continued to eat you out, tightening his grip on your hips as he did. Your back arched further into his touch, and your hands moved to grab onto his hair, which felt soft and gentle compared to the rough movements of Aaron's tongue.

Aaron pulled away from your aching vagina for a minute to admire how hot and bothered you were by his touch, "You're practically begging for me already, love. You're that desperate for a baby?"

You looked into his dark brown eyes. They were almost black in the glow of the dark castle. "Yes," you said. All your previous doubts now washed away thanks to his tongue.

"You'll get what you wish for shortly, my love. Be patient for me, darling," Aaron said before returning his mouth to your wetness. He circled his tongue around all of you, soaking up your juices and pushing them back inside. His left-hand moves down your thigh, spreading your legs apart so he has a clear view of your pussy.

That exact hand inches closer to meet Aaron's mouth at your core. His fingers trace the inside of your thigh before tracing your labia. Those dark eyes never leave yours as he inserts a finger inside, testing the waters. His finger goes in with ease.

Aaron gives your hole a kiss before leaving it to kiss your clit. His finger remains inside you, moving about in ways that almost make you cum from just the single digit. Aaron notices this, of course, and attempts to insert a second finger inside. You wince at the stretch.

"Just relax, Y/N. That's it, good girl," Aaron said, as his fingers filled you up. His lips never leave your clit as he thrusts his fingers into your tight hole. You moan loudly, drowning out the silence of the vampire's castle. Your hands hold Aaron's hair like a vice as he continues his work on your throbbing core.

As soon as you are about to orgasm, Aaron pulls away, removing his fingers and mouth from you. You whine at the emptiness, causing Aaron to tsk. "What did I say about patience, my love? I was just starting, but I guess we can stop here," Aaron said.

You panic at his words, using his pants to pull him closer to your body. "No, please don't stop. I wanna have your baby. Please! Give me a baby," you beg.

Aaron crashed his lips onto yours, making quick work of his pants as he devoured your mouth. Once he was nude, he pulled away from your lips, taking a moment to catch his breath. You opened your eyes once he moved away and observed the lower half of his body. His cock stood proudly on display, ready to give you what you both desperately craved.

You reached out your hands to touch him, resting them on his hips before getting the courage to feel his cock. Aaron was too busy trying to catch his breath, not noticing your hands until he felt them on his hard length. His eyes widened, and a smirk appeared on his face, "You're that desperate for it, huh? Couldn't just wait like a nice girl."

You shake your head innocently despite how not innocently you were toying with him. Aaron moaned when you cupped his balls. You leaned in forward to kiss the tip of his cock before opening your mouth around it, coating him in your salvia. He grabbed a fist full of hair and yanked you away from his length, "You continue that, and I'm gonna empty myself on your face. We wouldn't want that now, do we? No, not when we're trying to make a baby."

Aaron didn't wait for a response. He pushed you down on the sofa and forcefully spread his legs before deciding the couch was not nearly big enough for what he wanted to do to you. "Get up," he demanded.

You exited the couch and stood next to it, fully exposed.

Aaron grabbed the blanket hanging on the back of the sofa and laid it in front of the fireplace. "Lay down and spread your legs for me," he said, waiting for you to follow his instructions. You did just that, eager to make his wish of a child come true. He looked you over before placing himself in between your legs.

Aaron grabbed his cock and lined it up to your hole, not bothering to look at you as he did. He was entirely forced on the task at hand. Once it was lined up, he began to insert it inside you. His hand left his length to hold your legs apart, making the insertion easier. Inch by inch, you felt like you were gonna explode. The girth made it hurt a little, but you were too horny to care, allowing his entire length inside.

Once he was fully in, Aaron began thrusting into you hard. You screamed in pleasure as he did. His cock was the perfect length for you, reaching all the right places to get you off.

"That's it, my love. I'm gonna make to beg for my cum," Aaron teased, moving his hand to pin yours down on the floor.

The fireplace and the rain roared violently as Aaron fucked you.

You started to close your eyes, but Aaron wouldn't let you. "Uh uh uh, I don't think so, darling. Look at me," he growled, forcing your head forward with his hand.

With a particular rough trust, he bites down on your neck. "God, I can't wait to see what you'll look like carrying my baby. Gonna look so beautiful, love," he spoke through his teeth against your neck.

You and Aaron moaned out over the lewd sounds of your parts coming together. He continued to bite down on your neck, leaving bruises and tiny trails of blood.

"Are you ready to become a mother, my love?" Aaron asked, looking into your eyes. The two of you were close.

You nod aggressively, "Yes. Please, Aaron, fill me up with your cum."

He growled at that, sinking his teeth into your neck as he finished inside you. He digs his nails into your hips, locking you flush against his body as he does. You finish with him, letting out a terrifyingly loud scream as you do. Blood rushes down your neck from his bite and throughout your body as you orgasm.

Aaron removes his teeth from your neck, licking up the blood before admiring his handy work. "God, you have never looked better, my love," he said, smoothing your hair.

His eyes move down to when you two are connected. He notices some of his cum has escaped your hole, "We don't want this to go to waste, do we?" he smiles.

Aaron slides his cock out and collects whatever cum escaped your hole before pushing it back inside with his cock. "There. Much better," he said, holding your body dangerously close to his. You let out a sigh of relief at the reentrance of his cock, wanting to stay linked together forever, or at least until one of you gets sore.

Your head spins as you come down from your high. Aaron is aware of the effect a vampire bite has on humans, so he holds you close in hopes of calming you down. It wasn't the first time he had bitten you, and it won't be the last, but it was the first time it felt that intense. The two of you stayed on the floor before the fireplace, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.

Taglist: @princessjax @chicken-fifi @zaddyhotch @lovelyy-moonlight @uselessnewt @snapessecretdiary @spencerreidsshoelaces @targaryenswhxre

[its-avalon-08]

Hi, could you do a Ferando angst to fluff fic where he and Reader have been dating since his return to F1 and he is frustrated with the team's current season and the reader tries to assure him that everything is going be better and he takes his frustration out on her and they have an argument to the point where he calls her by his ex's name and with that she gives up on continuing the argument and locks herself in the guest room while crying and rethinking their entire relationship, while he tries to apologize and is unsuccessful and goes out to cool his head, and after she woke up, she packs some bags to travel to her modeling gig but before leaving, even though she is sad with his attitude, leaves a note saying that she needs some time to think and that she will be traveling for work so that he doesn't worry thinking that it was all over between them. And during this time, Fernando feels guilty for taking out his frustrations on the person who was always by his side and tries in every way to win Reader back and try to work on their relationship. When the news comes out that he doesn't feel well, Reader gets worried about what might have happened to him and comes back early and takes care of him. In addition to him apologizing for being an idiot and promising to work on their relationship more and not let the frustrations with the team affect their relationship. When his 400th race arrives, he thanks her for being there for him through the good and bad times and tells her how important she is to him.

don't run away (fa2)

✦ pairing - fernando alonso x female!reader

✦ genre - ansgt, ansgt, ansgt, tears, calling ex's name

It started slowly, subtle shifts in Fernando’s demeanor that crept in like shadows. At first, it was nothing that couldn’t be shrugged off—the usual frustrations of a tough season. But as the races wore on and the team struggled to deliver consistent results, his patience began to unravel.

At the garage, he’d be fine in the morning, shaking hands with the engineers, throwing a nod to the mechanics. But as soon as a practice session went poorly or a technical issue cropped up, his mood would turn. He’d clench his jaw, mutter under his breath in Spanish, and become more withdrawn, his usual intensity morphing into something harsher.

Y/N noticed it the most at home. After every disappointing race or qualifying session, he’d come back and barely say a word. The warm, easygoing Fernando she loved was gradually being replaced by a man who was angry, stressed, and constantly on edge.

One evening, after a particularly bad qualifying, Fernando slammed the door to their apartment harder than usual. Y/N looked up from the book she was reading on the couch, catching sight of his dark, stormy expression.

“Hey, you’re home,” she greeted gently, hoping to lift his spirits. She stood up, reaching out to him, but he just sighed, brushing past her and heading straight for the kitchen.

She followed him, watching as he poured himself a glass of water, his movements sharp and frustrated.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked cautiously, hoping he’d let her in.

He shook his head, barely glancing at her. “Nothing to talk about,” he muttered. “It’s just the same issues over and over again. They promise they’ll fix it, and nothing changes. I’m just wasting my time out there.”

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe it’s just a rough patch? I’m sure the team’s doing everything they can—”

“Are they?” he interrupted, his tone sharp. He set his glass down with a little too much force, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. Feels like I’m out there driving my heart out for nothing.”

Y/N took a step closer, trying to ease the tension. “Fernando, it’s not for nothing. You’re doing your best, and that’s what matters.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “What’s the point of my best if it doesn’t get me anywhere? I can’t keep doing this, Y/N. It’s exhausting.”

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I know, cariño. But I’m here for you, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

But instead of softening, he pulled his arm away, exasperation flashing in his eyes. “What do you mean ‘we’? I’m the one putting in the work, putting myself on the line out there. You don’t understand, Y/N—you don’t know what it’s like to be stuck in this situation, giving everything and getting nothing in return.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the sting of his words hitting her. She took a small step back, giving him space. “I may not be out there with you,” she said softly, “but I know how much you care about this. I’m only trying to help.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” But even as he apologized, he didn’t meet her eyes. The tension lingered between them, unspoken and heavy.

In the days that followed, the distance between them grew. Fernando started coming home later and later, throwing himself into extra training or staying at the garage long after everyone else had gone. At home, he was irritable, snapping over the smallest things, and often retreating to his study, leaving Y/N alone to wonder what she could do to help.

One evening, as she prepared dinner, she heard him sigh loudly from the living room. She walked over, trying once more to bring him out of his gloom.

“Do you want to talk about the race debrief?” she asked, offering a hopeful smile.

Fernando looked up from his phone, a frown creasing his brow. “Not really, no.”

“But maybe if you let it out, it’ll—”

“Y/N, I don’t need a pep talk right now,” he snapped, his voice cold and clipped. “I’m not a child who needs consoling every time something goes wrong.”

Her face fell, and she took a step back, the hurt evident in her eyes. “I just… I want to be here for you, Fernando. That’s all.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, maybe I need space right now. Maybe I just want to deal with this on my own without someone trying to fix everything all the time.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. She opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, pressing her lips together as she nodded, retreating back to the kitchen, her heart aching.

As the weeks went by, their conversations became shorter, stilted. The vibrant, passionate Fernando she knew was slipping away, replaced by a man consumed by frustration and self-doubt. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to reach him, to pull him out of the storm he was drowning in.

Each night, she would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what else she could do, how she could bridge the growing gap between them. But every morning, she would wake up to see him leave earlier, come back later, and pull away even more.

The man who used to laugh with her, who would dance around the kitchen with her, who whispered sweet nothings in her ear, had been buried under layers of anger and exhaustion. And as much as she tried to hold on, she could feel him slipping away.

--

The dim lights cast a soft glow over the living room as Y/N leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching Fernando. She could see the frustration in his face, the tense set of his jaw as he rubbed his temples, his posture rigid with the weight of the latest race. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him that it would get better, but every word she’d tried earlier had been met with a wall of silence.

“Fernando,” she began softly, inching closer. “You know, this season is just a rough patch. You've faced so much worse and come back stronger every time. You’re going to—”

“Y/N, stop.” Fernando’s voice came out sharper than he intended, and his eyes darkened with an intensity that made her heart falter. “You don’t understand. It’s not just a rough patch. This whole season has been a disaster, and every race, it feels like I'm just fighting against nothing. Nothing is working.”

“I do understand, though,” she insisted gently, keeping her voice calm. “I know how much it hurts. But it’s not all on you. The team is trying, you’re trying—”

“Trying?” he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It doesn’t matter if I’m trying. No one cares if I try. All they care about is results, and right now, I can’t give them that. So what’s the point?”

“The point is that you’ve always been a fighter,” Y/N said, feeling a swell of frustration herself. “You’ve never been the kind of person to just give up. But here you are, acting like—”

“Oh, please, spare me the motivational speech!” Fernando snapped, his voice rising. “Do you think I haven’t heard all of this before? Do you think any of it actually helps?”

“I'm just trying to be here for you, Fernando!” she replied, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re pushing everyone away, and I’m the only one left standing. Do you want to push me away, too?”

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, looking away, a storm brewing in his gaze. “You’re just…you’re just making it worse. Every time you say these things, it’s like you’re pretending that everything’s fine when it isn’t. Nothing is fine!”

Y/N felt her own frustration boiling over. “Maybe I’m trying to remind you that you’re not alone, Fernando. You’re not the only one going through this. I’m here with you—whether you want to believe it or not.”

But Fernando only shook his head, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Sometimes I think you’re better off without me. I mean, do you even know what this life is like? You see a bad race, and you think it’s just one bad day. But it’s a thousand bad days for me, and I’m just—”

“Don’t you dare,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. “Don’t you dare tell me that I don’t know. I’ve stood by you through everything. I know what it’s like to feel helpless, but I’m still here!”

Fernando’s frustration boiled over, and in his anger, he didn’t think before he spoke. “Lara, why don’t you just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as the name fell from his lips. Y/N’s breath hitched, her face going pale as his words sank in.

The room went silent, an uncomfortable, suffocating silence. She stared at him, her expression crumbling as the hurt flashed across her face. “What did you just call me?”

Fernando’s face contorted with regret, realizing his mistake too late. “Y/N…I—”

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You called me by her name.”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to…” he stammered, reaching out for her. “I’m sorry, I was just frustrated, and—”

But she stepped back, hurt and disbelief etched across her face. “I get it now. This whole time, you’ve been here with me, but your mind has been somewhere else. You’re so caught up in the past that you can’t even see who’s standing right in front of you.”

“Don’t say that,” Fernando said desperately, reaching for her again, but she shook her head, pulling away.

“Enough,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’ve tried so hard to be there for you, but all I get is anger and resentment. And now, this?” She wiped at a tear that had slipped down her cheek, the betrayal and heartache painted on her face. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Y/N, please, just let me explain,” he pleaded, but she was already walking away.

“No, I don’t want to hear it.” Her voice was cold, a kind of finality in it that stung more than any words she’d said before. “I’m done trying to be someone I’m not just to keep you from falling apart. I’m done being your emotional punching bag.”

Before he could say anything else, she disappeared into the guest room, locking the door behind her. Fernando stood there, his heart pounding, staring at the closed door, helpless.

Inside the guest room, Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of everything crash down on her. The tears came quickly, her hands shaking as she clutched the edge of the bedspread, trying to steady herself. How had they gotten here? She thought they’d been building something together, a real future, but now…it all felt like a lie. The moment he’d called her by his ex’s name, something had shattered, leaving her questioning everything she’d fought for in their relationship.

Outside, Fernando leaned against the door, guilt eating away at him as he listened to her quiet sobs. He’d hurt the one person who’d been by his side, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Taking a shaky breath, he turned away, walking out of the apartment to get some air, feeling the cold night air hit him as he tried to gather his thoughts.

For the first time in years, Fernando Alonso didn’t know how to move forward.

--

Y/N drifted into a fitful sleep, her body curled up on the guest room bed, clutching the pillow as if it were the only thing holding her together. The tears had left her drained, her face stained with evidence of a night spent questioning everything she thought they had together. She wanted to understand, wanted to find a way to reconcile his words and the ache in her chest, but sleep took her in spite of herself, leaving her mind restless.

Morning light filtered in through the guest room window, waking her. She felt the heavy weight of last night pressing down, her heart sinking all over again as she remembered his voice, the name that had slipped from his lips so carelessly.

It was just a name…he was just frustrated…but why does it feel like so much more?

Y/N rubbed at her swollen eyes, steeling herself as she got up. She had a modeling gig that she needed to get to, and she couldn't afford to miss it—not with the way things felt so uncertain now. She packed a small bag quietly, not wanting to disturb Fernando if he was still in the apartment. Every item she folded and placed in her bag felt like a part of her heart being stored away, her resolve hardening with each piece of clothing.

Before she left, she hesitated, her eyes flickering to the empty hallway. She didn't want to leave him without a word—despite everything, she still cared. Maybe he thinks it’s over, she thought, and that hurt more than anything else. Taking a pen and paper, she jotted down a quick note and left it on the kitchen counter, pausing to reread it before setting it down.

"Fernando, I’m going to take some time for myself. I have work I need to focus on, and I think we both need to clear our heads. I’m not leaving for good, but I need time to think about us, and I hope you understand that. I’ll be back, but please don’t contact me until I’m ready to talk. – Y/N"

She sighed, setting down the note with a shaky hand. Her chest felt heavy, but this was what she needed—to find clarity, to decide if she could really keep standing by his side after last night. With one last glance around the apartment, she walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

Fernando woke up in the early afternoon, his body tense and aching from a restless night on the couch. His first thought was Y/N, and his heart jumped, the events of the previous night flooding back to him in harsh detail. What have I done? The regret clawed at him, a pit in his stomach as he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Y/N?" he called out, hoping to see her emerge from the hallway, maybe tired and sad but willing to listen. But only silence greeted him. He stood, feeling a pang of panic as he checked the guest room, finding it empty.

His breathing grew shallow as he checked the closet, noticing a few empty hangers. "No…no, please…" He murmured, his voice trembling as he moved to the living room, scanning the apartment frantically, hoping she’d left a sign she was still there.

I pushed her too far. I let my anger get the best of me, and now…she’s gone. He felt like the air had been knocked out of him as the full weight of her absence hit.

His eyes fell to the kitchen counter, where a small piece of paper caught his attention. Heart pounding, he reached for it, hands shaking as he read the words. Each line hit him with fresh regret, and when he finished, his vision blurred as tears filled his eyes.

"She needs time…" he whispered aloud, choking on his words. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to steady himself. I’ve hurt her so much that she needs time away from me just to think.

“Oh, Y/N…” he muttered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he sank into the nearest chair. The silence of the apartment felt like a punishment, a void that reminded him of everything he’d done to push her away.

He sat there, re-reading the note over and over, each word deepening the ache in his chest. His mind replayed the argument, every hurtful thing he’d said, and the look on her face when he’d called her by his ex’s name.

How could I have been so stupid? He ran a hand through his hair, the anguish in his chest tightening as he thought of her walking out, feeling like she had no choice but to leave him to clear her head. She deserved so much better…

He looked around, every corner of the apartment filled with memories of her laughter, her warmth. And now, it felt hollow, like the walls themselves were mourning her absence. Unable to sit still, he stood and paced, the weight of his own mistake pressing down on him.

"How did I let it get to this?" he asked himself, voice thick with self-reproach. She’s been nothing but supportive, and I repaid her with anger. I don’t deserve her forgiveness…I don’t even know if she’ll give it to me.

He stopped by the window, looking out at the city. Somewhere out there, Y/N was hurting, questioning everything they’d built. And he knew it was his fault. His stubborn pride, his inability to let her in, his habit of lashing out when he felt vulnerable—it had all led to this moment.

With a deep, shaky breath, he turned from the window, heading toward the door. He needed to clear his mind, to think about how to make things right. But the image of her walking out—of her packing her bags, her face streaked with tears—kept flashing in his mind.

As he stepped outside, he felt the sting of the cold air, but it didn’t ease the ache in his heart. He looked out over the city, a painful emptiness settling over him. He’d give anything to take it all back, to undo the damage he’d caused.

Please, Y/N, he thought, his heart aching with the silent plea. Please come back to me. But he knew that it would take more than words to earn her trust again. It would take everything he had to prove he was worth her forgiveness—if she ever gave him the chance.

---

Fernando found himself increasingly consumed by regret. Every memory of Y/N seemed like a stark reminder of the mistake he’d made, the pain he’d inflicted on her. Days passed with each one stretching longer than the last, the empty apartment a shell of what it had been with her in it. He left countless messages, each one a little more desperate than the last.

“Y/N…I know I hurt you. And I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight, but please…just let me know you’re okay.” His voice cracked in one message, the anguish evident in his words.

Her responses, when they came, were brief, polite, and guarded—keeping him at arm’s length in a way that hurt almost as much as the silence had.

“I'm fine, Fernando. Just busy with work.”

“Right, of course. But…are we okay? I just want to hear it from you…”

“Let’s talk when I’m back, okay?”

Every short reply felt like another wall between them, a reminder that she was still hurting and far from ready to forgive him. Fernando didn’t blame her; he knew he’d have to be patient. But it was hard, agonizingly so.

He threw himself into his training, hoping that the physical exhaustion would numb the relentless guilt. But even that wasn’t enough. The sleepless nights, the endless thoughts of Y/N, and the crushing weight of his actions left him feeling drained.

One afternoon, Carlos caught him alone in the paddock, noticing the dark circles under Fernando's eyes and the gaunt look that had taken over his usually vibrant face.

“Fernando,” Carlos said sternly, pulling him aside, “when was the last time you actually took care of yourself?”

Fernando shrugged, forcing a smirk. “I’m fine, Carlos.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Carlos replied sharply. “You look terrible, man. Everyone’s noticed. You need to get a grip before you make yourself sick.”

“I made a mess of things with Y/N, Carlos. It’s… it’s all I can think about,” Fernando admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And she’s still so far away. I’ve apologized a hundred times, but… nothing feels like enough.”

Carlos shook his head, looking exasperated. “You called her by your ex’s name. Do you even understand how hurt she must be? She trusted you, Fernando! You don’t get to brush that off with a few messages.”

Fernando closed his eyes, the guilt clawing at him even harder. “I know,” he murmured, voice trembling. “I know I don’t deserve her forgiveness. But Carlos…I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Then start acting like it,” Carlos said, his tone unforgiving. “You can’t change what you did, but you can show her you’ll never make that mistake again.”

A few days later, Fernando was in the team garage when George Russell and Carmen happened to walk by. Carmen, who’d always been warm and friendly to him, gave him a sympathetic look but quickly turned stern.

“Fernando, have you talked to Y/N recently?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“She’s…abroad for work,” he answered, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Carmen shook her head, visibly disappointed. “If you really care about her, then show her, Fernando. She’s heartbroken, and all she needed was for you to be there for her. Instead, you hurt her when she was already struggling to support you.”

George placed a hand on Fernando’s shoulder. “Mate, I know things have been rough with the team, but that’s no excuse to hurt the person who’s always by your side. You need to make it right before it’s too late.”

Fernando swallowed hard, feeling his chest tighten as he absorbed their words. He could hardly argue with them; everything they were saying was the truth he didn’t want to face. They’re right. I’ve been selfish. I hurt her because I couldn’t handle my own issues.

Days continued to drag on, and Fernando’s health began to falter. The sleepless nights and relentless anxiety started to wear on him, his usually fit frame looking leaner and more frail. He was haunted by the image of her teary eyes, of her silent, pained expression before she’d shut herself away.

One evening, back at the apartment, Fernando felt the full weight of his actions settle onto him. The walls seemed to close in, the empty rooms echoing with memories of her laughter, her voice, her presence. A sudden wave of panic gripped him, the guilt and fear crashing over him like a tidal wave.

What if she never comes back? The thought stabbed through him, cutting deeper than anything he’d felt before.

His breathing grew shallow, and he clutched his chest, trying to force air into his lungs, but it was like his entire body was fighting him. He staggered, clutching the edge of the counter, vision blurring as he struggled to calm himself.

“Y/N…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. He could almost see her face, feel her hand resting gently on his shoulder, grounding him. But it was just a cruel trick of his mind, and the reality of her absence hit harder than ever.

His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, gasping for air, his heart racing uncontrollably. I can’t lose her. I can’t…

The world started to fade, his mind slipping into darkness as exhaustion finally took over, and he drifted into a fitful, troubled sleep right there on the cold floor.

---

Y/N’s heart raced as she read the headlines scrolling across her phone screen. Fernando Alonso unwell; concerns raised over health. Panic gripped her, sending a jolt through her entire body. She hadn’t been prepared for this; she’d known he was struggling, but to hear it from the outside world felt like a gut punch.

What happened? Is he okay? She quickly gathered her things, her modeling gig suddenly forgotten. There was only one thing that mattered now: getting back to him.

The flight home felt endless, each second ticking by as worry gnawed at her insides. She replayed their last argument over and over, the way he’d called her by his ex’s name, the look of frustration on his face. What if I was too harsh? What if he really needed me and I wasn’t there for him?

I need to be there for him now. I need to make it right.

When she finally stepped through the door of their apartment, the sight before her made her heart drop. The place was dimly lit, cluttered with remnants of his solitary life. Empty takeout containers littered the kitchen counter, and the living room looked like it hadn’t been touched in days. But what sent her racing was the faint sound of him coughing in the back room.

“Fernando!” she called out, fear tightening her throat as she rushed through the hallway. She burst into their bedroom to find him lying on the bed, pale and visibly weak, his body covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

“Y/N?” He squinted up at her, confusion and relief mixing in his eyes.

“Oh, amor,” she breathed, rushing to his side. “What happened? Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

He shook his head slightly, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought… it would pass.”

“Stop it,” she said firmly, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “You should’ve called me. You need me.” Her fingers brushed against his skin, the heat radiating from him unsettling her even more. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Y/N quickly moved around the room, gathering supplies—blankets, water, and a few medications she hoped would help him. She set the pillows just right, adjusting them to support his head, feeling an overwhelming need to create a safe space for him.

“Y/N, really, I’m fine,” he murmured weakly, though the tremor in his voice contradicted his words.

“No, you’re not,” she replied, her heart aching at the sight of him. “You look terrible.”

Fernando offered a small smile, the kind that made her heart flutter, but it quickly faded. “I’m sorry for everything, for how I treated you…”

“Don’t. Right now, let’s focus on getting you better.” She poured him a glass of water, carefully lifting his head so he could drink. “I’m here, Fernando. I’m not going anywhere.”

After a few sips, he leaned back against the pillows, looking a little more relaxed but still so vulnerable. “You’re really here.”

“Of course, I am,” she reassured him, her voice softening. “I was worried sick. I don’t care how far away I was; I always want to be there for you. You’re my everything.”

He looked at her with gratitude shining in his tired eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” she insisted, brushing her fingers along his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath them. “You’ve always been there for me, and I want to be here for you now. You just need to rest, okay?”

I can’t believe how weak he looks, Y/N thought, panic surging through her as she watched him close his eyes. What if he doesn’t get better? What if I lose him because I wasn’t there?

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” she replied immediately, crawling into bed beside him. She curled up next to him, feeling his warmth seep into her. “Just relax, cariño. I’m right here.”

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as his breathing began to steady. “I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice still weak but laced with affection.

“I missed you too,” she murmured, burying her face against his shoulder. “You have no idea how much. Just promise me you’ll let me take care of you from now on.”

“Promise,” he said softly, closing his eyes again. “I’m sorry for everything. For pushing you away… for everything.”

Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, a mix of relief and love swelling within her. “We’ll get through this together, I swear. Just let me love you the way you deserve, okay?”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You have no idea how much I need that right now.”

As they lay together, the tension from before began to ease, replaced by a soothing warmth that enveloped them. For the first time in days, she felt hope creeping back in, even if it was just a flicker. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but as long as they had each other, she believed they could face anything.

----

A few days later, Fernando was back on his feet. He still moved a little slower, a little cautiously, but the spark in his eyes had returned. However, it didn’t take long before he noticed Y/N moving sluggishly around the apartment, her face pale, and her usual energy dimmed.

“Amor,” he murmured, catching her as she stumbled slightly in the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N gave a half-hearted smile, trying to wave it off. “I’m fine, really. Probably just tired from flying back so soon.”

He narrowed his eyes, feeling her forehead. “You’re warm. And you look exhausted.”

“Well, I did just take care of you around the clock,” she teased lightly, giving him a small, weak smile.

“That’s it,” he said firmly, gently steering her toward the couch. “You’re officially off duty.”

Y/N laughed but didn’t fight him, too tired to resist. She sat down, wrapping herself in the blanket he brought her as he hovered nearby, his expression filled with worry.

“Seriously, Fernando, I’m fine. Just a little tired,” she insisted.

“Oh no, don’t even try that on me,” he replied, shaking his head as he settled next to her. “I know exactly how this feels, and you’ve definitely caught whatever I had.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Stay here,” he commanded softly, a warm smile crossing his face. “Doctor Alonso is on duty now.”

She gave him a skeptical look but relaxed into the couch, her eyelids fluttering shut as he went to the kitchen. Soon, he was back with a tray of tea, soup, and medicine. She opened one eye, watching as he set it all down, his brow creased with concentration.

“I didn’t know you knew how to make soup,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he chuckled. “I picked it up somewhere along the way. Or maybe I just have some natural talent you didn’t know about.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Alright, Mr. Multitalented. I’m impressed.”

He grinned, but his smile quickly softened into something more serious. “Y/N, about everything… I know I messed up. You shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of my frustrations.”

“Fernando…”

“No, let me say this,” he interrupted gently, reaching out to take her hand. “You were there for me through everything, even when I didn’t deserve it. I can’t believe I put my own issues onto you.”

Her gaze softened, and she squeezed his hand. “You were going through a lot, Fernando. I get it. But, yeah… it hurt.”

A shadow of regret passed over his face, and he moved closer, looking into her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. I promise I won’t let my issues with the team or anything else come between us again. From now on, you’re my priority.”

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “I just needed to hear that.”

He kissed her hand, looking at her earnestly. “You’re my everything, amor. And I’ll prove it to you every day if I have to.”

She laughed softly, despite herself. “Starting with the soup?”

“Exactly,” he grinned, placing the bowl in her hands. “I don’t make soup for just anyone, you know.”

“Special treatment,” she murmured, taking a small sip. “And here I thought I’d never see the day.”

He chuckled, settling beside her and tucking the blanket around her shoulders. “This is just the beginning. I’ve got a whole recovery plan for you.”

“Oh really?” she teased, snuggling into the blanket as he adjusted it.

“Absolutely. This recovery plan includes lots of soup, endless tea, and, of course…” He paused, flashing her a cheeky smile. “As many cuddles as you can handle.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Thank you for coming back to me,” he murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you for letting me,” she replied, her voice warm with affection.

They stayed that way, wrapped in each other’s arms, as he continued to whisper apologies and promises between gentle reassurances. For now, it was enough to be together, to know that they would face everything side by side.

---

The grandstands buzzed with energy as fans poured into the circuit, filling the air with an electric anticipation. It was a monumental day for Fernando—his 400th race. Cameras flashed, fans cheered, and the world celebrated this milestone with him. But as the day progressed, the weight of it all settled in a different way. It wasn’t just the years of racing, the trophies, or the fame. It was the realization of who had stood by him, through every twist and turn, every high and low. And there she was, watching him from the edge of the paddock with that warm smile that always calmed him.

When he finally had a free moment, he pulled her into one of the quieter corners of the team lounge, away from the flashing lights and the hustle around them.

“Y/N…” he began, taking her hands in his, his thumbs brushing gently over her knuckles. His voice softened, the usual edge in it replaced with something deeper, something raw. “I know today is all about my racing, my 400th, but I don’t want it to pass without telling you something.”

She tilted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What is it, Fernando?”

He took a breath, collecting his thoughts. “I’ve had so many people supporting me over the years, but no one—not a single person—has been there for me like you have. I mean… I’ve never been an easy person to be with. I’m… difficult,” he admitted with a small, self-conscious laugh. “But you… you’ve handled every bit of it with so much patience, so much love.”

Her eyes softened, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I told you, Fernando. I’m here for you, no matter what. I always have been.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “But I didn’t realize what that really meant until this year. I’ve taken so much out on you, especially when things got hard with the team. And somehow, you stayed.”

“Of course, I did,” she whispered, her voice a mix of reassurance and affection. “I knew who you were from the beginning, and I chose to be by your side. I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

Fernando swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. He glanced down, a faint smile appearing on his face as he collected himself. “You’re so much stronger than me, you know that?” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I might be the one driving out there, but you’re the one who keeps me going. You’re my strength, Y/N.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down for a moment, visibly touched by his words. “You’re going to make me cry,” she teased, her voice thick with emotion.

He reached up, gently lifting her chin so their eyes met again. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t even want to think about it.” He paused, gathering his thoughts as he tried to put everything he felt into words. “You’re my everything. You make all of this worth it, the good times, the bad times. Every single lap, every race… knowing you’re there for me makes it all feel complete.”

“Fernando…” she whispered, her voice wavering as tears pricked her eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Thank you for being here, for being you. For seeing the best in me even when I’m at my worst.” He held her close, his hand gently cradling the back of her head. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder as she took in his words. “I love you, Fernando. And I’m so proud of you—of everything you’ve achieved, and the person you are. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes glistening as he looked down at her. “I’m proud too, you know. Not just of this career, but of the fact that you’re here with me, sharing this moment. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough.”

Y/N smiled, reaching up to gently cup his cheek. “Just keep being you. That’s all I need.”

He laughed softly, leaning into her touch. “Deal. And for the record, I’ll try my best to keep my temper in check.”

“Good,” she chuckled. “I’ll be right here to remind you if you forget.”

He smiled, bending down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I know you will, cariño. And that’s exactly how I want it to be.”

In that quiet moment, with the noise of the race buzzing around them, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, two people who’d weathered storms together and come out stronger. Fernando knew that this race—this milestone—was only the beginning, and he couldn’t wait to keep going, with her by his side every step of the way.

[reallyromealone]

Title: bakugos brother

Chapter:...4?

Fandom: bnha

Characters: Bakugo, kirishima, bakusquad and deku squad and a few teachers

Fic type: series

Pairings: kirishima x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, fluff, angst, teen romance

Notes:I lost the ask, so requester I hope you enjoy

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"Apparently he's like super smart"

"He plays chess, I heard he never lost"

"He seems pretty ordinary, I don't get why he's Nedzus personal student"

(Name) Ignored the comments as he left Nedzu's office, his uniform perfectly ironed and his school work organized to perfection as he went to his gen-ed classes, spending the first portion of his day with Nedzu then the rest with his peers as the faculty deemed it important for him to make friends and talk to those his age.

"Apparently he's brothers with Bakugo"

"He probably has serious anger issues"

(Name) Walked into the gen-ed class and took a seat in his chair, staring off as he began playing chess in his head as he waited for things to start "you're bakugos brother, right?" A voice asked beside him and (name) looked to see a guy "yes, I am" (name) said simply as the others glared slightly "your brother is an obnoxious asshole!" One student said "yeah! You two are so fucking cold to others, what? You think you're better than us?!"

"You know, it's impressive " (name) said simply as a student looked confused "what is?"

"That you can make baseless accusations on someone whom you haven't even had a conversation with" (name) said simply as the others looked shocked "you make claims about me that hold zero merit and frankly I think that's appalling" "how dare--"

"I think that's enough class" present mic walked in clearly frustrated with his students "is this any way to treat a new classmate?"

"But--"

"But what? I heard everything and frankly I'm ashamed of you all" the blond teacher said sternly "(name) was put in your class hoping you all would give him a warm welcome and you berated him for actions of another"

The students looked ashamed and (name) was awkward, fidgeting with his mechanical pencil as the others mumbled out apologies and the blond sighed "now pull out your textbooks to page 138"

When classes ended, (name) had a free study period and decided to go to the courtyard to play some chess by himself and get away from it all, he felt just as lonely as he did at his old school but he should have expected to be in his brothers shadow here as well.

"Hey... Uh were sorry about what happened" a few students came up, a purple haired teen and two others "it was pretty shitty of us to put that on you, that wasn't cool" the teens mumbled and (name) shrugged "I'm used to it"

"You shouldn't have to be though and it's uncool"

"Shinso Hitoshi" the purple haired teen offered and (name) looked at them passively "Bakugo (name)" his voice always so calm and collected as they nodded "so you play chess?" One student asked and (name) nodded "outside of school, I'm a professional chess player"

"Whoa! That's so cool! Is that why you're Nedzu's student?"

"Actually it's due to my quirk, I have an intelligence quirk" (name) explained and the three sat with him "whoa those are super rare!" The other said and Shinso looked curious about it "why didn't you apply earlier?" Shinso asked before realizing that was probably insensitive and (name) shrugged "didn't think I would be able, two students already got into here... A third seemed impossible" it was a lie but they seemed to accept it.

"So what's it like being Nedzu's student?!"

After classes, Kirishima was excited to see his boyfriend as the two hadn't seen each other in a few days due to conflicting schedules but now they could! Even if half the class wanted to join as well.

"I brought a friend" (name) said simply as shinso looked awkward, kirishima feeling pride at his boyfriend making friends independent of the redhead "oh! You're the one going through the transfer!" Momo said excitedly "yeah the one replacing mineta!" Ochaco cheared "and right before the sports festival! Oh we can train together!"

Hitoshi was startled a bit as he noticed Midoriya who was a calming presence "come on! Aizawa is only letting us out till 845! We only have like five hours!" Mina yelled as Bakugo grunted at her dragging him.

Hitoshi was dragged into conversation with tenya and kaminari about god knows what as Kirishima and a few others chatted away, leaving the Bakugo siblings to walk beside each other awkwardly "how's heroics" (name) said in more of a statement, uncomfortable as he tried to make small talk with his brother "fine" Bakugo grunted as Kirishima went with tsu and Ochaco "babe I'll be right back! Don't follow I want it to be a surprise!"

And then the siblings were left alone as the group seperated to grab the things they needed or wanted and to meet up after for food.

"You two seem happy" Bakugo was rarely soft, the concept of him being calm and tentative was something that would be laughable to anyone who knew him "he makes me happy, I hope I make him feel the same" (name) said simply and Bakugo make a soft hum "I'm glad you're at U.A"

"Didn't you not want me here?" (Name) Looked at Katsuki as they stopped walking"fucking--- I know I was shitty, dad's making me go to therapy with hound dog" this was new, something he didn't expect at all.

"Dad's fed up with the hag, he's forcing basically everyone to therapy so expect a call"

The two sat on a bench, small talk between them as they waited for their friends to come back.

It was strange for Katsuki to say he was finally meeting his brother, on equal grounds and no hostility but Katsuki needed this.

He needed his brother.

"BABE LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" Kirishima barreled in with bracelets "look, it has chess pieces! And you can customize it so I added a barbell!" Kirishima said excitedly as he handed (name) one and the calmer Bakugo took it curiously "this is cheesy" he said simply but the small smile as he put on it made kirishima fly to cloud nine.

Bakugo was surprised that his brother had such an interest like origami, seeming genuinely happy with the variety pack of designs "oo make me a brid!" Kirishima teased and (name) took that seriously and they could see the gears turn in his head.

(Name) Was happy when he returned to his form, putting the bracelet in a safe area with his other important items and sat down, thinking About the conversation he had... Bakugo apologized...

He had to talk to kirishima tomorrow about this.

"Hey shitty hair,.can I talk?"

[bigfan-fanfic]

Got A Problem With That? (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)

@innerpiratefun Can you make a part 2 of Dean Winchester x Male Reader he's a mechanic in California, it's my favorite fic also could you include a part where Sam realizes the collar and says something to dean but dean doesn't take it off or something like that, btw love your fics

Here's PART 1

"He's good at that stuff. Maybe better than you." Dean smirks at his little brother.

Sam scoffs. Skeptical.

Dean chuckles, turning up the music.

They've left you back at the motel - there's no way you're letting Dean travel off alone for this journey, but you're also not skilled in monster hunting, so you've made yourself useful through research.

You're currently compiling a little database on monsters through research and the brothers' anecdotes.

You're not very happy about being dragged into a search for John Winchester, but you want to support Dean, who seems to have genuinely missed his brother.

Besides, apparently Sam tried to leave, but was driven into a deeper need for vengeance when his girlfriend was killed in the same way as their mom.

"You're pretty, ah, serious with him, yeah?" Sam asks again. In the two weeks since you started traveling together, Sam has asked this quite a few times.

"Yeah." Dean responds shortly - as he has each time. He knows their dad might be weird about it. Knows he and Sam weren't exactly raised to even know about sexuality besides heterosexuality.

They both know things, but it's still... awkward to see each other after so long and have to share that.

Dean's been wearing a leather jacket and many layers - trying a little harder not to let his collar show.

It's technically just a necklace, but it serves the same purpose.

You have a thicker leather one for play, but for just wearing, it's a black chain of twisted links attached to a black circle. It's not particularly noticeable, but it is distinctive.

"So... what's this?" Sam asks, reaching out and pointing at the necklace.

Dean tenses as if about to smack Sam's hand away, as if thinking he was going to touch the necklace. "Y/N gave it to me."

"Oh. It's... nice."

"Thanks."

Sam clears his throat, uncomfortable. "Looks kinda like a BDSM thing."

Dean winces. And that tells Sam all he needs to know.

He chuckles a little. "Wow, Dean."

"Shut up." Dean growls. He's not laughing.

"Jeez..." Sam smirks, happy to get under his skin. "I was just-"

"It's something special to my partner and me. That's all you need to know. And all I feel like telling you. Got it?"

"Okay."

The drive is unbearably awkward, especially on the way to take down another spirit.

"Dean?" Sam asks as they park.

"Yeah?" Dean asks gruffly.

"I'm... I'm happy you're that close with someone. I wanted to have what you have with... with Jess."

Dean shifts uncomfortably. But he doesn't protest or shy away - you've helped him learn to communicate and part of that is listening.

"So yeah. It's really cool that you have a partner you're so close to. You're a lot less of a douche than you were." Sam chuckles.

"Yeah. Th-thanks."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam makes to open his door. "How'd you pull a guy so much smarter than you, anyway?"

They leave the car, already more relaxed.

"Yeah, well, it's actually a funny story..."

[angelickisscs]

poolside autographs ~ jude bellingham series (ongoing)

‧₊˚ ୨ ୧ ˚₊ masterlist ~ forgotten paradise (part 1)

summary: Two hearts once intertwined find one another during a family holiday but will the ever-growing distance that they set continue to grow or will one arise to the challenge that is keeping them together?

authors note ~ this is way too long to proofread ngl so i am very sorry if there are any mistakes 😭😭

THE GOLDEN SUN shone brightly in the crisp summer sky as it casted its warmth across your bare shoulders in a gentle, comforting breath. A cerulean blue washed against the vast canvas above, puffs of clouds slowly disappearing inwards.

“And we can take a nice, deep breath.” Your dad announced as though it were an achievement to even make it to the resort, his body rising and falling rhythmically.

 You stood and watched him as the bag you had packed earlier that morning weighed down your arm. It reprimanded you harshly, allowing you no breaks between the minutes that you had already been holding it.

“Dad, can we just go inside?” Your brother asked, his voice the living embodiment of boring. In response, your dad could only laugh. He beckoned you all forward, leading the way towards the vast glass doors that stood only a mere two feet away.

They opened hastily, letting out a small ring as you all entered through them. The cooling air-con that sat strategically placed above the door hit you in the face, sliding down throughout the rest of your body.

The lobby was mostly empty despite the number of plants that were growing throughout. It was a battle to lead your uncooperative suitcase past them. Somehow, it always managed to end up gripped to a vase or pot that held the greenery, refusing to let go as though the two objects had managed to befriend one another in a matter of seconds.

Your family allowed you to struggle, each wandering up to the desk in front so they could gather the room cards. A brief conversation with the receptionist about how ‘wonderfully beautiful’ the resort was, allowed you to catch up to them in time to politely take yours from the unfortunate woman.

She had managed to strike up the more talkative side of your father. The conversation ranged from the beginning sentence to surrounding activities to undoable work hours. Your mother seemed to have enough as she excused him from the conversation, slowly but surely dragging him away by his closest shoulder.

“How many ‘friends’ do you think he’s going to make on this trip?” Your brother, Oliver, asked with a cheeky grin coating his lips. “I’ll bet you a fiver it’ll be four.”

“Four? I’ll go with seven.” You responded as you stepped into the lift, sneakily shaking one another’s hands in an abrupt agreement to the bet you had just made.

Your mum leaned back from where she was standing so her head could land up in between the pair of you.

“Too high. Bound to only be two.”

Her voice could hardly consider itself as a whisper, its noise level exceeding the limit as to how loud it could be. Though your dad’s humming to the music that surrounded the death-trap of a mechanism seemed to be able to drown it out enough.

You scoffed in response. She had a history of underestimating her own husband in these kinds of circumstances and you could only hope that this would be another instance to add to the failure of a streak.

With a ping, you were all ushered out of the lift. There was a very brief conversation on where you all would next meet, Oliver’s hurry to get into his room being the main reason for that. Your dad did not want you roaming around an unfamiliar environment by yourself, no matter how peaceful it was, so you instead opted to meet back outside the lift.

It was a stronger relief than you had expected when you had finally pushed the keycard against the slot in the door, pushing the door open with your free shoulder. You abandoned your carry on and suitcase in an instance, banishing them to the corner of the room. The comfiness of the bed was loudly calling your name and you weren’t one to ignore someone nor something so in need of your approval.

You allowed yourself few moments of rest to gather whatever energy you had left over. There was not a multitude of it, but it would have to do. Kicking your legs into the air, you threw yourself upwards into a standing position so you could approach your suitcase, making the silly decision to unpack later when you came upstairs to get ready for dinner.

A bikini lead folded neatly atop of multiple towels, its burgundy colouring having to do for now. You quickly removed the clothes you had worn during the flight, replacing them with said bikini and a coverup just in time to answer the sound of a fist pounding against the unfortunate slab of wood that was your door.

“Hurry up then!” Said Oliver when you had made it to your door, his impatient eyes following you as you scrambled to collect everything you may need for those hours around the pool.

Your parents were both ready, dressed in a matching colour of swimwear, the same pair of sunglasses resting atop of their heads. They had managed to time the arrival of the lift perfectly, leaving no more waiting for your brother and you than necessary.

Everyone stayed slightly throughout the short ride. There was no reason for any form of conversation, each saving that for later in the day when the need placed itself in front of you.

Unsurprisingly, the lift had not lengthened its short arrival on the ground floor. You were the first to exit, a game of follow the leader ensuing so you could arrive at the poolside in one piece.

The foreign sun was soon to introduce itself to your skin, the heat that radiated off it being unlike any that you had previously felt. It snaked through your coverup, surpassing any defence that your sunscreen had placed, with ease. You all chose a row of five with your mother on the farthest end so she could be next to you.

Your dad was the one who lost the coin-toss, swiftly forced to collect you each a drink. Though, Oliver opted out of having one instead b-lining straight towards the pool just like he did when he was only eight years younger.

A certain peace encapsulated all of you, the sound of laughter carrying from the families around as the wind passed through all of them, dancing within the palm trees that sat firmly in their allocated areas.

“Well, that’s number one.” Your mum commented, turning her head just in time to catch your confused eyes so she could point to what she was referring too.

You laughed lightly at the sight that met you, your social dad already managing to abandon his prior mission and instead talking to a man he had sat next to at the open bar.

“Only one more to go for you then.” You reminded her before shuffling around slightly to get more comfortable.

She sighed lightly at what you said, “Is it too late to change my bet?”

You didn’t bother to use your words but rather to just slowly nod. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could make out her lightly hitting her leg in a makeshift punishment.

Whispering to herself, your mother lead back down on the sun lounger, feigning a disinterest at what was happening around her. She had pushed her sunglasses up over her eyes, the black coating making it so you could not see where she was looking, no matter how close you were to her.

There was an interest as to what she had managed to notice now so you began your own investigation. Dragging your eyes across the pool area to look for the suspect that had caught her attention, you questioning did not linger for a long time. A familiar set of brunette hair emerged out of the pool, his previously worn cap in hand.

He approached you with swift and sure movements, “I need you to protect this with your life.”

Your mother, who had become attuned to his antics, took the cap from his hands, placing it at her side. Oliver threw her a thumbs up before he went back to whatever he was doing beforehand.

The time passed by quickly, your body succumbing to exhaustion not soon after your brothers confusing request. Your mum had not fully given up when she woke you up, trying to ask you once again what she had prior to catch you out but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t tried before.

She had collected each of you one by one, your dad being the first victim and you the last. Both the men in your small group had become surprisingly hungry during the activities they had decided to do. It left you to realise you had never received that diet coke you had requested, leaving a slight resentment in your dry mouth.

“Have fun with your friend?” Your mum asked her husband, leaving a suggestion for him to add his name into the last slot of the sentence.

“Mark.” Your dad corrected, placing an arm over her shoulder. “And yes, he is genuinely nice. He has two kids as well, same age and everything.”

The doors once again opened with a loud ping, allowing everyone to leave with slow and light steps, the heat draining whatever you all had left.

You each excused yourselves to your rooms, a time limit still managing to be set at how long you had to get ready. Shaking your head as you unlocked your door, gathering your shower supplies from your suitcases before heading straight for the bathroom. You stripped off out of your bikini, making sure to throw your freshly washed hair into a bun as you turned the water onto cold, allowing it to fall over your body and wake you up slightly.

It was only a brief shower, doing all the necessary hygiene routines before reaching out to turn off the shower and grab a towel.

Having made the silly decision not to unpack earlier on, a mess slowly gathered in your room as you attempted to neatly sift through to find an acceptable outfit. It conveniently led at the very bottom of the suitcase; a strategy you had previously used that had ended up not going in your favour despite your efforts for it too. You had a longer than average history of being a bad packer that overestimated the amount of energy you would have upon arriving at your location. An unideal duo.

You sat at your desk chair with your outfit on, a small beauty blender in hand as you applied the concealer in the necessary places. There wasn’t a need to do makeup at once due to the one easy activity that you were doing so you chose to keep it light and easy.

For once, you seemed to get your time keeping in check. No one had come banging on your door by the time you were ready, leaving you to dawdle as you went through your bag to check you needed anything.

Your brother leant against the wall beside your room when you exited, phone in hand.

“This holiday is awesome. I met my idol today.” He whispered to you when he noticed your presence.

“Oh yeah? Did you fangirl?” You asked with a mischievous tone that was meant to mock him, but he was too much of a way through cloud nine to have the ability to notice that.

Oliver moved his head from side to side, deciding on his answer. “Slightly. Didn’t recognise him at first but when I did, I built up the courage to talk to him and it was great. Played a bit of water-polo with them and everything.”

“Is that the Alexander guy?”

His face dropped at your words, not one attempt to hide the strong snarl on his face succeeding, “Alexander guy? Seriously?”

“I don’t know football.” You defended with a shoulder raise leaving him to roll his eyes.

“No. It was someone else you wouldn’t know.” Oliver corrected. “We can count mum out of the bet, right?”

He fiddled around with putting his phone away in his pocket as he spoke, lowering his tone at the small chance that you dad had decided on hiding out to scare the pair of you.

“Of course.” You responded with an ‘obviously’ look which this time he had managed to notice though you did lay it on thicker than what you would usually prefer to do.

Oliver was about to give you a rude response when your parents called the both of you over, blissfully ignorant as to whatever was going on. They pressed the button to wait for the lift, striking up a conversation as to what might be best to do tomorrow.

The restaurant was a larger walk away than you all had anticipated when you had finally gotten downstairs. You walked what felt like all the hotel’s property before you finally arrived at the desired location. The sound of multiple conversations happening at one echoing throughout your ears. Though it was beginning to step back from its leading position, the sun’s heat lingered throughout the air, latching to your bare flesh as you walked through it in attempt to find a free table. The artificial light waved towards you, reflecting off every window that you passed, its brightness making you feel as though you would need sunglasses to get through this dinner.

A table of six was clear in front of you, allowing you to get off your feet, the pain beginning to get worse the more you walked. Despite being busy, the restaurant was yet to be full to its capacity, though the way people scattered themselves all over the place gave the image that it was.

Taking your seats, everyone picked up their own menu, decisively dragging their eyes across the busy piece of laminated paper. Discussions ensued about if anyone would be willing to share anything, everyone taking turns to list out their options. Your mum and you decided upon getting a sharing platter, neither of you particularly hungry.

The waiter soon made his rounds to your table, politely introducing himself being writing down your orders in his black, tarnished notepad.

Steady conversation ensued for the rest of the night, someone always having an opinion to share or a new topic to branch of off.

It was dark by the time you left on full stomachs; the majority of the restaurant’s guests having emptied out as well. The walkway lit with more soothing lighting, the yellow tone inciting tranquillity as birds sung their final song of the day.

Heels moved in harmony with one another, whispered conversations shared between one another as you all walked.

“Mark invited us to join him for a couple drinks at the pool, who feels like coming?” Your dad offered up, a chorus of agreement coming from the rest of your family. It wasn’t ideal for you to be doing this but since everyone else had already decided upon going, you left yourself with no choice but to go.

You allowed him to show you the way around once everyone had got going again. Your strides were steady, passing people with a friendly smile as you began to approach the pool once again. It was completely empty, towels still lead on sun loungers, most simply thrown on top and others folded.

The moon shone brightly, the almost full appearance it boasted being far too beautiful to not take a second to appreciate. A gentle wind still blew past your shoulders, forcing the heat that claimed its position in the air, into your already boiling body.

Flowers surrounded the edge of the resort in unity, insignificant amounts beginning to bloom and other having reached their time but all managing to stay equally as beautiful. Healthy grass filled every gap needed, helping to make the walkway look fuller.

Each one of you expressed your confusion as to where this supposed planned meet up was taking place though a short walk soon answered your silent questioning.

Music spilled out from speakers that positioned themselves perfectly around the bar to cause the least disturbance. Table came in few though most came empty. Instead, people gathered around the barrels that had barstools pushed up against them. Most opted not to use the provided branded coasters, their cold pints of beer placed rebelliously against the wooden top.

“There you are!” The man that was supposedly Mark walked up to your dad, a fist-bump taking place between the pair. “Thought you might have opted out of coming.”

“Never mate. I don’t turn down an enjoyable time.” Your dad laughed along with him. “This is the family.���

He introduced you all one by one, pointing to make it certain as to who he was talking about. You waved when it was your turn to, a small smile formed of regret making its way onto your face.

“Nice to meet you all.” Mark said, turning his body over to where his wife and sons sat. Or at least that’s what he said, your vision unable to do its only job due to your mum standing directly in front of you.

Not that you minded, the quicker you could get out of there the better.

There was no other chance given, however. Your mothers firm grip that enclosed your wrist always keeping you right by her side. She had dragged you over to the table before you could count to ten to complete the first deep breath you were having to take.

Your brother and his newly made friend recognised one another in an instance, taking themselves elsewhere to your and his mum’s displeasure. They called out a demand of ‘staying close’ though it was to no usage, the effort to do that wasting itself within a matter of seconds.

That seemed to make you mum far more hyperaware of your presence, her hand that held your wrist dragging you down into the seat next to her as everyone got acquainted.

“Sweetheart, do you want anything to drink?” Your dad asked you, taking a break from his walking away. Mark was steps ahead, not realising your fathers lack of presence.

You shook your head, “I’m not going to stay long so no thank you.”

Feeling your mums’ eyes linger on you in question, you turned to look at Denise. Her and your mum were partway through a conversation, your parent’s ability to be social being a skill you had not inherited nor developed.

“My Jude was just the same but if you look at him now, you would never be able to tell.” Denise stated, her hands moving around everywhere to emphasise her unknown point.

The singular usage of his name was enough for you heart to begin working harder, oxygen catching itself inside of your throat. It was a conditioned response that you had picked up many months ago, but it was hard not to feel silly at the mere coincidence that managed to weasel itself to directly in your eyeline.

“Sorry, forgive me. Is that your oldest?” Your mum questioned, familiarising herself with the bloodline of this new family.

Denise cracked a smile, “Yes. He should be here any minute now, he just had to take a call.”

Words seemed to blur around the edge of your consciousness for the minutes that passed, none of your interest managing to fixate onto the new topic the conversation had taken on.

Yet again, your father was yet to make a return. Though when you heard a loud roar travel through the crowd, it seemed to follow with hours before in the fact that it was no surprise. He had managed to find a television with the latest rugby match on and there was no method of drawing him away from it that any of your family had learned.

“Sorry about that. Oh.”

That voice. That same voice that was so deeply connected to the name.

No choices other than paralysing any movement your body could make could be handed to you, your eyes not daring to look up from their decided position whilst your arms seized with every muscle grabbing a hold of their closest friend.

It was an indescribable feeling that injected itself into your icy veins. One that you had never been subjected to. Your body seemed to become unfamiliar with the very organs that had been inside of you your whole life, disconnecting your brain from everything it could.

“Ah, Jude! There you are.” Denice began, the sound of wood creaking crawling throughout the bones that sat in your body. “This is Debbie and her daughter y/n.”

There wasn’t anything to shock you more that the fact that months of demanding work to just move on from him and his featherlight touch could undo itself with such little effort. A quick release knot that hadn’t even been pulled on before it began unravelling.

A short jab to the flesh that sat on the arm to your right brought you out of the tsunami wreaking havoc onto your mind.

“Nice to meet you.” He had a small voice crack, clearing it with a short cough of his throat. “Both.”

Looking up through the hoods of your eyelids, the skin around your nail falling victim to your painful habit, you mustered a miniature lifting of the sides of your lips to seem polite enough.

His eyes firmly watched you, for once not a care in the world as to who could possibly see.

The final word he spoke encouraged itself to hold the power of erasing your history, at least to your families. The same ones that both of you had sworn to meet countless times. Though, unfortunately for Jude, nothing nor no one, not even him, could ever deal with the weight of magically pushing away the indifference that lingered heavily between the pair of you.

Re-finding your words, you pushed yourself up from the chair that you sat him, your eyeline cutting out the man that stood on the side of the table.

“I’m going to head up.”

A panic set through Jude. That very same emotion bearing the power of his next actions. He could offer to walk you up to your room, he wanted to offer that. The words failed at exiting out of his throat, claiming a form of stage fright had developed.

He watched helplessly as everyone but him bid you a goodnight. His skin that concealed him so heavily began to heat up, his eyes being the only part of him that claimed its freedom.

They continued to trail you as you walked down towards the resort though his legs refused to cooperate.

“Are you sitting down?” Denise looked at her son suspiciously, her lips forming a strict straight line.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”