#that is like...... several hundred hours of content

[lizeon]

coming to tumblr to vtuber post again to once more say i really wish the stars community was a little bigger / more active over here because man, the plotlines of the gta rp server the boys joined last week were so fucking wild, and i know a certain section of tumblr would have a field day with whatever the fuck sariel and his kidnapping victim butler avery had going on

[wearetheunholyfamily]

Because that would be boring as shit, next question

[oozeandgoo-art]

drew my ocs again. STILL can't draw Taran's human face but whatever, if he's just holding something in front of it we can't tell, right? Right?

Nakey version under the cut so you can see all the pretty textures I put on Haven.

[httpsserene]

Hiiii

I just got done reading your masterpiece with the Austrian bread and got an idea.

What about the making of Aussie kids? Reader would have a baby fever and Toto would immediately be like ‘let’s make one’ and reader would cry out ‘ but I’m on birth control’

Pure chaos and smut

Sending positive vibes

𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

summary: don’t bake a man’s favorite bread unless you want to have his kids. it’s a good thing you’re desperate to do exactly that. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. kitchen sex. pregnancy kink. baby fever. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. creampie. implied masturbation. implied age gap. reader and toto are married. breeding kink (i guess)? birth control. actual pregnancy. beta read by @biancathecool pairing: toto wolff x fem!black!reader genre: written fic (1.8k words).

from serene: here’s the part two to toasty, i hope it satisfies the requests i got for this! i personally don’t understand the thirst some of you have for toto but, i do respect it. maybe one day i’ll see what y’all do or somebody can educate me on it but, i do hope y’all are pleased with this one xxx

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A switch has been flipped in your brain—you’ve become more than insatiable for your husband. After he railed you on the counter for making his favorite bread, baking has become your entire personality. The way Toto looked at you after he tried your first attempt at an authentic pumpernickel bread changed how your brain fires. The mix of love and lust that filled his gaze had awoken an innate instinct within you: you need to have this man’s babies.

You’ve always claimed to be an independent woman, your dream was never to become a man’s accessory, or housewife, or tradwife. But, for Toto? For the way he looked at you as he had his first taste of your pastry? You’d set feminism back for a hundred years to keep getting fucked like that for the rest of your life. You spent an ungodly amount of money (Toto’s money) on baking utensils and you’ve pretty much been running a bakery out of your kitchen. Every few hours you’re shoving a pastry down your husband’s throat, eagerly awaiting his praise for each creation you seem to bake perfectly. 

Off-handedly around a mouthful of cinnamon sugar knots you baked, Toto moaned at the dessert melting on his tongue, seemingly in a daze when he murmured, “I’m going to get you pregnant if you keep baking like this.”

You laughed at his unexpected outburst, brushing it off as Toto hyperbolizing how great the dessert was. However, it was like the words infected your brain–every waking hour, you constantly thought about having his kids. And it didn’t help that once Toto heard you set a timer for the oven, he’d be tearing your clothes off and fucking you on the nearest surface. The kitchen island is a favorite, but there was an instance where he took you on the floor. Afterward, he claimed to be too old for sex on tiled floors, but you were too busy imagining growing a baby in your belly to care.

The severity of your baby fever is only realized when you reach into your nightstand to take your birth control and...you hesitate. You’re on the last week of pills, you should message your clinic to get a refill. Imagine a child, a mixture of you and Toto. And, you’re aware that pregnancy can be rough but you’d finally be able to decorate that spare room into a nursery instead of letting it collect dust. A baby; a combination of your best halves. Would they have your deeper skin tone, or Toto’s height, or your curls, or his nose, or your eyes? You could have your baby cradled to your chest as you bake for your husband, their father—

“Schatz?” Toto calls in question from his side of the bed, eyes concerned through the lens of his glasses, “You froze, are you okay?”

You shake the thoughts from your head, the smile you give him is slightly strained. You complete the monotonous motion of swallowing tonight’s allocated contraception with a sip of water. Tossing the packet back in the drawer, you speak, “Yes, I’m fine. I just realized that I need to order more birth control.”

His eyes examine your expression for a moment before he nods and offers a simple, “Hm.” in response. Toto fixed his eyes back on the book in front of him, and you ignore the disappointment that burns in your chest. Sighing mutely, you grab your phone and request a refill in your clinic’s online portal.

The next morning you’re awoken by Toto sweetly petting you awake, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheekbone. He murmurs an apology as he reveals that he’s going to be trapped in the home office today with back-to-back meetings concerning the looming Formula One season. You pouted even while you nodded your understanding, pleading for a kiss before you lost his attention for the day, which Toto happily divulged.

You busy yourself, prepping Toto’s favorite pastry and setting it to bake in the oven as early as possible. As a caring wife, you prepare meals for him and slip into his room to deliver them knowing he would forget to eat if you didn't remind him. You make sure his coffee never runs low, even if you switched to decaf after the second mug—he shouldn’t have too much caffeine at his age, you’d like to grow old with him eventually. To your dismay, Toto did not lie about being locked in the office. He was sequestered within those four walls well past sunset and as a result, you’ve produced enough baked goods in your free time to power the entire Mercedes factory for a week.

“I think we are going to have to discuss a limit for how many things you can bake in a day, schatz,” your husband sounds from the kitchen entryway, an awe-filled look on his face as he sees the bakery you’ve created. 

“The pumpernickel bread is still baking—would you like a cinnamon roll instead? Or a chocolate chip cookie? Or could I interest you in a slice of apple pie?”

You’re well aware that your curls are a mess in the loosely fastened bun dangling low on your head, you probably have streaks of flour and other various baking ingredients on your face mirroring the dirty surface of your apron. The unhinged baker aesthetic you’ve suddenly adopted is pulled together by the wide grin splayed across your lips. 

“I could eat all three,” Toto hums, his eyes darkening as he approaches you in the kitchen, fingers rushing to untie your apron, “—If you can help me work up an appetite.”

Various baked goods are shoved out of the way to make space for you to be bent over the island. Your flushed brown skin is cooled by the marble surface, nipples hardening quickly at the temperature but, it doesn’t stop you from spreading your legs and helping Toto tug your panties to the side underneath your skirt. He’s quick to press a finger within your entrance and pauses when the slide is too easy.

You squirm desperately, whining when Toto halts your hips from rocking backward on his hand.

“Schatz,” Toto murmurs, his free hand palming at your ass, “Did you—”

“Yes!” You cut him off, stomping at the delay, “I got bored waiting for things to bake—I’m ready, just fuck me.”

Thankfully, Toto is quick to listen to you and substitute his finger for his cock, his slacks unzipped enough to pull himself out. At the stretch, your eyes roll back and you lose the strength to hold your head up, letting it fall to press against the cool marble. You feel your husband still his hips but you reach your hand backward to grasp at his pressed dress shirt, using your grip to tug him forward, a non-verbal cue for him to keep sinking into you. He curses lowly and leans downward to rest his head on the back of your neck, pressing the remaining few inches inside.

Twin moans of pleasure are exhaled into the kitchen, Toto’s hands move to hold your waist, his clasp on your skin tight, reflecting the force he’s mustering to refrain from fucking into you without your approval. The burn from his girth fades quickly replaced by the feeling of fullness you’ve become addicted to. You roll your hips softly, moaning shakily at the drag of his length within you and Toto meets your rhythm smoothly. 

He fucks into you deeply, grunting on every other thrust in, you feel the breath of his chuckle ghost across your back when you fall limp in his hands; he’s well aware that you enjoy sitting pretty and taking what he gives you. Your cunt clings to his cock, the plush heat trying its hardest to disallow Toto from exiting, urging him to stay buried inside of you as he scrapes directly over your most sensitive points. 

Your husband straightens himself upright, pressing you firmly down on the counter with a hand in the middle of your back, his other hand slipping around to rest on your navel while keeping your hips angled upward for a better angle.

His thrusts become rougher and you can only scramble to hold on to the island, hands slipping from the sweat accumulated on your palms and skin. Your mouth is parted, drooling from the corner of your lip, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe through his thrusts, moans and gasps punched out of your chest, his cock hardened and pulsing within you, and your curls bouncing out of your bun and sticking to your back and forehead from the heat.

Toto’s hand presses into your belly, and he pants lowly, “You feel me right in here—I’m going to put a baby in you, schatz.”

You shudder in his arms, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to reply, and you swear you feel yourself become wetter at the image your husband planted in your mind.

“You can’t,” you whine out roughly, whimpering as the force of his thrusts rocks you up across the island, the ledge digging into your hips, “ah—’m on birth control!”

He grunts dismissively, patting his hand on your belly as his rough thrusts are exchanged for deep grinds, hitting places that send tantalizing rushes of pain along with pleasure up your spine, “Okay,” Toto huffs, “Stop taking it.”

You mean to ask clarifying questions, but he doesn’t let you get a word in as he continues to ramble about getting you pregnant.

“Fuck, I’m going to give you a baby, yes?” “—Going to be so pretty carrying our child.” “You’ll be such a good mum.”

The last one pushes you over the edge harshly, your nerves burning at the white-hot flash of pleasure, the sounds of Toto following you muffled to your ears as your orgasm floods your senses. You feel a dampness on your cheeks and it takes Toto wiping it away to realize you’re crying. His hips continue to slowly grind deeply within you, his cum painting your walls, and he pulls you upwards to press your lips together.

“You were serious,” your voice cracks embarrassingly as you moan the words into Toto’s lips, “About the birth control?”

“Yes,” your husband answers confidently, his words supported by a firm thrust of his cock that makes your eyes roll and body shiver, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

You hum, pleased at his response, “You need to remind me to call the clinic tomorrow to cancel my refill order.”

Toto grumbles incoherently, more concerned with toying with your nipples and kissing along your collarbone, “Yes, schatz—can you go again? I want to put a baby in you as quickly as possible. You would look so beautiful with a bump, no?”

5 weeks later you run out of the bathroom and leap into your husband's arms, brandishing a positive pregnancy test wildly. 

You laugh gleefully, tears of joy forming in your waterline, “I guess both of us are bakers now!”

“What?” Toto offers confused, trying to still your arm to grab the test.

“Both of us are bakers now! You put a bun in my oven!”

© httpsserene2024

[sungbeams]

RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT — psh

sending your boyfriend an innocent selfie after a long and tiring day quickly snowballs into something far from innocent...

⟡ ┆ pairing. park sunghoon x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol!AU (for sunghoon, y/n unspecified)

⟡ ┆ content warnings. guided + mutual masturbation, phone sex, edging, dirty talk, a tiny bit of voyeurism?

⟡ ┆ word count. 9.7k

⟡ ┆ note. first full length fic on this account !! biggest thank you to @jayparked for reading over this and listening to me complain about this fic <3

Silence greets you as you open the door to your apartment, quickly toeing off your shoes and limping into your living room just to let yourself fall onto your couch with a sigh. Your head falls backwards, leaning against the backrest, and you maneuver your feet to rest on top of the coffee table in front of you, stretching out your aching muscles with a relieved exhale. Rhythmic and consistent ticking interrupts the quietness around — coming from the clock hanging above your bookshelves — and even as you try to fight it, your eyes flutter close in an hopeless attempt to find at least a bit of relaxation.

Today had been stressful. And that's bordering on being an understatement.

Within the first hour of arriving at work, you had somehow managed to spill coffee on yourself. And even though it wasn’t that big of a stain — in fact, it was barely even noticeable unless you knew it was there — it still bothered you enough to agitate you every single time you spotted the small splotch on your white blouse. As if that wasn't enough, your colleagues kept bothering you throughout the day, and, just when you thought you were finally done with your tasks for the day and could take it slow for the rest of your shift, your boss decided to unload a massive amount of work on you. Your first instinct had been to hide in a bathroom stall until your shift was over and go home, ignoring the assignments and just call in sick next week, not wanting to interact with even one more person. In the end, your inner people-pleaser won, and you had forced yourself to push through. Relieved you finished your work and excited to finally go home, especially considering you wouldn't have to go back until Monday, you stepped onto the subway train — just to find out your usual station, the one closest to your home, was closed for maintenance work for the day, running on limited service only, meaning you had to get off at the following station. And even though the walk from there only added a few minutes to your journey, it still felt like the last straw to your already crappy day — the fact that it was raining and you hadn't brought your umbrella certainly didn't help — and all you want to do now that you're home is to bury yourself beneath your blankets and forget about this whole day.

More than anything else though, you can't help but wish you'd be able to curl up in the arms of your boyfriend, maybe watch a movie with him, or just spend the evening cuddling with him while he lets you vent while his skilled fingers work out the knots in the muscles of your shoulders, something he has done several times in the past when you've been stressed. But alas, Sunghoon just so happens to be several hundred miles away from you, currently preparing for Enhypen's next stop in their Walk the Line Tour in Saitama. Luckily, they were almost done with their tour. They only had two more weekends, four concerts in two different cities, left, and then you'd get to finally wrap your arms around your boyfriend again. The urge to call him, to hear his soothing voice to help you relax, is overwhelmingly strong, but you know he's likely more than exhausted and stressed out himself. After having to deal with hours after hours of rehearsals, the last thing you want is to bother him even more by unloading your troubles on him, especially since they seem to be oh so trivial and irrelevant now that you're back home and able to get a breather.

With another sigh, you push yourself to your aching feet, resisting the urge to fall back down onto your comfortable couch and let the pillows embrace you, your joints cracking and crunching, muscles aching in protest at the movement as you drag yourself towards your bedroom to change out of your work clothes. As you open the door, you find your bed exactly the way you had hastily left it in the morning after accidentally oversleeping, the duvet hanging halfway off the bed, and — much to your annoyance — the small lamp on the right side of your bed still turned on since you seemingly had forgotten to turn it off when you were rushing to get ready to go to work, skipping about 10 steps in your usual routine to avoid being late.

Not wanting to stay much longer in your stained shirt, you quickly open the white blouse to leave it hanging off your shoulders while you pop open the button of your pants and pull down the zipper, your hips the only thing keeping them from sliding off your body and falling to the floor. With your pants undone and the cold buttons of your shirt brushing against your skin, you make your way over to your dresser to pull out one of your oversized shirts — one that your boyfriend had previously owned before you had stretched it out by wearing it to sleep or whenever you needed its warmth, the lingering smell of him bringing you comfort in the nights he wasn't able to make it home or when you fell asleep before him. You throw the shirt onto your bed before hunting down a pair of fuzzy socks to pull over your aching feet, currently bare against the cold floor since you had left your shoes by your front door immediately after coming home.

Pulling off your dirty — and smelly — clothes and putting on the fresh shirt, you sit down on the foot of your bed while letting out a deep breath, rolling your shoulders and neck, stretching your sore muscles as your nerves finally settle after your stressful day. Looking at yourself in the mirror opposite of your bed, hair disheveled and the wrinkly old shirt hanging from your body, a thought pops into your head.

Leaning back to grab your phone off the bed from where you had thrown it when you initially entered the room. Swiping and tapping on the screen, the camera app opens, and you take a quick picture of your reflection in the mirror, your bare legs peeking out from underneath the oversized shirt, the washed-out material covering your entire upper body. Your hair is a mess, and you can clearly see the exhaustion written all over your face in the photo. If it were any other person, you wouldn't send them a picture like this; you'd delete it and pretend it never happened. But it's Sunghoon. Your boyfriend who has seen you at your absolute worst, whether it be ugly sobbing because of a movie or that one time you were so sick you were barely able to get out of bed. So you can't quite bring yourself to care about your looks. And as messy as you may appear, you also find yourself thinking he might appreciate it. After all, he had never made you feel like you needed to hide yourself away from him since you started dating, telling you just how gorgeous you are to him every chance he gets — whether that's after just waking up next to him or after some _intense_ time spent together.

Tapping away on your phone, you send him a message with the image attached to it:

> hope rehearsals are going well and you're doing alright. also hopefully you're having a better day than me, i'm gonna make a quick dinner and then crash i'm exhaustedddd :( talk to you later or tomorrow ily \<3

The rest of your evening passes by in a blur. A cup of instant noodles gulped down as fast as possible without choking on it or burning your mouth before you're rushing through your nighttime bathroom routine, skipping over a few steps you just can't bother to do until you're falling into bed. You don't fight the sweet embrace of sleep as it takes over you, your eyes fluttering close as your body floats away, knowing the next day — a Saturday, finally the weekend — would be less stressful and allow you to rot to your heart's desires.

[--]

The next time you open your eyes, the sun is up and light filters through your curtains. Reaching over to check the time on your phone, the screen displays several missed calls from your boyfriend from the evening before. Seeing the notifications almost instantly wakes you up, the back of your neck tingling with worry as your hands begin to shake, your mind going crazy with all the possibilities of what could've happened that would cause him to call you that many times at eleven at night. You press your phone against your ear while rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes, anxiously listening to the repeating sound of the dial tone, the heartbeat echoing in your ears speeding up with every passing second.

After a few more rings, your boyfriend’s raspy morning voice replaces the silence of the other end of the line.

"(Y/N)? It’s…7:30 am. On a Saturday. Don’t you have the day off? Why are you up already, babe?"

Your worries instantly melt away as his voice fills your ear, his baritone sending shivers down your spine, replacing the uneasy tingling with a different, although similar, sensation. Despite only being separated for a few days, you still find yourself missing your boyfriend already, not able to help yourself even if you wanted to. Maybe it's related to your fluctuating hormone levels during your menstrual cycle or because the anniversary of your relationship is fast approaching — or just the fact that your boyfriend has been looking extra handsome recently — but you're starting to get impatient, desperately wanting to run your hands through his dark hair and over his smooth skin again.

"I fell asleep early yesterday, and I woke up just now to several missed calls from you. I was worried something happened,” you reply with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips, not a hint of anxiety left in your body.

Sunghoon chuckles slightly over the phone, and you can hear the quiet sound of rustling in the background, most likely caused by him sitting up in his hotel bed. And indeed, just as you're imagining, several hours away from you, Sunghoon is sitting upright, leaning against the headrest of the hotel room, his pillow pressed against his back, his hand reaching up to brush his messy hair out of his face. Somehow, though, it ends up even messier, sticking up from his head in all directions. Not that he particularly cares right now. No, all he really cares about is being on the phone with you, able to hear your voice at the beginning of his day.

"Well," he clears his throat, a teasing tone taking over his voice, "you sent me that selfie last night, and I wanted to have some fun with you... but I guess you had better things to do."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he lets his eyes adjust to the bright morning sun shining through the half-closed curtains, not having had the energy to get up to close them the night before.

A laugh erupts from you as you mentally picture your boyfriend sitting in the bed of his hotel room, duvet pooled around his waist and one arm slung over his bare chest as he's leaning back against the headboard with a playful pout etched onto his face. You silently sit up — your arm starting to fall asleep from the position in which you have to hold your phone against your ear — shirt slipping off your shoulder in the process as you reach up to push some of your hair out of your face.

"Yeah? What kind of fun?"

Your voice is curious, although hushed, almost as if you don’t dare to speak too loudly, even though you’re completely alone with no one to disturb. On the other end, you can hear Sunghoon hum slightly, the rumble in his chest echoing in your ear and sending the noises straight towards your core, your plush walls fluttering around nothing. Even after being with and knowing him for quite some time, little things like this — his voice after just waking up, his cheeks painted in a dusty pink, his hair a fluffy mess just asking to run your hands through it — still instantly manage to melt you into a puddle, goosebumps rising all over your skin.

"I think you know just what kind of fun I’m talking about, baby,“ Sunghoon lightly growls into your ear, pushing the duvet completely off his body, pressing a hand against the growing bulge in his underwear to relieve some of the pressure, "You looked so sexy, with your hair all messy from the day, your makeup smudged, and my shirt covering your gorgeous body. Wish I could be there right now to tear it off of you; be the reason you're all messy and disheveled for me.”

A quiet whimper involuntarily slips past your lips, your boyfriend chuckling lowly into your ear in reaction. He's aware of the effect he has on you, especially that of his voice. Whenever when he would want to tease and rile you up, he'd intentionally lean closer to you, whispering into your ear, his breath brushing over your ear, and no matter how innocent or suggestive his hushed words would be, your body would always react the same: shivers wrecking your body, breath speeding up, and eyes glazing over as you gaze up at him. The thought of those memories alone causes you to shudder and press your legs together, dampness slowly forming between them and ruining your underwear.

"Let’s try something different today, alright, sweetheart?"

You clear your throat in hopes your voice wouldn’t come out as breathy as you’re anticipating, but without avail, "Like...like what?”

"I want you to lie back down. I know you just sat up a few moments ago; I heard it, but now I need you to lie back down. Can you do that for me, baby?“

Your response comes as a hum, not trusting your voice and wanting to relish in Sunghoon's commanding tone without interrupting him. Silently, you shuffle down in your bed until your head is resting on your pillow again before kicking your duvet off your legs to feel less trapped and constricted, allowing you to move freely. Your shirt rides up in the process, exposing the bare skin of your stomach, goosebumps forming on it as the cold air of your bedroom comes in contact with your hot skin.

"I saw a blog post a bit ago online; it was about this couple in a long-distance relationship, and to spice things up in their bedrooms, they tried this little game that blew their minds away. How does that sound?"

You swallow thickly despite your mouth feeling as dry as a desert, breathing out a soft 'good’ as you impatiently wait for your boyfriend to continue husking into your ear.

"It's...I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like a guided mutual masturbation game? I'll get you to fuck yourself just the way I want you to do it while you get to listen to my voice and allow me complete control over you. Let me guide you, tease you, make you pleasure yourself until you cum all over."

Unconsciously, you start rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure forming between them. One of your hands sneaks down your body, rubbing your folds over the wet spot forming on your panties as you try your hardest to swallow down the whimper forming in the back of your throat.

"Baby, I know you’re touching yourself already. Unless you want to deal with the consequences the minute I get back home, I’d suggest you move your hand away from your pussy right this moment,” your boyfriend growls through the phone, the roughness of his voice startling you, “Busy your hands by taking off your underwear for me, okay?”

"Okay… 'm sorry,“ you mumble quietly before lifting your hips off your mattress to allow you to quickly roll your panties down your legs, exposing your dripping core to the chilly air of your bedroom, the contrast of hot and cold, as well as your growing arousal, causing shivers to run down your spine, "What now?”

"Alright, it's called 'red light, green light' game. The rules are simple. When I say 'red light’ you’re not allowed to masturbate; you’re not allowed to touch yourself or do anything to pleasure yourself. You have to lie perfectly still and just listen to me touching myself and telling you all the things I wish I’d be able to do to you if I'd be home right now. And when I say 'green light’ that’s when it’s your turn to play with yourself, and I’ll have to listen. That’s when you get to touch yourself, rub your clit and finger yourself; do everything to try and make yourself cum. You understand?“

You nod your head in confirmation before realizing your boyfriend can’t see you, opening your mouth to whisper your words of confirmation into the eerie silence of your apartment, "Yes, I understand.”

"Good girl.“

You clench your eyes shut for a moment at the term of endearment falling from his lips, exhaling slowly through your nose to keep yourself from letting your fingers brush over your exposed skin. Once again, you can hear rustling on the other end of the line. An almost inaudible grunt echoes in your ear before Sunghoon begins speaking again, "We’ll go back and forth like that until I tell you to cum, alright? I want you to be honest with me if you don’t want to do this with me.”

You can’t help but chuckle slightly at your boyfriend, ever the gentleman, but also feel oddly touched by him making sure you’re comfortable with what’s about to happen between the both of you — all of this just because of an innocent selfie shared with him after a stressful day at work. Taking a deep breath, you try your best to control the shakiness of your voice, which you know will inevitably be there once you open your mouth to answer Sunghoon.

"Don’t worry about me, Hoon. I’m okay with this, and we always said we wanted to try some new stuff. I’m excited to try this with you.“

He sighs in relief at your reassurance, "And you’ll tell me if it gets too much? Or if you end up not liking it?”

You can't help but snort slightly at the way your boyfriend’s voice goes from deep and husky to soft and gentle within the blink of an eye, “Of course I will! I promise I'll let you know if I'm uncomfortable in any way. And we both know I wouldn’t be able to lie to you even if I tried.”

You both quietly laugh together for a few moments before Sunghoon clears his throat, his voice much deeper when he talks into his phone again, “Before we get started, do me a favor and put yourself on speaker phone. I'm gonna do the same so we have both our hands free, alright?”

"Okay,“ you reply with a hushed tone before taking your phone away from your ear and tapping the screen to put it on speaker.

"Ready to get started?”

His voice is louder in your room now, almost enough to convince you he’s right beside you, sitting on the edge of your bed and telling you what to do while watching you with hungry eyes, if not for the slight static sounds and rustling coming from your phone. The sad reality, however, is that he’s not in your bedroom, nowhere near you in fact, and if you were to reach out, your fingertips wouldn’t be able to brush against his hot and flushed skin like you desperately wish they would. It frustrates you, not being able to feel him on your body, but you force yourself to remember he’ll be back home soon — as a matter of fact, he'd be coming home in 10 days — and you both will get to catch up on moments missed together. Snapping back to reality, you take a deep breath, curious as to how this 'game’ Sunghoon has planned will turn out.

"Yeah, I’m ready,“ you breathe out, your fingers twitching to touch yourself, to run them down your body until you’re met with your already sopping core, but, as hard as it is, you refuse yourself and the need to do just that.

While you’re lying in your bed, desperate to touch your body, Sunghoon begins to pull down his underwear, his hard and aching cock springing free and hitting his lower abdomen. With a groan, he starts teasing himself with one finger, running it over the slit of his dick, the head red and angry after being ignored for so long already.

"Just got my cock out,” he moans slightly as his finger slowly collects droplets of his precum, “it’s so hard for you already, desperate to be touched...Remember, it’s a red light for you at the moment, baby. You have to lie still and just listen to me as I start touching myself.”

Adding a second finger, Sunghoon slides them over the underside of his cock, running them along the prominent vein there until he reaches the base of his cock. Wrapping his fingers around his thick girth, he lets out a relieved sigh. Having his own hand around himself comes nowhere close to the amazing feeling of your hand dragging up and down his stiff length, but knowing you’re lying in your bed, wanting nothing more than to touch yourself, and having to listen to your boyfriend’s sounds of pleasure is good enough for him at this moment.

"Oh fuck, do you hear how turned I am for you, baby? So turned on, knowing you can’t do anything else but listen to me touch myself, desperate to run your fingers down your own body, huh?“

His panting fills the void of your room, your fingers burying themselves into your duvet as you try to hold back from moving even a single muscle in your body. He lets out a grunt that echoes off your walls, sending shockwaves straight to your cunt as you find yourself wishing, hoping, _needing_ for him to tell you it’s your turn to touch yourself. Your breathing speeds up as you continue listening to your boyfriend, his soft moans, his groans, his grunts. The mental picture of him laying with his cock out, his hand wrapped around himself, burns itself into your mind, and you swear you've never been so jealous of someone’s hand before.

Sunghoon groans again as he lets his thumb swipe over the head of his cock, collecting the beads of his precum, continuing to relish in the sensation, "Feels so good, stroking my hand up and down my cock. Just knowing you’re listening to me doing these things, waiting for me to tell you it’s your turn.”

Your breathy moan interrupts him, your thighs clenching in impatience, "Sunghoon, please…wanna touch myself.”

"Ah, ah. Poor thing…don’t worry, it’s gonna be your turn soon.“

Sunghoon smirks, even though he's aware you’re not able to see it. Knowing you’re desperate, _so desperate_, to touch yourself — something you usually were rather shy about when the two of you are together — turns him on even more, his cock hardening even more in his hand as he continues to stroke himself.

"You wanna touch yourself, baby?”

"Please,“ you whine, throwing your head back as your self-control is wearing thin, "please let me touch myself.”

"Okay, green light for you.“

Taking his hand off his cock takes more effort and willpower than Sunghoon would’ve ever thought and is willing to admit, but he’s instantly rewarded when he hears the relieved moan falling from your lips and echoing through his hotel room. He can’t help but thank the heavens for the fact that he doesn't have to share a room with any of the other guys, or, god forbid, a manager. On top of that, the hotel rooms thankfully happen to be soundproof, so he truly doesn't have to worry about anyone outside of these four walls hearing him, no passing staff members or hotel employees — otherwise, he knows, he would have a great deal of explaining to do or deal with some peculiar glances thrown his way and hushed whispers surrounding him for the entire length of their stay.

While your boyfriend is struggling to place his hands next to his body, restraining from touching himself, you want to immediately run your hands down your body and touch your swollen lips to relieve the tension between your legs, play with your clit and thrust your fingers into your wet cunt until you’d finally get to cum. However, Sunghoon has other plans for you.

"I know you want to touch your pussy but you need to wait a bit longer, go slow on this green light.”

"I can’t,“ you whine at him, a pout prominent on your lips as you start to get annoyed at your boyfriend for teasing you, or rather making you tease yourself, like this.

"I know you can. Don’t be a brat now; just listen to what I'm telling you to do,” Sunghoon’s voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone, and you sigh in submission, giving him the clear to continue with his instructions, “I want you to touch your body. Slowly. Close your eyes and imagine me there while you play with your breasts, tweak your nipples, pull on them until they’re all hard and perky.”

You follow his directions, your hands lightly pushing the material of your shirt over your chest, running them over the hot skin of your chest, fingers playing with the rim of your areola to tease yourself before you ghost over your nipples. Your breathing speeds up as you finally start to feel actual pleasure shooting through your body, tiny jolts setting your veins alight as you start to roll your perky buds between your fingers. Breathy moans fall from your lips as you pinch your nipples, occasionally pulling on them just to let them snap back down, the slight sting of pain only intensifying your bliss.

"Such a good girl, doing what I tell her to do. Go on, run your fingers down your body to your pussy, stroke the inside of your thighs, and over the outside of your lips all while imagining me lying on my bed with my hard cock resting on my stomach, twitching to be touched,“ Sunghoon rasps as he’s thinking about how you must look, touching your body to his voice as you’re writhing on your bed, desperate for your release already.

He knows how impatient you can get, often whining for him to go harder, faster, to stop teasing you whenever you’re together, even though he likes to take his time with you. He enjoys riling you up until you’re nothing but a whining and moaning mess underneath him, until even the smallest brush of his fingers against your swollen clit could send you over the edge, and so, with your consent, of course, he often finds himself reveling in your impatience, enjoying the desperation written on your entire body as he edges you over and over again.

You, on the other hand, want nothing more than to plunge your fingers into your dripping heat, wet enough for two of them to slip right past your lips. Your hips jerk off the mattress when your fingers first make contact with the inside of your thighs, already so sensitive just from listening to your boyfriend pleasure himself and stroke his dick.

"Can you feel yourself getting wet, baby?” Sunghoon’s voice sounds choked, almost as if it pains him not to touch himself while having to listen to your breathy moans and pants.

"Yeah…“ you whine as you slide your hand between your thighs, your fingers running over your lower lips and feeling your silky essence coat your skin, your other hand continuing to tug at your perk nipples and massage your breasts, "so wet for you.”

"Only me?“ he asks with a strained voice, his hands clenching beside his legs as he continues to listen to the little noises slipping past your lips as you run your fingers over your body, jaw tensing as he resists the urge to touch his aching cock, leaking against the taunt skin of his stomach.

You give him a desperate whine in reply as your hand bumps against your swollen clit, desperate to get some attention from your fingers as well, "Only you. Only for you, Sunghoon.”

"Go on then, baby. Go and finger yourself for me. Just one finger for now, though.“

Sighing in relief, you finally slip a finger between your legs, sliding it into your center, curling it upwards and moving it inside you as moans tumble past your parted lips, raw from biting them to try and keep quiet, not that you care about your noises anymore now.

"Feels so good, fuck, Sunghoon…please let me cum,” you beg for your boyfriend, already dreading the moment he’s going to tell you to pull your finger out of your pussy again, knowing it will inevitably happen once he hears you getting closer to your orgasm.

"You wanna cum? You wanna cum all over your greedy finger, baby?“

You whimper out in response, the tip of your finger barely grazing against that one spot inside you that your boyfriend is usually able to reach without any problems, his long fingers curving in your cunt as he brings you to the edge over and over again. You slip a second finger into your pussy, a small part of you hoping two of your fingers would come at least partially close to how his usually feel inside of you. With no avail. Dreaming about Sunghoon’s fingers only makes your thighs quiver even more, tears of frustration forming in your eyes since you know your fingers will never feel as good inside you as his do. 

"Answer me, baby,” Sunghoon’s demand snaps you out of your daydream, your fingers continuing to twist and curl inside you.

"Wanna cum…p-please, I wanna cum so badly-“

Sunghoon can tell you’re frustrated based on the choked sound cutting off the whine in your voice — and he almost feels bad for you. He knows you're usually not a fan of touching yourself without any help, his specifically, but he puts his faith in you and this little game the two of you are playing, trusting that you’ll be able to finish by just listening to him pleasure himself and his voice while his body succumbs to his carnal needs. Despite this, you’re still able to feel your walls flutter around your fingers as the heel of your palm nudges against your swollen clit, drawing a sobbed whimper from you.

"That’s too bad, baby. Red light for you now.”

You mewl in protest, wanting nothing more than to keep your fingers buried inside you until your release would finally wash over you. However, not wanting to disobey your boyfriend — and especially not wanting to deal with his punishments — you slowly pull your fingers out of yourself. Your digits are coated in your essence as you place your hands next to your body, smearing your juices onto the skin of your thigh, waiting with anticipation to hear Sunghoon’s groans resonate from the speakers of your phone.

In the bed of his hotel room all the way in Japan, Sunghoon moves his hand back to his cock, fingers wrapping around himself, slowly sliding it up his length until he reaches the top, his thumb running over the head to spread the pre-cum leaking from it over his hot skin. He groans your name at the motion, imagining it was your hand wrapped around him instead, imagining you sitting between his spread-out legs, your mouth kissing up and down his shaft, lips closing around him just for him to thrust into your wet heat while fisting your hair.

"Sunghoon,“ your whine interrupts his train of thought, his eyes flashing open to stare at the cold wooden ceiling of his room, "talk to me, please. Tell me what you’re doing.”

"That what you want?“ he rasps, continuing to stroke himself as his hips buck up to meet his fist.

"Yes, please,” your voice is small as you respond, almost as if you’re scared to admit your lewd thoughts, scared to get judged or ridiculed despite knowing your boyfriend would never do anything like that, would never make you feel like you have to hide yourself from him.

He chuckles slightly at your request, discovering a new side, a dirty side of you that you have never shown him before whenever you two have been together. He grunts as he tightens the grip around his dick, the muscles in his lower abdomen drawing taut as he feels himself inching towards his own orgasm.

"Fuck,“ he grunts as he lets his thumb slide over his slit a few times, his legs clenching at the pleasure rushing through his body, "stroking my hand over myself, wishing it was yours instead of mine. I’m thinking about all the times I’ve had your pretty lips around me, the noises coming from you as I pull on your hair to guide your head up and down my cock until you let me fill your mouth with my cum. Thinking about it dribbling past your lips, running down your chin, and making a mess of you before I fuck you into the mattress, throwing your legs over my shoulders as you scratch up my back.”

You can’t help but let your hand wander back towards your core again, running it over your swollen sex before you let two of your fingers rub small circles on your clit. You whine at the feeling, wanting to finally, finally give in to your body's pleas. However, what you forget to think about is that Sunghoon knows you; in fact, he knows almost better than you know yourself, your body, your movements — and the noises you make when he's fucking you. The moment you moan at the feeling of your fingers on your aching clit, he knows you’re touching yourself despite it not being your turn yet. His eyes snap open, his hand stills on his hardened cock as his eyebrows furrow in disbelief, not quite wanting to believe what his ears are hearing.

"Babygirl, I said red light,“ he pants after picking up his movements again, the sound of his hand stroking himself clearly audible at your end of the line, "you stop when I say so. Don’t make me punish you when I get back home.”

Your breath hitches and your fingers pause their movements. The whine falling from your lips could be described as nothing short of pathetic as you mumble out a halfhearted apology, your hands trembling as you pull them away from your wet, almost dripping, pussy. Your legs start twitching in response, your body burning at the denied orgasm, so close to the edge but not allowed to let yourself submit to the feeling just yet. You can’t help but hate yourself for giving in, weighing in the option of just taking your boyfriend’s punishment once he’s back by your side, but, in the end, you know the kind he would give you wouldn’t be just a few spankings until your ass would be raw and red. 

Oh no, knowing Sunghoon, he wouldn’t let you cum for several days until you were a begging and delirious mess for him, the only thing on your mind being him and his cock. Only then would he allow you to cum, after making sure you’d tell him — assure him while sitting on your knees with his hard cock in front of you, your hands wrapped tightly around it — that you wouldn’t disobey him again. It had happened before after all, only once, but enough to engrave it into your memory, the way your body trembled, your mind reeling at the denied orgasm, your lower lips so uncomfortably drenched you felt like you were going insane.

Sunghoon continues to stroke himself, moaning your name into his room and, once again, thanking the universe for his hotel room being soundproof as well as the fact that it was still early enough for him to be sure none of the other members would be awake right now to disturb him. His heart is beating out of his chest as he listens to your shuddering breath and soft whimpers sounding through the speakers of his phone. He can tell you’re trying your hardest to hold back, wanting nothing more than to touch yourself again, to finally rub your clit once more and make it over the finishing line, but you're keeping yourself from it in order to please him, to not make him punish you. And he absolutely loves it. Loves knowing the control he has over you even several hundred miles away from you.

"Sunghoon…please,“ you breathe out, whiney, your begs sounding like a broken record.

"Use your words, baby,” he says, his voice cracking as he tugs especially hard on his thick cock, "tell me what you want.”

"Please, p-please wanna touch myself again…“ you beg for your boyfriend, desperate to push your fingers back inside your sopping core and make yourself cum, being denied your orgasm too often already.

"Fuck, so desperate for me…you like playing with your pretty little pussy that much, huh?”

You nod despite Sunghoon not being able to see, a frail, nothing short of desperate, moan slipping past your lips. Your walls clench around nothing, begging to be filled up again, to have your fingers rub against them. Your legs twitch in anticipation, muscles tensing up, and you have to grip onto the duvet that’s pooled around your hips in order to not give in to the urge to touch your body despite it not being your turn just now. Hearing those sounds coming from you, Sunghoon can’t help but feel sorry, stilling the movements of his hand before letting out a deep sigh.

"Alright, it’s your turn again. Green light for you, but I want you to follow my lead again, okay, baby?“

"Okay. Thank you,” you sigh, your body relaxing again at the thought of you finally getting to finish.

"I want you to rub your hands over your body. Run them over your breasts, circling your fingers around your nipples, and then down your tummy to work your way towards your pussy. Now…put your fingers along the insides of your thighs and push them wide apart; are you following what I’m saying, baby?“

You moan in confirmation, your fingers running over the sensitive insides of your thighs, turning you on even more than you already are, ready to push them into your weeping hole as soon as he tells you to. Your nipples are hard and pert against the cold air inside your bedroom, desperate for your attention, which is directed towards another part of your body.

Sunghoon clears his throat before he continues, need and want turning his voice hoarse, "I want you to imagine this while you’re fucking yourself, while you’re trying to make yourself cum right now. I want you to imagine the skin of my face brushing against the insides of your legs; imagine my mouth coming closer and closer to your pussy, my hot breath fanning over your wet lips. And before you even realize it, imagine my tongue running over them, gliding from one end up to the other, drinking you in, sucking on your clit as I’m going down on you.”

You almost can’t hear him from the squelching sounds your soaked pussy makes as your fingers move inside of you. Your mind is rushing, scrambling to get your mouth to produce any other sounds besides the constant moans spilling past your lips.

"Fuck,“ you cry out, throwing your head back and straining your neck.

Your body shivers as you imagine everything he just told you, his hands all over your body, his tongue on your cunt. Arching your back off of the mattress, your walls clench around your fingers, which never stop working their way in and out of you.

"Imagine my head between your thighs, your hands tugging on my hair as I’m pushing my tongue inside you, tasting your essence in my mouth. Keep playing with yourself, baby. Keep imagining me right there with you. Bet you wish it were my fingers buried deep in your cunt instead. You’re really close, aren’t you?”

You reply with a weak moan, “Yes, please, please…��

Sunghoon knows the telltale signs of you being close to your orgasm, and even without seeing you, he can still hear the way your moans get more and more whiny, your breathing speeding up, and your vocal cords producing the most beautiful sounds as you groan out his name, causing his dick to twitch against his stomach, untouched. Just before you can feel yourself tumbling over the edge, he tells you to stop again, the two simple words spoken into the void of your room the most torturous thing he has ever done to you.

Your body listens before your mind even processes his words, your hands moving away from your dripping and clenching pussy as soon as those words leave his mouth. You throw your head back in irritation, your eyes fluttering open, tears of frustration burning behind them, your skin scorching hot as you try to calm your breathing. Pleasure slowly fades away, slipping from your grasp, and all you’re left with is a dull ache between your legs, feeling empty after you pull your fingers away from your drenched folds, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Sunghoon’s chuckle sounds out of your phone in reaction to your whiny sob ripping its way from your vocal cords, “You didn’t think I’d let you get off this easy, did you? Now, you gotta listen to me again..."

He groans as he lets his hand glide up and down his cock again, his breathing quickly turning into messy panting. He tries to force himself to not go too fast, wanting to draw out his orgasm even more than he already had. Sunghoon doesn’t want to cum before getting to hear your beautiful and desperate moans again, needy whines echoing through his hotel room while you’re pleasuring yourself. No, he doesn’t want to miss out on that experience.

The thought of you lying on your bed — your body damp and sticky due to the sweat coating your skin while your hands are pressed against your sides, fingers twitching with anticipation — drives him absolutely insane. He can’t wait to come back home and reward you for doing this experiment with him, licking you up until you would be trembling underneath the slightest of his touch, just to drive you over the edge again and again.

"God, I’m so hard just from thinking about going down on you. I love it so much, eating you out, seeing your eyes roll back into your head as I wrap my lips around your swollen clit,“ a choked moan cuts him off as he throws his head back, his throat straining at the effort to keep himself from cumming, "hearing you whimper, hearing you moan my name, whining for me to make you come…”

Being able to listen to him moan like this, so desperate for his release, draws out an involuntary shudder that makes your pussy throb in anticipation and need. You clench your fingers by your side to keep yourself from running them over your trembling body, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms.

"Fuck…Sunghoon, please. I wanna cum, please, let me touch myself again,“ you whine desperately, being denied too many times now.

Sunghoon nods on the other end of the line, not that you’re able to see it, but he groans in confirmation, "Go on, touch yourself to my moans. I want to cum together with you, fuck…rub your pretty little pussy for me, baby.”

Sighing in relief, you instantly move both of your hands down your body towards your core, slipping two digits past your wet lips while the fingers on your other hand start rubbing circles on your swollen clit. You’re past the point of wanting to build up to your orgasm, ready to let it crash over you and take you with it until you’re completely wrecked.

"God,“ he almost growls into your ear, his voice strained with effort, "I’m imagining you, laying in bed. I bet your fingers are pressing really _really_ hard and quick circles against your clit, huh?”

"Y-yes! Please, please feels so good," you babble out, your own thoughts not making any sense to you anymore.

Your panting becomes erratic, whines falling from your mouth as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. The pace of your fingers quickens, and you can’t help but let a loud moan slip past your lips, your lower one slipping out of the grasp your teeth had on it just moments ago. Your moans turn into whines and heavy breathing as your toes curl at the pleasure pricking at every nerve in your entire body. Moving your hand away from your clit, you let it ghost over your body, dragging your fingernails over your scorching skin until you reach your breasts to roll one of your nipples between your fingers.

"That's it, come on, say it now. Say it for me, baby,“ he urges you, desperate to release all over his hand, the head of his cock colored an angry red as he continues to pump himself to the pace of your breaths.

"Shit…I-I’m gonna cum,” you stutter, your voice airy and feeling lightheaded as your body threatens to get overwhelmed with desire.

"Yeah? Gonna cum all over your fingers for me, baby? Gonna cum so hard, your thighs will shake for days when you think about this? Won’t be able to walk today?“

You mewl loudly in response, your walls fluttering and twitching around your fingers, your palm rubbing against your swollen clit as your other hand grips tightly onto your breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipple, "Fuck…y-yeah...”

Your boyfriend groans at the other end in response to your noises, his breaths nearing erratic as he rushes to meet the pace of your movements with his own stroking, his hand fisting up and down his hard cock, “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over your fingers like the good girl you are for me.”

"Ah, fuck…fuck me, feels so good!“

You move your hand away from your chest, angling the fingers buried inside you so you could press quick small circles against your aching clit again, and soon enough you’re choking out a loud moan, your voice echoing off your bedroom walls as you feel yourself coming closer and closer to your release.

Your orgasm crashes over you in one big wave of heat, your back arching off your bed as your hand stills inside your pussy. Your release gushes from your core, coating parts of your trembling hand. Drool threatens to escape past your lips as your jaw slackens, the moans tumbling from your mouth come nothing short of pornographic, your orgasm too intense for you to bite them back or even attempt to contain them. 

Loud groans fill your room, joined by the wet sounds of your boyfriend pumping his cock at a mind-blowing pace, coming straight from the speakers of your phone as you hear him panting faster and faster until he grunts out, "Oh fuck, shit…I’m cumming, I-I’m cumming!”

Sunghoon desperately continues to stroke his cock as it twitches in his hands, his muscles burning with strain as they tighten all over his body. He throws his head back as his vocal cords produce the loudest groan you’ve ever heard come from your boyfriend’s throat. His chest heaves up and down as he shoots his release all over his hand and his lower abdomen, completely emptying himself onto his burning skin. He continues to lazily move his hand up and down his cock to ride out his high until sensitivity starts to settle in and he pulls his hand away from his slowly softening dick, letting out a low sigh in relief.

Slowly, his breathing starts to even out, his body relaxing; he feels his muscles loosening up, and he revels in the lightness of his body after his orgasm. The thin sheen of sweat that covers his body begins to dry on his skin, still hot and burning, and the sticky feeling makes him cringe slightly — not that he cares in this moment. Through the speakers of his phone, he can hear your breathless panting. Reaching over, he holds onto the device to press it against his ear again, wanting to have your voice echo directly into his ear.

Just as Sunghoon, your breathing starts to slow down little by little, the familiar hazy weightlessness taking over you. You almost feel as if you’re floating through the clouds, even though, at the same time, you find your body wanting nothing more than to sink deeper and deeper into your mattress until it would be swallowed wholly.

Pulling your fingers out of your ruined cunt, you can’t help but whine as you take in the mess you’ve made of the top of your duvet, “Sunghoon…I made a mess.”

"Yeah? Made a mess for me? Wanna show me?“ he teases you lightly, his voice sounding louder, which leads you to assume he has his phone in his hand again instead of carelessly tossed onto his bed.

"Mhm,” you shake your head in denial, “I’m all gross and sticky.”

"Baby, we’ve had sex before; it’s nothing new for me to see you this way. But if you don’t want to show yourself to me right now, you don’t have to. Whatever makes you the most comfortable.“

You can’t help but smile as your boyfriend’s soft and caring side pushes its way back to the forefront again, shoving his dominant side back down until the next time you'd find yourselves in a similar position — maybe when you're finally face-to-face again. He has always been caring after sex, making sure you had everything you needed and weren’t uncomfortable in any way. There have been several occasions of him carrying you towards your bathroom, sitting you down in the bathtub, and running you a hot bath before sliding right behind you, his big hands massaging your shoulders and running over your scalp to relieve any tension in your body. Some rare times, you had even fallen asleep, right there surrounded by the hot water causing your muscles to relax and your boyfriend's arms wrapped tightly around you, your eyes slipping close, and the next time you opened them, you were lying in bed next to Sunghoon, covers draped over you and his soft snores filling the silence of your bedroom.

You snap out of your memories to reach over to your bedside table, grabbing some tissues out of the box standing there to carefully wipe away the mess between your legs before taking two of the wet wipes you’re keeping there as well to sporadically clean yourself until you’d be able to muster the strength to get up and walk over to your bathroom — or would fall asleep from the exhaustion starting to settle into your bones.

"Thank you, Hoon.”

"What are you thanking me for, baby?“ he chuckles right into your ear.

"Just…this. You know how hard it is for me to cum when we’re not together, and I’ve had a really crappy day yesterday, so...I really needed this,” you explain to your boyfriend, your face heating up at the confession.

You’re truly grateful to have him in your life. Even if he often doesn’t realize it, but the smallest things he does, like making sure you’re comfortable with everything and anything he does, encouraging you whenever you are feeling down, or even just picking up a snack you mentioned running out of. All those things and so many more make you feel at home around him, wanting to keep him in your life until the day you’d die.

Sunghoon laughs slightly, and you can hear him swallow thickly before he replies, “There’s no need to thank me. I love you, and I care about you. Despite your selfie yesterday being sexy as fuck, I could tell you weren’t feeling well. That was the real reason I called you in the first place. To check up on you and cheer you up. But of course this is also a nice way to spend the morning before a busy day and the concert later tonight.”

"I love you, too,“ you reply, not quite knowing how to appropriately respond to your boyfriend's words.

"You do know I’ll have to punish you when I get back home, right? For not listening to me back there?”

You could swear you can hear the smirk on his face through your phone when he says those words, lowering his voice until it’s almost comically husky. Laughter slips past your lips, your boyfriend joining you in it as you say, through your laughs, “Sure. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Sunghoon clears his throat on the other end of the line after both your laughter dies down before you hear some rustling and his feet patting on the floor of his hotel room, “What do you have planned today? No work, right?”

Before you get to answer, you hear the water tap turn on in the background as your boyfriend had gotten up to walk to the bathroom of his hotel room and wash his hands. Meanwhile, you are staying in bed, exhausted, and your muscles still twitching slightly from the intense pleasure you felt just moments ago. You take a few moments to reply, wanting to relish the comforting silence between the two of you.

"Not really, to be honest. I was thinking of maybe heading to the store for ice cream or snacks later and then just catching up on some shows and spending the day curled up on the couch. Do you have a lot to do today other than the concert?“ you finally answer his question, finishing your response with another question in hopes of being able to talk to Sunghoon some more before he would have to hang up to attend to his schedule for the day, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

"No, we only got soundcheck in the afternoon, and that's it,” he replies to you, turning off the running water before he dries his hands with his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, all while continuing to talk to you, “I think maybe two or three interviews tomorrow, but that should be it…”

"Sounds great,“ you yawn in response, reaching up to run your hand over your face in hopes of waking yourself up some more.

"Go back to sleep, baby. You deserve some rest; take it easy today, okay?” he chuckles, his voice turning even softer than before, almost as if he’s hoping to lure you to sleep with his deep baritone.

He truly hates whenever you force yourself to stay awake just to talk to him. He recalls the endless nights while he had been stuck in a different timezone, on tour in the US, preparing for concerts and countless interviews while also juggling livestreams, the late-night conversations with you, your voice slurred as you'd force yourself not to fall asleep just to be irritated and exhausted the entire following day until you'd get to hear his voice again. And even though he’s now only a few hours away, in the same timezone for a change, knowing he'll be back within less than two weeks, the memories instantly weigh down on his chest, his heart with guilt, not wanting you to neglect you and your needs just for him.

"Okay…you're right...“ your voice slightly drifts off before you ask one last question, "Sunghoon?”

He perks up, his gaze previously settled on the stark white covers of his bed, almost as if you were in the room with him and he would be able to look straight into your eyes when he looks up through his lashes. His heart drops as he’s looking at the bare wall opposite of him, despite knowing he wouldn’t have found you standing there anyway.

"Yeah?“ he replies instantly, matching your low volume with his voice to lull you further to sleep and not startle you right out of it.

"I love you,” you whisper, exhaustion finally catching up with you.

 You want to stay awake longer, want to use every possible second to talk to your boyfriend some more, but you're also aware of the fact that he hates you staying away just for his sake. You know it makes him feel guilty for not being beside you, not being able to hold you as you fall asleep, even though you have told him time and time again that you can live with the occasional distance; it’s what you signed up for after all when you started dating an idol, a member of one of the most sought-after boy groups of the moment at that.

Your eyes feel heavier and heavier as you finally give in and let sleep take over your body, dozing back off to sleep with your phone slowly slipping out of your hand.

On the other end of the line, Sunghoon knows you have fallen asleep when he hears the soft thud of your phone hitting the mattress, your soft breathing filling his ear as he smiles to himself, satisfied to not have you awake any longer and overexert yourself further. He whispers his next words, more to himself than with the intention of you hearing him.

"I love you, too. I’ll text you when I know at what time I’m gonna be coming home. Now get some sleep.“

©sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[bolognamayhem117]

Hot Take: Astarion does NOT hate flowers. You just missed a few subtle hints through Act 1 and early Act 3.

Astarion's negativity is directed toward just about anything remotely pleasant as you move through early act three, starting the moment you leave Wyrm's Rock. First thing after Gortash's coronation he marvels near tears at the colors of the city in daylight. If you ask if he's alright, it pisses him off.

There's other instances I can't quite remember but he's a straight crank throughout early Act 3 and it took me several hours of gameplay to have a lightbulb moment about his newly crappier attitude.

He just spent the last two hundred years seeing everything in the overwhelmingly warm dim tones of indoor lighting via sconces, rushlights, and braziers, or the dingy blue gray of moonlight outside. Daylight colors are something he had more than a lifetime to forget and now that he has a chance to remember that vibrancy in his own home town, he knows he's going to have to forget it all over again either by death or by remaining a vampire spawn forever. The worm isn't going to live rent free in his head forever, and killing Cazador to ascend in his place likely feels like an insurmountable and impossible fight against a literal titan who could stomp him flat without a corm of effort.

He doesn't hate flowers, he hates EVERYTHING right now because it's all going away very soon and if he convinces himself he hates everything then he won't miss it when it's all gone again. He was denied this for two hundred years and he's PISSED at what was stolen from him and PISSED it's all going away again.

He behaved similarly in Act 1 about anyone besides him enjoying physical intimacy. Some of this content was cut, to my best knowledge, but the overwhelming majority of his dialog addressing the PC romancing anyone but him are negative or backhanded. This is for two reasons, I think. A: his Simple Plan just dissolved right before his eyes when you chose someone else which in his mind means he has zero safety net, and EVERYONE gets to enjoy sex (key wording being ENJOY, not simply having) except him... And it pisses him off.

He also gleefully interrupts the bug bear and the ogress, I think for the same reason as the above paragraph, being: If he doesn't get to enjoy intimacy neither do they.

He reacts with anger and disgust at anything he's being unfairly denied. Which... That's fair. His feelings are valid, but his reaction to it is pretty shitty and meanspirited.

The other companions I tend to keep in my party, (that is Lae'zel, Halsin, Karlach, and Wyll) however, are actually appearing to behave pretty patiently with him in Act 3 which I find interesting.

In the instance with the flowers Karlach doesn't bother trying to convince him otherwise of his opinion, she just tells him how they make her feel instead and rather than getting snippy or doubling down he more or less agrees to disagree. I also don't recall anyone disagreeing with Astarion during Gale's last quest tasks when he mentioned that he quit praying to gods who wouldn't hear him a long time ago but to be fair, I think the gods did everybody in this crew dirty and they all know it. It seems like they're consciously giving him the space to be mad about things, is what I'm saying.

Everyone I know including myself who crawled out of a long-term hot garbage situation kinda went wild for a bit with freedom, spoke poorly, behaved strangely, had extreme emotional reactions to things, and made some particularly terrible choices. I think that's just a part of recalibrating yourself, healing and learning how to be okay again.

Point is, I wouldn't conflate too many of the turbo-negative things he says with how he actually feels about anything. We certainly know what he says and what he feels are two very different things.

[ms-demeanor]

making my own post because nobody needs my bullshit on their post:

OP:

Reblog 1:

Reblog 2:

My response:

The IRA blogs were here and they were active and they were quite popular; their posting patterns did not match normal tumblr users (i was followed by lagonegirl and followed back only to be put off by the account reblogging the same five or ten posts every hour for a day before selecting another five or ten posts to reblog hourly the next day - it was clear engagement bait).

Tumblr has never been as transparent about these accounts as both Twitter and Facebook were, but several of the accounts had shared names across platforms and you can find a significant amount of data that was released by both facebook (ex: ads purchased by the IRA accounts) and twitter (over three million tweets from IRA accounts). Academic researchers have published papers on the data released from facebook and twitter. Several papers. So many papers. Soooooo many papers. We have a LOT of direct evidence that you can explore for yourself that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) of IRA accounts that were created on Facebook and Twitter. Of those accounts, some shared usernames across platforms, and of those accounts, a few had tumblr accounts that posted the same content on twitter and tumblr.

To quote a buzzfeed news article from the time:

The Russian-run Tumblr accounts used the same, or very similar, usernames as the account names contained on a list of confirmed IRA accounts Twitter submitted to congressional investigators. In some cases, the Tumblr and Twitter account has the same profile image or linked to each other in their bios. Some IRA Tumblrs and Twitter accounts also cross-promoted content between platforms, further linking them together.

Current tumblr user @ alwaysbewoke (who I don't want to tag because I'm sure he's got better things to do) is interviewed in that article and talks about following one of the blogs identified by tumblr as an IRA blog that had a matching account on twitter identified as an IRA account but unfollowing when the left-leaning blog supposedly run by a black creator started rooting for trump in the election.

Dr. Jonathan Albright is heavily quoted in the article; the data review he collaborated on is one of the only reviews of this subject that includes data from Tumblr and Reddit.

One of the claims that I've seen is that tumblr just deleted funny black people, but these were blogs with thousands of followers on tumblr who never recreated, never popped up on another social media site, never started a reddit account after getting banned; nobody ever showed up saying "hey this is 4mysquad, I got banned on tumblr and twitter, follow me to pillowfort". These very popular blogs got deleted and, as far as I know, nobody ever popped up claiming to be a person who was deleted - and it's not like tumblr users haven't figured out how to evade bans.

What you are doing when you make posts saying that the IRA accounts on tumblr never existed is *absolving tumblr of guilt for their utter lack of transparency.*

Tumblr is not the only tech company that has tried to fly under the radar as its larger counterparts face regular scrutiny in Congress and in the press. Earlier this month, Reddit revealed it too had deleted hundreds of accounts with ties to the Internet Research Agency. A WIRED investigation found more than a thousand links to Russian propaganda websites are still live on Reddit, and unearthed two suspicious accounts that Reddit immediately shut down.

So should you believe what Tumblr says? No, because Tumblr has been functionally fucking silent on this issue and the information about this subject aside from the list of blogs has come from the hard work of data scientists, journalists, and researchers.

(For the record; some of those bot accounts that were recorded by Dr. Albright also had Google+ accounts in 2017 - there is every possibility that they had myspace accounts).

Now, the reason that I'm popping onto this post as an annoyed anarchist is that I was tracking a similar group of blogs for a while and was discussing them and I stopped precisely because of the galaxy-brained liberals who are now trying to dunk on communists for criticizing electoralism. One of the people who was following my project was one of the ones who started calling out the "joe biden kills dogs" posts as disinfo and I realized they were using some of the guidelines I'd written up to "identify" misinformation and that is very a rock fucking stupid approach to what was clearly a leftist making jokes and was horrified and realized there was no way that I could continue documenting what I was documenting without someone attempting to call actual leftists russian bots.

I've seen the post that OP is referencing [it's one where someone makes a very obvious joke about the democrat presidential ticket and people jump on to call them a bot and then someone tries to do the "AI tell me a story" thing and OP is just like "I don't want to :(", proving that they are in fact a person and not an AI] and have deeply enjoyed the humor of watching liberals a) not understand a very, VERY obvious joke and b) become the unwitting butt of a joke they were trying to make, but also I am so exhausted by watching normie dems call leftists AI bots after years of watching normie dems call real live actual leftists who hold actual political views that real people actually have, like prison abolition, russian bots.

But I am also so fucking tired of left conspiracism and how stupid it sounds when leftists dismiss a preponderance of evidence that is easily accessible and publicly available for analysis as "lol so you just trust everything tumblr tells you?"

No, dipshit, learn to click a fucking link or twelve.

[seokgyuu]

What could be worse than a valentine’s day alone? Exactly, a valentine’s day spent with your academic rival, Jeon Wonwoo, stuck in the home eco’s kitchen because you were both sentenced to take over the cookie baking for this season’s day of love. 

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, smut, heart wrenching and tooth rotting fluff (wonwoo is down bad bad)

warnings: sexual content, smut warnings under cut! wonwoo is a little bit mean? but like not too mean? she’s also kinda mean. but they are in love! promise.

word count: 5k

a/n: hi everyone!! this is part of the cupids collab hosted by the wonderful @wongyuseokie for @svthub! this work is dedicated to the wonderful, the lovely, the hilarious @highvern! i hope you like it, babes!! sending you loads of love this valentine's day and thousands of kisses, mwah! i had loads of fun writing this and am happy to be a part of this collab, hehe. also thank you @ourdawnishotterthanourday for betaing, ily! <3

“I’m giving you one chance to get out of here,” you say, holding open the door. Wonwoo doesn’t move.  “Who says I’m the one who has to go? You’re obviously the worse baker.”�� Oh, he is truly playing with you right now. You let the door fall shut, eyes squeezed as you stare at him. “Fine. Then it’ll be me and you, buddy.” “I guess so,” he pauses, eyebrow raising, “and I’m not your buddy.”

smut warnings: minimal degradation (usage of the word “slut”), praising, pet names (princess, sweetheart, darling, pretty girl) oral (f. receiving), begging, softdom!wonwoo, unprotected sex (you know the drill - wrap it before you tap it, folks!), creampie (get it… cream…pie? cookies & cre- ok i’m sorry).

There are approximately seven thousand three hundred and twenty eight places you would rather be than here. 

Nothing has helped you get out of this unfortunate situation. No pleading, no begging, not even wanting to send Seungkwan in your stead. Professor Yoon had been adamant in his decision to send you and him to this god forsaken home eco kitchen to bake the badge of cookies for the Valentine’s day sale. 

“It’s not even a real holiday!” you had whined to Seungkwan, “if it were, we wouldn’t even be at class in the first place!” 

All your best friend did was rub your back and tell you it was all gonna be fine, all while writing a text to Vernon on his phone in his other hand. He was used to your antics when it came to Jeon Wonwoo. Everyone was, at this point. Both of you had not made it hard to get used to - just by the amount of times you had decided to fight and dive right into rivalry when there was no reason to. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t even a bad idea to put you two in one room together for several hours with no one else. It could give you time to talk out your differences. Call for a truce. Screw the anger out of each other. Anything that would make Seungkwan’s life easier. 

That day comes sooner than you wanted it to, and while your hand lays on the handle of the car door, you feel the uneasiness inside you raise. 

“I can’t do this, Seungkwan. One of us is gonna end up dead.”

“Yeah, my money’s on Wonwoo. Please don’t disappoint me.” Seungkwan hums back, hands on the steering wheel and his eyebrows raised. You turn around, your mouth slightly agape before scoffing and opening the door.

“Pick me up at 4?” you ask and your best friend nods, waving at you once the door is closed. He truly hopes neither of you ends up dead (but if push comes to shove, obviously Wonwoo because then Vernon would owe him 5 bucks). 

Professor Yoon had told you that all necessities would be at the university and that you wouldn’t have to bring anything except for a good mood, something you didn’t dare to say was impossible in the given situation. 

You aren’t stupid (Wonwoo would beg to differ), you are well aware that your professor is trying to end whatever war you and Wonwoo have going on by pairing you up for this. And while you get the sentiment and might even appreciate it a little - you’re more than sure that nothing will ever come out of this - Wonwoo and you despise each other. It has been like this since your first semester and it most definitely wasn’t going to change over something as trivial as baking cookies together. 

The home eco’s kitchen is in the basement of the economics building and you are happy to notice you’re the first to arrive. Smiling to yourself, you fish the key to the room out of your bag and unlock the door, walking in and turning on the lights. 

The kitchen is spacious and modern, everything is made out of gray steel, with a few dark wood accents on the cupboards. You spot the boxes with ingredients on the island, and place your bag next to it before unpacking the things provided for you and Wonwoo. It becomes your mission to arrange the cookbook with the recipe in the center of the right side of the island, gathering all the needed ingredients around it in the order you would need it. Then, you search the cupboards for a big bowl, wooden spoon and a mixer. 

You have gathered almost everything except for the mixer, spotting it in one of the higher cupboards you most definitely can’t reach without some sort of help. Biting down on your lip and gnawing on it, you look around the room, coming up empty. There are chairs in the room next to the kitchen, but you don’t have the key for it. With a sigh, you stretch yourself as much as you possibly can, hand reaching for the kitchen gadget - with no luck. Just when you’re about to climb on top of the counter, you feel something shift behind you, a body suddenly pressed against yours and an arm reaching up to grab the mixer for you without any trouble at all. 

Wonwoo. Your body stiffens at his touch and only relaxes once he backs off, putting the mixer down next to the other stuff. Immediately you turn around, your eyes glaring at him.

“Someone decided to show up, after all.” You spit at him and he rolls his eyes. 

“I was forced, if you must know.” He says not even looking at you. His eyes are focused on the ingredients on the counter, his lips slowly drawing into a smug smile.

“Control freak much?” 

Your head burns and you scoff, walking over to the door and feeling his eyes on you as you move. 

“I’m giving you one chance to get out of here,” you say, holding open the door. Wonwoo doesn’t move. 

“Who says I’m the one who has to go? You’re obviously the worse baker.” 

Oh, he is truly playing with you right now. You let the door fall shut, eyes squeezed as you stare at him.

“Fine. Then it’ll be me and you, buddy.”

“I guess so,” he pauses, eyebrow raising, “and I’m not your buddy.”

For the most part the two of you are quiet. Mainly because you don’t have anything to say to each other. You split the ingredients evenly (either one of you starting with their own batch since there is a whole lot of cookies to bake) and begin working on opposite ends of the kitchen. You get through the first batch without so much as exchanging looks. You do your thing and he does his. Only, when you get the first batch out, you ask him to hand you the oven mittens, which he does without any fuss. You’re surprised but don’t say it. 

It’s when the both of you start to work on your second batches that things… change.

You hate to admit the tension in the room. In fact, you’ve been hating it since the first day you’ve met him. It’s a shame he’s so hot when he’s the absolute bane of your existence. Your friends (mainly Seungkwan, really) tease you about your obvious attraction to the man you call your archnemesis every chance they get, causing you to flip them off, or scoff, or just roll your eyes at how extremely wrong they are. If you could change it, you would! Finding him attractive whilst hating him truly is exhausting. 

Slowly, you let yourself turn around in hopes he doesn’t notice. Thankfully, he is entirely focused on sprinkling chocolate chips into the cookies - white chocolate chips. You let out a gasp and your wooden spoon falls onto the top of the counter you’re working on.

“That’s cheating!” You shout, pointing at the package of sweets that he so obviously brought himself. What a jerk!

Not even looking at you, Wonwoo chuckles at your words, placing the chocolate chips next to him and wiping his hands on the apron he had put on earlier. Then, he turns to you, hip leaning against the counter, arms crossed and his eyebrows raised as he smirks like the douchebag you know he is.

“Cheating, yeah?” He repeats, licking his lips, “not sure it counts as cheating when it was clear from the beginning I would make better cookies, sweetheart.”

His condescending way of talking to you has always succeeded in making your blood boil, just like right now. You scoff, shaking your head and cleaning your own hands with a kitchen towel to your left.

“You know, considering these are for the day of love it is quite ironic Professor Yoon paired me with you, the person I hate the most.” You present Wonwoo with a honey dripping smile that couldn’t be more fake. Wonwoo doesn’t waver though. He just continues to smirk, his eyebrows shooting up even more, and before you know it he starts walking towards you, a click of his tongue almost making you flinch.

“See, love and hate are like siblings. While on the surface they couldn’t be more different, in their core they are irritatingly similar,” his voice is deep and his eyes are right there on yours and somehow you feel like he has taken away your ability to breathe. What the hell is he doing?

“You were always fascinating to me, darling. Always so sure of your opinion, never wavering. That first day we met, do you remember? How you were on my ass for the rest of the day because Professor Cha liked my answer better than yours?”

“He did not!” You shoot back, surprised by your own whiny tone. Looking at Wonwoo’s face, the defined jawline and cheekbones, the round specs on top of his nose and the brown soft curls falling into his forehead, you immediately regret speaking up at all. There is something in his eyes now, something you have never seen before  - at least not on him. Something inside of him shifted, like a switch that had been flipped, and the way he looks at you makes all of your skin erupt in goosebumps. 

“Ah, so I imagined things?” Wonwoo only so much as whispers, his large frame coming even closer, “Are you saying I’m a liar, pretty girl?”

Pretty girl. What the fuck? Your eyes widen and you feel your throat closing up. Absolutely not, you could not freeze right now! He was testing you, seeing how far he could go before you actually fell for whatever he was trying to do. Gathering all your confidence, you bring your hands up to place them on his chest and softly push him away. It gives you extreme satisfaction when you see the surprise on his face.

“And if I am? What are you going to do about it, Wonwoo?” Your smile turns smug and the little vein on Wonwoo’s forehead pops out just slightly. About to retrieve your arms, you are met with his hands around your wrists and his body even closer to yours. 

To say he catches you by surprise would be an understatement. Your lower back is pressed against the counter, your hands in his grip and your lungs missing the necessary air to not get dizzy. Why does he smell so good? You catch yourself thinking thoughts you normally would try to suppress at any given time - especially when Wonwoo is right in front of you. This time, though, there is no escaping. Not with him so close, not with him staring right into your soul.

“I have learned one thing over the years we’ve known each other, Y/N,” he breathes, eyes not leaving your face, “you can be a real fucking brat.”

The gasp you want to let out gets stuck in your throat. Instead, something like a choke comes out, something that makes Wonwoo smirk and your legs weak.

“You really think you’re sly. Do you honestly believe I don’t know how attractive you find me? How you need to look away everytime I come in wearing tighter shirts or pants that hang low enough to see the waistband of my underwear? You always try to act like you hate me and, you know what, maybe you do, but what I said earlier isn’t wrong, darling, love and hate are like yin and yang - they can’t exist without the other.”

He has your wrists in a strong grip and his lower body is now pressed against yours, something you never realized you craved. Feeling his growing erection against you, knowing he is turned on by you, by the situation, you feel like your head is about to explode. 

“So, what if I tell you that maybe I don’t actually hate you, but I actually find you attractive as well? What if I tell you nine out of ten times I want to shut your annoying mouth up by shoving my cock right down your tight throat? Or how whenever you bend over your desk to tell someone something you, of course, know better than them, I want to take you just like that and make everyone see just how much of a desperate pretty slut you actually are?”

You’re done for. With every word he’s saying, you can feel yourself actually becoming what he says you are. Desperate. The heat between your legs has turned into liquid in your panties, has turned into your heart beating at triple speed. 

“Y-You can’t just say that!” You stutter, knowing full well he will just laugh at you. And he does. He laughs and he throws his head back and then he looks at you again, his eyes glinting with want that only gets emphasized by the hard cock pressing against you. 

“Oh, sweet, sweet baby. Of course, I can,” he hums, finally letting go of one of your wrists to carefully tug a strand of hair behind your ear, “you’re so beautiful, especially when you’re flustered.” 

He must be playing with you. It has to be one of his games. He wants you to give in, wants you to fall for this only to hold it over your head for the rest of your college life. His mixture of dominance and sweetness is about to give you whiplash, especially when he begins to caress your cheek and leans down, his breath hitting your cheek. 

“We need to finish those cookies, Wonwoo.” The words are whispered and almost inaudible, but he hears you and he smiles.

“We’re alone in this basement, sweetheart. We’ve got all day to finish those cookies.” His hand wanders down, finding its place on your hip. You shiver slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips and when his nose bumps against yours, something tells you that maybe he is serious. 

When he kisses you, you figure that something is correct. What’s supposed to start soft turns into something deep, and hot, and uncontrolled, right off the bat. Kissing Wonwoo feels like the only thing you had ever missed out on in life and now you finally got the chance to take what belongs to you. His lips are soft and his tongue is warm, pressing against yours and entangling it in a dance of fire. Your hands are in his hair and his are on your hips and you’re sitting on top of the counter with all of your ingredients pushed to the side, your wooden spoon falling to the floor when Wonwoo lifts you up. 

As if on instinct, your legs wrap around him and you moan against his lips when his hands move up, groping your breasts through your shirt. He licks into your mouth, your fingers digging into his nape, nails dragging along his skin. 

If you could see into Wonwoo’s brain you might have gotten scared. Not because he’s thinking actual scary thoughts but because of how many times he has imagined this. You’re always there, somewhere in his brain, your smile, your eyes, your laugh. And when he’s alone and can’t sleep you’re there too, but this time it’s how he thinks you’d sound when he’s inside of you, when he sucks on your neck and squeezes your tits. There hasn’t been a day since he met you that he hadn’t thought about you. 

It’s a shame you immediately called him out to be your academic rival on that day because all Wonwoo wanted to do back then was to make you his girlfriend, basically falling in love with you at first sight. As cliché as it sounds, it’s even more cliché considering he just played along with you, acting like he hated you, riling you up during class in ways he would rather switch for moments like this one right now. 

Never had he imagined he’d get you alone, especially considering how good you are at avoiding him. But when Professor Yoon had asked him to bake the cookies for the Valentine’s day sale - he couldn’t help but suggest you as his partner. Hours would be spent together in a kitchen, hours you had to spend with him. 

He loves how right he was. How right he was about you giving in, about you finding him hot, about you wanting him. He loves the sounds you make when he begins kissing down your neck and when his hand wanders under your shirt and shoves away your bra to touch the breasts he had been dreaming about. He sucks marks onto your neck and feels himself grow harder with every passing second. There is nowhere on this earth he’d rather be than right here, between your legs. 

“Been dying to do this, you know?” He mumbles against your neck, licking up to your earlobe and twitching in his pants when he feels you shivering under his touch.

“R-Really?” You whimper back and Wonwoo nods, both hands moving to your cheeks, lips back on yours in a heated, passionate kiss. He thinks that nothing will ever feel as good as kissing you. 

“Yeah, baby, wanted to kiss you forever, fuck,” he moans when your fingers move underneath his shirt, when you touch his bare skin and all of him begins to burn.

“Wanted to touch you, taste you.” His words echo in your mind and you open your eyes, a horny daze in them that makes Wonwoo question his sanity. He moves down now, kissing your neck again and shoving your shirt up to kiss your stomach and breasts over your bra, nimble fingers opening the apron you had laced around your hips earlier. 

“Can I taste you, pretty girl?” He asks then and you think you nod, at least you want to nod, but your head is clouded and you feel like you’re about to pass out. When he moves to get the apron off of you, focussing on opening your pants next, you figure you did in the end. 

Having you half naked in front of him makes Wonwoo feel like he has reached the gates of heaven. Your pants are on the floor and your chest is heaving, eyes glossy as you watch Wonwoo move to the floor, his tall body still reaching the top of the counter when he kneels in front of you. He moves his arms, wrapping them around your thighs and pulling you closer, his nose tapping against your sensitive core the next second. With a gasp, your hands reach for his head of hair, grounding yourself in it as you stare down at the way he eyes your pussy as if he had never seen anything more delicious in his life. 

When he moves your panties to the side, his finger softly gliding over your folds, you feel yourself shiver once more. You let out another whimper, biting down on your lip that feels hot and a little bruised after the way Wonwoo had kissed you. 

“God, I can’t even tell you how many nights I’ve dreamt of this moment.” He kisses the inside of your thighs, making you moan quietly, fingers coating themselves in your juices, ready to please you. 

Watching him is messing with your head in the best way possible. The way he looks at you, so full of endearment and adoration. How he touches you as if you’d break if he touched you too vehemently. He lets his tongue glide over your skin, moving until it reaches your dripping cunt, licking over your lips, tasting you for the first time. The moan he lets out has you digging your nails into his scalp, mouth dropped as you continue to stare down, continue to watch Wonwoo, your archnemesis, begin to devour your pussy like a Michelin star dish. 

He starts off slow, licking over your folds, not touching your clit even once. If he died right now, he’d be content. Tasting you, hearing your sounds when you’re aroused, him being the cause of it - it’s almost all of his dreams coming true. His fingers move, one of them circling your entrance, your whines growing louder by the second. You want his fingers inside of you, you need them inside of you. Wiggling your hips against him, Wonwoo chuckles at your antics and finally moves his finger, inch by inch sinking into your needy hole, your eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him. 

“So, so eager, princess,” he mumbles against your pussy, another breathy laugh causing you to thrust forward, his finger now completely inside of you. And, fuck, do you feel wonderful. So much better than anything Wonwoo had experienced before, better than anything he could have imagined. Perhaps, he figures, it’s because it’s you. 

Next thing you know, Wonwoo’s lips are around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue flicking against it and leaving you to moan his name time and time again. Your hips move against him and he lets you, his cock straining against his pants in desperate need for attention. But not yet, he isn’t done with you. First, you’d have to come undone on his tongue and his fingers, first you had to scream his name as you experienced complete and utter satisfaction. Wonwoo does everything in his power for that to happen. He adds another finger and fucks you open, his long fingers meeting your sweet spot with every thrust as if he had studied your body for hundreds of hours. His tongue does the work of a god, his lips kiss you like you had never known you needed to be kissed, especially down there. 

“D-Don’t stop! Oh, fuck, Wonwoo!” You cry out, your head thrown back as you focus on nothing but your pleasure, on how he feels on your pussy, how it all is too much and yet not enough. You think about what’s to come, about how he will fuck you next, will sink into you with his cock, will make you feel like you’re the most precious woman on this planet. Even more than he already does. Your high is nearing, it’s so close you can feel it right there in front of you, that tight knot in your stomach about to break free and give you one of the most intense orgasms of your life. 

“Cum for me, baby. Fuck, I want you to cum on my tongue.” Wonwoo’s words are like magic, like a spell that he puts on you. A lewd whine escapes your throat and you do as he wishes, cumming all over his tongue and fingers, your juices drenching his face. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, anticipation filling him when he finally parts from you. 

Immediately, you pull down to kiss him when he stands. Tasting yourself on his lips with your hands opening his apron and getting it off his tall frame with his help, you can’t wait to get even closer to him. You slip out of your panties with his lips steadily on yours, a faint sound in your ears when they hit the floor.

“Need you so bad, Wonwoo, please hurry,” you cry out and he laughs, kissing your neck and your cheek, his hands opening his belt, zipper and button, shoving his pants down only for you to gasp at the sheer size of his bulge. He grins, hands back on your face to make sure you’re looking at him.

“Naughty, aren’t you? My perfect, pretty slut,” he kisses your lips again and your eyes roll back, your pussy throbbing in want. And obviously he knows how much you want him - he wants you just the same. As he continues to kiss you, he moves to pull his briefs down, his hard erection springing free, angry tip red and smeared with pre, oh-so ready to sink into your warm embrace. You part from him, eyes now setting on his cock, your mouth watering at the sight. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” you say, swallowing down the saliva pooling in your mouth. Wonwoo only grins wider, his big hands finding purchase on your hips as he leans down again. 

“Beg a little for it, baby, and you might get it.” You shiver and bite down on your lip, your hands wandering over his still clothed torso and down to his cock, slowly wrapping your hand around it.

“Please, Wonwoo, please fuck me…,” is your whispered plead, and the man standing in between your legs groans against your neck, sucking yet another mark into your delicate skin before nodding and grabbing his cock out of your hand, lining it up perfectly with your entrance and slowly sinking in.

His forehead is leaned against yours when he bottoms out and his hands caress your head, coming to a stop on your nape. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing the tip of your nose and you smile, giving the tip of his nose a kiss back. Then, he parts from you and the look in his eyes changes from soft to dark. He does his first thrust, catching you off guard, a loud moan escaping you. Your hands grab onto his shoulders as he continues his thrusts, fucking you deep and hard, his eyes focused on your face that contours in absolute bliss. When he said you’re beautiful, he meant it. 

He is holding onto your hips again, pulling you as close to him as he can, his hips chasing yours, his cock in the deepest bits of your pussy, your gummy walls squeezing him for his pleasure. There is nothing you can do besides begging him to go faster, begging him to not ever stop and crying his name when he leans down to suck on your hard nipple over your shirt. 

“Wonwoo! Fuck!” You clench over and over again, stars dancing in front of your eyes accompanied by beautiful lights that slowly but surely turn into fireworks. With every thrust of his hips, you feel yourself coming closer to the edge again. You want him to fill you, want him to claim you as his, make you feel full of him and only him. Nails are digging into his shoulders, your head falling back against the kitchen cabinet, his groans and the beautiful sound of your name coming out of his mouth chasing you off the cliff and into the warm waters of yet another intense orgasm. 

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, oh- Wonwoo!” It’s done, you are done, your climax hitting you hard and making you gush all over his length that is still so deeply buried inside your sensitive cunt. Wonwoo moans, feeling your pussy clench around him, squeeze him, beg him to cum, to decorate you in his shades of white. And he wants to, god, there is nothing he had ever wanted more. His breathing becomes labored and he leans forward, engulfing you in yet another heated kiss, one arm wrapped around you, the other letting its hand rest on your cheek, thumb caressing your chin as his tongue flicks against yours over and over, mixed with his breathless moans. 

When you squeeze him the next time, he erupts. He moans your name, hips becoming frantic as he shoots his load into you, spurts of white and hot cum filling your spent pussy, your and his combined releases dripping down your thighs even as he fucks his cum so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants against your mouth, continuing to kiss you right after, riding out his orgasm and only stopping when you’re both completely out of breath. 

It’s silent for a few moments, the only thing audible your almost synchronized breathing. Your hands are still on his shoulders, his hands are still on your waist and your cheek. His face is buried in the crook of your neck and he softly kisses your sweaty skin, nothing but pure happiness running through him at this point. He softly caresses your face as he leans back again, his eyes searching for yours. 

“Y/N,” he then breathes, a small and maybe even shy smile playing on his lips.

“Wonwoo,” you sigh back, pulling him into a hug that he accepts with a laugh, both his arms now fully wrapped around your body. He’s still inside of you and only leaves you when you part from the hug, more of his release now dripping out of your core. He doesn’t ask whether you’re on birth control because for all he cares he would love to have you pregnant with his child. The thought alone makes his head spin. 

“Well,” he begins, a smug smile on his face as he leans down to pick up your panties, “that definitely gives ‘cookies and cream’ a different meaning.” 

You stare at him, slightly bewildered, for around three seconds before you burst into laughter, grabbing your underwear from him and jumping back onto your shaky feet. “You’re horrible,” you say and shake your head and Wonwoo’s smile grows even wider.

“Maybe. But I promise you, sweetheart, I’ll never ever be horrible to you again.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that, Mr. Know-It-All,” you smile and give his cheek a peck that he reacts to by turning bright red. 

It is in that exact moment you realize Wonwoo was never your archnemesis. Nor has he ever been as much of an ass as you had made him out to be. Jeon Wonwoo is nothing but a loser who’s been in love with you since the very first day you met him, and perhaps you had always known. Perhaps you finally let yourself realize right now, the moment after he had cum inside of you and still blushes like a little kid when you kiss his cheek, that the only reason you had chosen him to be your rival was to run away from how much you knew you’d fall for him if you didn’t. 

“Come on, let’s do what we actually came here for.”

And for the rest of the day you and Wonwoo bake the cookies for the sale and talk about what your plans are for Valentine’s. To no surprise those plans immediately involve hanging out together. Maybe, you think, to give ‘cookies and cream’ that new meaning over and over again. 

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH. 5

synopsis: Amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/)[1] is the only genus in the subtribe Amaryllidinae (tribe Amaryllideae). A vibrant bloom that symbolizes new beginnings and fresh starts. They are often associated with winter and the holiday season.

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f!reader, angst, slowburn

⚝wc: 3k

⚝a/n: I've been really slacking on updating this series, gonna try harder I swear.

Sorry.

Even the thought of the word sounded wrong to him. He was a king–ruthless and commanding. His subjects kissed the ground he walked on. There was never a choice he made, that was up for debate. Every criticizing eye was swiftly plucked out, questioning tongue severed.

 But, you—seemed to be a point of contention. Ever since your arrival that was the trend you followed. It was vexing, sure and yet he wouldn’t dream of changing the dynamic.

Why did the sight of you crying so affect him? Why was it that you, a mere servant, could disturb his centuries of carefully maintained control? It wasn’t just your fear that unsettled him; it was the realization that you had managed to penetrate his defenses in a way no one else had.

With a frustrated growl, Sukuna stopped pacing and stared at the reflection in his ornate mirror. The king he saw there was every bit as formidable as he’d always been, but the reflection now held a hint of something else—something vulnerable that he could barely recognize.

His eyes drifted to the door, hoping for any sign of your arrival. He replayed the conversation from earlier, the way you had looked at him, shrunk under his yelling.

As night fell, the emptiness of his bed became a stark reminder of your absence. The usual solace of his grand chambers turned oppressive, and no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep eluded him. The silence was deafening, only filled with thoughts of you.

He turned over for what felt like the hundredth time, his frustration mounting. For the first time in hundreds of years–the king of curses could not sleep.

Every creak of the palace, every distant sound seemed magnified in the quiet of his chambers. His usual patience frayed, replaced by an unsettling anxiety. He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him.

The minutes turned to hours.

As the hours dragged on and the first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains, Sukuna finally acknowledged the truth he had been fighting: your presence—or the lack of it—affected him more than he was willing to admit. He needed to find you.

 Throwing off the covers, he rose from bed with a determined stride.

He navigated through the labyrinth of his palace. Looking through every room, his irritation growing each second he failed to locate you.

Finally, he encountered Uraume, who was in the midst of their morning duties. Sukuna’s usual composure was replaced by a rare edge of desperation. “Uraume.” he barked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Where is she?”

Uraume’s eyes widened in surprise. “My lord, I—”

“Do not play games with me,” Sukuna interrupted, his frustration palpable. “I demand to know where she is.”

Uraume, taken aback by the king’s sudden intensity, struggled to maintain their usual calm demeanor. “I do not know, my lord. I have not seen her this morning.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Find her.” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Inform me immediately when you do.”

After what felt like hours of searching, Sukuna’s relentless pursuit led him to the library—a place he rarely visited.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, his gaze swept over the vast array of bookshelves and reading nooks. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a mixture of hope and irritation.

There, nestled in a quiet corner of the library, he finally found you. You were lying on a velvet sofa, the soft light filtering through the high windows casting a gentle glow over you. Your breathing was steady, but the sight of you so unexpectedly calm, yet so isolated, struck him with a fresh wave of frustration.

Sukuna stood still for a moment, the weight of his anger still mingling in his chest. He had expected to find you hiding, but the sight of you resting so peacefully, despite the turmoil from the previous day, left him momentarily speechless.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp. He tried to suppress the concern in his tone, but it seeped through nonetheless.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, slowly opening your eyes. Seeing him standing over you, the mixture of his commanding presence and the faint softness in his gaze was almost disorienting.

“I... slept here.” you murmured, as you sat up.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration remained evident. “Do not think that you can simply evade me. I was looking for you.”

You looked up at him, trying to find the right words to explain. “I..needed a moment away.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face. Away? Away… from him?

His anger seemed ready to boil over. He clenched his fists at his sides, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

He started to say something more, but the words choked in his throat. He paused, his face contorting as he wrestled with his emotions. “Come with me.” he said abruptly, his voice strained. 

Without waiting for a response, Sukuna turned on his heel, and you watched as his broad shoulders shifted, tension coiling beneath his skin. The silence that followed felt like an unspoken command, so you rose quietly, trailing behind him as he led the way out of the library and through the grand halls of the palace.

Each turn felt more hidden, the winding path narrowing until the towering palace walls faded behind you. Sukuna moved with purpose, leading you through a barely visible trail as if he had walked it countless times before. The air grew cooler, more secluded, and with every step, the tension between you deepened, thickening the silence.

When the path opened into the garden, your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen this place before—none of the servants had even whispered of its existence. A private sanctuary, tucked away from the rest of the palace. The delicate rustling of leaves, the vibrant flowers, and the gentle trickle of a fountain made it feel like stepping into a dream, so unlike the cold, imposing grandeur of the palace.

You glanced around in awe, but Sukuna remained still, his back to you, as if the beauty of the garden was inconsequential to him. He stopped near the center, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, barely holding back the storm of emotions that brewed within. You hesitated, waiting for him to break the silence.

"This place..." He paused, as if the words were unfamiliar to him, his jaw tightening with the effort to continue. "No one but Uraume knows of it." His crimson gaze finally meets yours, studying your reaction. You look up at him, caution etched on your face.

“My Lord… why did you bring me here?” You finally find your voice.

His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as if he were holding back words he didn’t know how to express. For a moment, he said nothing, his piercing stare taking in every detail of your face.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, the usual edge softened just slightly. “Because...”

He hesitated, his expression hardening once more, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “Because you needed to see this. Needed to understand that..." He stopped himself again, frustration flaring briefly in his gaze.

He tore his eyes away from yours, staring instead at the quiet garden around you, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze as if mocking his struggle. "I could not sleep." 

“You… couldn’t sleep.” you repeat.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as if he regretted saying it aloud. "No," he growled, his tone sharper than intended. He shifted his weight, clearly battling with himself. "I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t where you should be." His fists tightened briefly at his sides, and for a moment, you thought his temper might snap again, but he held back. He took a deep breath, looking back at the garden.

“Where I should be…” you echoed, the weight of the words sinking in. Bitterness filled your mouth at the thought.

You had never had a place to belong, passing from one household to the next—no family truly wanting you. Being taught to serve, be invisible, to follow orders without question. “Belonging” was a luxury that other people had, you had only known obligations, expectations, and silence.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "My Lord… I’ve never had a place where I was meant to be." Your voice quiet.  You kept your eyes low, avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might see in it. Afraid of what he might see in it. "I’ve only ever been where I was told… where I was needed. There’s never been a place that was… mine."

“I see,” Sukuna said softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

“Your absence… is felt.” His voice was a low murmur, almost introspective.

The admission hung in the air, delicate and uncharacteristic of him. Sukuna’s usual command was replaced with a rare, raw honesty, his battle with his own emotions evident in the tightness of his jaw and the uncertainty in his eyes.

For a moment, you looked up, meeting his gaze. The depth of his words, the way he had fought to express them, was both startling and unsettling. You had never imagined that your presence—or absence—could affect him so deeply.

“I’m… sorry,” you said finally, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “I didn’t mean to cause such distress.”

“No.” he said eventually, his tone laced with frustration and reluctance. “It’s not just… about distress.” He took a deep breath, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. “Yesterday, I... I lost my temper.”

The awkwardness of his apology was palpable as if each word was a battle against his own nature. The struggle was evident in the way his shoulders tensed and his fingers clenched into fists before relaxing. He was trying to bridge a gap that his usual demeanor couldn’t easily cross.

You looked at him, your mouth agape in shock, maybe the night of no sleep had cause hallucinations. Had you heard him? Were you mistaken?

The usual commanding presence that inspired fear and respect was now tempered by an uncharacteristic hesitation and softness. It was as though you were seeing him for the first time, not just as a king, but as a man grappling with his own emotions.

You quickly caught yourself, regaining composure as you took in the full scope of his vulnerability. The stark contrast between the imposing figure of Sukuna and the genuine, albeit awkward, sincerity he had just displayed was striking. His powerful frame, usually so unyielding, seemed momentarily diminished in the garden’s serene atmosphere.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his pink hair in a rare show of agitation. He turned his back to you again, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. “It is… difficult for me, to express… what I mean.”

He cast a quick, almost helpless glance over his shoulder. “You’re... you’re allowed in this garden. Whenever you want. It’s not meant to be hidden from you.”

Slowly, you took a step forward, the shock giving way to a tentative understanding. "Thank you, my Lord," you said quietly,. "For… sharing this with me. And for allowing me a place here."

“You… are welcome.”

Your gaze shifted to a nearby flower, its vibrant petals standing out against the verdant backdrop. Curious, you asked, “What’s this one?”

Sukuna’s eyes followed your gaze, and for a moment, he seemed to find solace in the change of focus. “That’s an amaryllis” he said, his voice regaining a touch of its usual authority.

“Amaryllis..” you practice, tasting the name on your tongue.

“Yes,” he continues, “It symbolizes strength and new beginnings. It thrives even in harsh conditions.” He shifted his gaze back to you, eyes tracing the lines of your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You reached out for him, your hand trembling slightly. Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before he slowly took your hand in his. He guided it firmly to his chest, where his robe parted to reveal the warmth of his skin,a stark contrast to the cool garden air. You could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your palm—a heartbeat that seemed to resonate with the depth of his emotions.

He stared intently into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of sincerity and trepidation. “You have…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have… affected me. More than you know.” 

The air between you grew heavier, your breath catching in your throat as his hand trailed over your face, gentle and calculated. Tracing the soft skin of your cheek, to your jaw—brushing against your bottom lip. As his fingers lingered on your lips, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.

“My lord—”  you began, your voice wavering with a question that never fully formed.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The garden around you seemed to quiet, the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets fading into the background as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, Sukuna guided you to a softer patch of grass further within the garden, a place hidden beneath a canopy of trees, where the light filtered through the leaves in soft, fragmented patterns.

"I meditate here," he said quietly, sharing a secret. He lowered himself gracefully onto the grass, his movements deliberate, leaving just enough space beside him for you to join.

"You… meditate?" you asked, almost without thinking, your tone laced with disbelief.

He turned to look at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you think me incapable of silence and thought?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm, though it didn’t sting. "That I am so detached, so unfeeling?"

The embarrassment crept up your neck, your eyes darting away as you bit your lip. "I didn’t mean—" you began, but the words felt clumsy, an apology for something you hadn't meant to assume.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet breath, his amusement fading into something more genuine. "It is…easy to believe," he murmured, "given how I appear." His hand reached out, beckoning you closer. "Come.”

Slowly, you settled beside him, the grass cool beneath your skin as the quiet of the garden enveloped you both. Sukuna reclined, two arms propped behind his head, allowing the stillness of the space to calm his unease. You glanced at him, the formidable king of curses suddenly appearing more human in the soft light of the garden.

An awkward silence stretched between you. Sukuna, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, cleared his throat and tried to make conversation. "What of your family?" he asked.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, the pain of your past surfacing briefly. "My family… they died when I was young," you said quietly, your voice betraying a hint of the sorrow you felt. "I was left alone after that."

Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "I see," he said awkwardly, trying to find the right words. "I didn’t mean to… to bring up something so... personal."

You looked at him, noticing his genuine discomfort and the uncharacteristic hesitation in his gaze. "It’s alright," you reassured him. "It’s been a long time."

Sukuna let out a frustrated breath, closing his eyes briefly. "This…isn't exactly my strength." he admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"And here I thought you were all-powerful in every aspect." a small smirk tugs your lips as you chuckle. Sukuna’s cheeks flushed slightly, avoiding your gaze.

Before you could react, Sukuna moved with surprising swiftness, crawling on top of you and trapping you gently between the grass and his strong arms. His gaze was intense, crimson eyes piercing, boreing holes into your own.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

The sudden shift in position left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. The distance between you was minimal, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I’m not accustomed to this. It is… difficult. You make it difficult.” 

 He hovered just above you, his breath mingling with yours, “You have a way of unraveling me. It’s... unsettling.”

The warmth between you grew. Every subtle movement of his body against yours sent a shiver through you, making your skin tingle.

Sukuna’s gaze fell to your lips, the tension between you crackling with an electric anticipation. He hesitated, his expression a mix of determination and longing. “What is it you do to me?” he asked, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness.

The man who had always been a figure of strength and control was now entirely absorbed by you, and the realization made your heart race even faster.

His nearness was intoxicating, every touch and glance fueling the fire that had been kindling between you. With a sudden, almost desperate movement, his lips descended on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was both rough and dizzying.

His grip on you tightened, his hands framing your face with a desperate intensity. The moment felt like it stretched endlessly, the world outside forgotten as his tongue entered your mouth with an urgency that bordered on frantic. He explored every inch of you, his taste mingling with yours. The kiss was a maelstrom of sensation, his passion overwhelming in its depth.

Your hands roamed the expanse of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his robe on your fingertips.  Sukuna’s groan vibrated through you, He pressed more of his weight into you, his two lower arms gripping your waist with a possessive force, his nails digging into your flesh as if to anchor himself to you. 

As he finally pulled away from your lips, you were met with the sight of him—his pupils dilated, breathing ragged, and his heartbeat quicker now. Sukuna’s chest heaved with every breath, his expression pure hunger.

He wanted to consume you. And you were more than ready to let him.

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[entirelysein-e]

『 Their hand slips 』

☼ synopsis: Their hand (almost) slips and puts a strain on your relationship

☼ characters: Toji, Yuuta, Inumaki

☼ wc: 4.3k

☼ cw: dark content! fem!reader, Toji being a good husband and almost snapping, getting pushed by Rika and slapped (accidentally during a playfight with Inumaki), Toge using his technique on you, overall sogginess, hurt to comfort

☼ notes: I am by no means glorifying domestic violence - this fic is not about this topic. If you or a loved one experience abuse in a relationship please reach out to the police or a qualified counselor / hotline for help!

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Toji:

Being with Toji has always been a rollercoaster of emotions but you never doubted his love for you, despite him being rough around the edges. Yes, he might disappear for days, sometimes weeks after a fight but he never once lifted his hand or indicated that he would physically hurt you. If the fight was over something dumb you would usually end up in the bedroom to get his anger out in a fun way while making up again.

You don't even know what started the fight today, was it the dishes he didn't do? Perhaps he left the laundry in the laundry machine? All you know is that you've been screaming at each other for well over an hour, your throat already sore but you wouldn't stop now. Toji was just beyond annoyed at your little tantrum, at least that's what it was to him. “I said I'll take care of it, didn't I? The day isn't over yet” he tried the calm way at first, his jaw clenching in frustration when you screamed back how tired you are from work.

Things carried on like this for a while, Toji losing his cool after you screamed at him right away and he started to scream back until you were only throwing around profanities. At least until you said something you shouldn't have “No wonder your last two wives left you, you live like a damn pig”. It wasn't too bad but it was a sore topic for him and his hand raised… simply staying up in the air without ever connecting to your face but it was enough for you to flinch away. Toji's jaw tensed up further, his teeth almost cracking from the pure pressure when he realized what he almost did - crossing a boundary that should never be crossed and you looked at him like he's a monster now. Perhaps he was and you were right, make it three wives, it's deserved now that his hand almost struck you.

Ever so slowly he brought his hand down from its spot up in the air, trying not to startle you further when he reached to cup your cheek, the anger in his eyes turning to desperation. Out of reflex you flinched from his touch, your body still in flight mode from almost getting struck by him and Toji recoiled his hand quickly while nodding to himself. The anger flamed up behind his eyes once again upon realizing just how bad he had fucked up. Anger rose up and he couldn't contain himself any longer “FUCK” he roared, making you stumble backwards just to get away from him before he punched a hole into the wall. You barely recognized the man in front of you since he'd never been this violent around you or directed at you. The thought of drawing a single breath of air scared you with him raging around and you simply held your breath, your entire body shaking like a leaf in a heavy storm, but before you found your voice again he stormed out of your shared home, grabbing his coat on the way out of the front door.

Relief was the first thing flooding your mind when you finally felt like you could exhale once again, the air less tense with him out of the room and upon looking around your usually tidy kitchen, you saw the battlefield he'd left behind. The hole in the wall gaping and your favorite candle holder, the one he gifted you simply because you thought the cat warming its paws looked so cute, now on the floor and shattered into hundreds of small pieces. You didn't care much for the cushions laying around or the chairs scattered across the room but you cradled the severed porcelain head of the small cat to your chest as you fell to your knees when the first wave of shock wore off. Toji had left. He's gone now and given how both of you crossed boundaries and he almost hit you, didn't give you much hope for his return. A bitter laugh crossed your sobs when you thought of the small candle holder scattered and how it represented your broken relationship.

After what felt like an eternity on the floor you had the courage to get up once again, slowly putting things back to where they used to stand before picking up each and every piece of Tojis present. You needed to get your mind off of his departure, he sure would return - latest when he had to get his things- you told yourself, trying to calm the mess that was your head. Dedicated you brought he pieces to the living room where his show was running as always, your favorite background noise in your daily life and piece by piece you glued the little candle holder back together until it looked somewhat what it used to and it gave you hope - perhaps you could do the same to your relationship?

Once the distraction wore off you found yourself sitting on the unusually empty couch, sitting on his favorite spot and the silence was deafening, the show stopped playing a while ago, Netflix asking you if you're still watching and the tears started to form in your eyes once again. Perhaps he will be back soon? Your hope wore thinner with every hour that has passed, only hoping that he will come back eventually one day at this point. Sure, you've had worse fights with him but it never got physical, this one felt much more charged and intense than all the others before so perhaps he's sick of the constant fighting, sick of you…

Slowly you sunk your face into the pillow on the couch and brought your knees to your chest as you wept, his show now playing once again to bring you at least a little comfort as you drifted off into a restless slumber, the moment where he almost struck you replaying in your head over and over again.

Toji wandered around the Block at first, contemplating to get drunk out o his mind and simply disappearing out of your life forever since he has nothing to offer to you but his heart and body, but now he wasn't sure if that was enough - if he was enough and he hated these thoughts. He could have any woman he wanted so why is he so damn attached to you? Answers didn't come by as he sat down in the park and gulped down a cheap beer but the longer he sat there the more reasons he found just why he was with you and how you made him feel things no one managed to ignite in so long. It was clear to him that he would need to go back, that he would need to fix things with you, for his own sake because he'd be lost without you once again.

By the time Toji got up from the old bench at the park it was almost morning already, the bird chirping softly in the trees and he took a deep breath in, preparing himself to lose you once and for all since he couldn't force you to forgive him after ever but he would promise to be better, he vowed to be a good partner and later on to be a good husband to you and not once did he make you regret trusting him since he was always nothing but good to you. His posture was slightly slouched when he entered the apartment, ready to find the mess he left behind in the kitchen but it looked as if nothing ever happened here - aside from the hole in the wall that felt like a plow to his guts. That could have been your face, realization setting in once again over what happened and how badly he damaged the trust in this relationship with his cowardly reaction.

Shaking his head at his thought he made his way back to the front door, only to be met by your weak voice somewhere behind him. “Toji?” was all you asked, your voice sounding tired and so fragile from hours of crying and he flinched, dreading your next words. “Don't leave… please,” You continue and sit up now to look at him. “I'm just here to get my thi- you want me to stay?” He sounded rather surprised that you didn't send him out, cussing him and his entire bloodline out as he got his things. Toji was so prepared for rejection he didn't even consider you would want him to stay, but you did, so he dragged himself over to the couch where you sat, waiting to face him. Your bloodshot eyes shocked him, have you been crying all night over him? Over the situation or perhaps the divorce you'd surely want?

“I'm sorry,” was all that he croaked out, his ego crushed and the confidence that usually radiated off of him was entirely gone, he was nothing but a miserable pile in front of you in this moment. It took you a minute or two to fully register his words - his apology and you simply nodded, knowing he wasn't great with words and especially apologies. Silence fell upon both of you once again, unsure how to go on from here, both of you uncomfortable with the situation. You were the first to find your words again, having spent the night thinking about what you wanted and ultimately what you will say to him but right now this was all thrown out of the window when you looked at him and reached out for his hands, trying to show that you're no longer scared.

“Listen to me. If you ever raise a hand to me again, Toji Fushiguru, I will cut out your heart and eat it for breakfast, do you understand me?” You asked with a much more secure voice and it almost scared him because he knew you took that threat seriously, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips now. “That's my wife,” he chuckled a little, wondering if he extinguished your flame with fear but you weren't one to crumble, not from him or his foolish actions.

Unasked Toji whisked you up into his strong arms and carried you to the bedroom, refusing to let go of you for even a second as he smothered you between his arms and chest. Things weren't okay and they won't be for a while but at least you knew that he was willing to work on himself and you were willing to stay, so things could be alright again one day.

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Yuuta:

You were always Yuuta's first priority and he never failed to make it clear that you knew that there's no one and nothing that's more important to him than you. Yet he had to save the world as usually, exorcizing a curse here, helping out there and more often than not you found yourself alone in your shared home, talks limited to texts and phone calls. He tried his hardest to make sure you're always on his mind even if he's not physically with you, especially then but you slowly felt like this wasn't the case. It felt like he was running away from home, from you to be alone, to be with Rika rather than you for the old days sake.

This gut wrenching thought became especially painful when you ran into him in the grocery store when he claimed to be on the other side of the world and not in fact in the same grocery store or even the same city. You didn't want to cause a scene, not there out of all places so you abandoned your shopping cart and walked out, ignoring the hurt puppy look from your boyfriend. Dropping the chocolates he held previously he charged after you “Wait, please. Let me explain!” he called after you and caught up with your rather fast pace but you didn't pay any attention to him, fearing the worst.

And sometimes your own mind can be the worst enemy as you now convinced yourself that Yuuta was leading some sort of double life, a secret life hidden away from you and you didn't want to see his face for a second longer. When the young man held onto your wrist to get you to stop running from him it felt as if your skin was burning, quickly tugging your hand out of his grasp and glaring at him. “Stop causing a damn scene, Okkotsu” you hissed under your breath and Yuuta knew he was in trouble by the way you only used his last name, so much venom behind your words. All he wanted to do was surprise you with your favorite flowers and some sweets since he was home almost an entire week earlier and he didn't understand the tantrum you were throwing at that moment. Yes, he did lie to you and told you he won't be home for at least another 5 days but he was already on his way back to you, his home. Was he wrong that he wanted to surprise you just to have you jump into his arms five days earlier than initially planned?

The walk home was awkward and silent, the air around you two charged with strong emotions and unspoken words - words none of you dared to speak until the front door to your apartment was closed and you whipped around, facing him with an expression full of anger and hurt. “Why did you lie to me? Am I not good enough for you anymore?” You immediately asked, letting your inner fear take over instead of trying to think rationally but Yuuta immediately shook his head. “It's not like that, I promise!” His voice was rather submissive, hating to have fights with you, especially out of the dumbest reasons but you couldn't contain your anger, your presence alone making him take a step back. He knew you would never lay a hand on him but the air around you was so thick he feared to suffocate if he couldn't keep some distance. “Don't come at me with that bullshit, Yuuta. You promised not to lie to me and here you are… avoiding me despite being back. Do you have someone else? Do you miss Rika so much you can't bear to be with me?” You questioned, taking steps towards your boyfriend despite his silent plea to keep distance. It's unfair of you to bring Rika up in this situation, both of you knew this but you didn't care. The way he was always talking about her started to gnaw at your heart, slowly building a deep insecurity that you're just someone he settled for because he couldn't have the one he wanted. Perhaps he found a better replacement? That was your initial thought when you saw him smiling to himself at the grocery store. Little do you know he was thinking about your gleeful smile when he came home early.

Yuuta barely opened his mouth after what felt like an eternity of silence when he reached for your hands, hoping you let him explain, hoping you calm down enough to start thinking rationally. “Please, just listen, okay?” He started, his voice small since he didn't want things to escalate, fearing to lose you as much as you feared the same. You were his anchor, his safety vest out in the ocean that kept him afloat when everything was against him. He made the mistake of touching you, trying to get closer to you when you were so charged and it made you feel crowded, pushing him off of you so he let go of your wrists. He would have let go if only you asked, showing him he made you uncomfortable but before he could stop it, it was already too late.

Rika pushed you away from him, much harsher than he would have ever allowed and he recoiled, backing away from your curled up body after you were sent flying against the wall, several feet behind you.

The sight of your body on the floor and the little noise you let out upon the collision shattered his heart. Sure, Rika just wanted to protect him from harm but you would have never seriously hurt him and he was in shambles, trying to figure out what to do now that one of his biggest fears became reality. It took you a few seconds to realize what had just happened, just sitting up and blinking at Yuuta who looked paler than usual, his body frozen to the spot as he watched you with wide eyes. The way you looked around made him aware of how dizzy you must feel since your head hit the wall - at least there was no blood on your hands when you checked the back of your head reluctantly.

“Yuuta?” You asked him as you teared up, knowing that it was just an accident. The young man snapped out of his trance-like state upon hearing your voice, softly asking him for comfort but he couldn't give that to you, not if he was the one who hurt you in the first place.

His head snapped around, looking for a way out of there, perhaps he could jump out of the window or would it be too high? The sound of his heartbeat picking up was deafening, the only thing he heard in that moment and it only fueled the anxiety further. But it was your utterly desperate voice calling out to him once again that snapped him out of his fight or flight reaction, panicked eyes finally looking at your teary ones and his body reacted on its own. Without a further moment passing he dropped to his knees beside you and cradled your body in his arms, holding you close. You knew he didn't hurt you and it was just a reaction of Rika so you weren't angry, but your body still hurt as you wept into his embrace, body trembling with each sob that wrecked through it. “I'm so sorry my love” kept falling off his lips like a whispered mantra as he gently rocked you back and forth in his arms in hopes that it's enough to calm both of you down - even if it's just a little bit.

Hours later and neither of you had moved. You were still cradled in Yuuta's lap, arms wrapped securely around you and he still looked at you as if he just broke the most valuable thing he ever owned. “I’m sorry that I made you angry,” you eventually broke the silence that just felt heavy to you but he quickly shook his head “don't… it's not your fault I lost control,” he began and kissed your temple, his lips resting against your delicate skin for a moment before you felt them move as he continued to speak. “I should have told you I'm home earlier, the flowers would have been a surprise regardless, I'm sorry I made you doubt my love for you.” He whispered against your temple, earnest regret in his voice. Yuuta knew he was gone too much lately and if the roles were reversed he would have had doubts as well so he couldn't blame you.

Unsure how to answer, you nod softly and your hands clutch onto him just a little tighter. “We will make things better,” you eventually mumble, reassuring the both of you that despite what has happened, things will be okay again and you can work past this accident.

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Inumaki:

You never felt scared or threatened by Inumaki, he was always more than sweet to you and despite his cursed speech you never feared anything. He fell in love with you the day he found out you learned sign language for him and hasn't left your side ever since. You two were inseparable to the point of his friends automatically speaking of the both of you instead of just an individual and it was you who understood his few words better than anyone.

Laughter echoed through his small apartment when he pinned you to the bed with just one hand, the other traveling down to your sides to tickle you. Your laughter was one of his favorite noises, your smile his favorite sight and he wished he could tell you, scream out how much he loves you but he would never dare to say such things out loud, scared it manipulates you somehow and you're with him against your will. That was his worst nightmare, one that often haunted him at night and he woke up distressed while frantically searching for his phone. It's the same over and over again “You're with me because it's what you want, right?” He texts and awaits your answer as he picks the skin on his fingers anxiously. “I’m with you because my heart chose you” you tell him every time before his phone even unlocks - already knowing what plagues his handsome head.

Your sweet giggle brought him back to the little play fight you two just had and the way you were trying so hard to overpower him despite knowing you would never succeed. This thought never scared you, since you knew he would never use it against you or hold you down when you wouldn't want it. It was all just playful banter until he wanted to catch your wrist after you freed it but miscalculated, sending his hand right against your cheek with such strength the slap echoed off the walls followed by your whimper. You didn't need to push him off of your body, Inumaki got up right away, the tears that started to form in your eyes causing him to panic slowly. He frantically tried to sign “I'm sorry it was an accident” over and over but it felt like his hands knotted up by the speed and you didn't look at him, turning away as the tears started rolling down your cheeks. You weren't mad at him, knowing it was an accident but it still hurt you - the tears only a reaction of your body to the stinging pain that traveled through your face.

But the way you refused to even look towards him frustrated the young man and despite his efforts to get your attention you simply rose from the corner of the bed and left the room. Of course he was chasing after you, tapping you, holding your wrist, whining… he tried so hard to get just a sliver of your attention when you clearly didn't want to give that to him right now and he felt wrongfully punished. “Stop crying and come here” these words slipped past his lips with such desperation, he couldn't even stop himself before saying them out loud and his hands slapped over his mouth the second he realized what he'd done.

No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, your body acted on its own accord as the tears dried and your feet walked over to him. Your face was one of utter shock and betrayal that he would do this to you, accident or not.

Inumaki pulled your body close and held you in a tight embrace despite every fiber in his body screaming not to do it, it felt so wrong to him but he needed you to forgive him, for accidentally hurting you, for putting you through manipulation. When he pulled back he was met with your face full of hurt and anger, which he deserved. “Please hit me back. We can be even” he signed once, twice… but you looked away, pinching the bridge of your nose as you took a step back to put some space between the white haired man and yourself. You wanted to scream, to explode at him but you collected yourself and looked at him with a cold expression. “Can you just stop?! I don't care that you hit me,” you started but lost your cool quickly and it came out more snappy than intended “we were play fighting, it happens. But you can't just crowd me and demand me to do things… and you surely can't fucking manipulate me!” Your voice rose in volume at the last part since this hurt you more than the accidental hit to your face.

Inumaki looked at you like a kicked puppy, eyes big and his face sinking into the collar of his sweater further so he can hide. He was beyond ashamed for his actions and didn't want to speak, the desperation clouding his mind and forgetting for just a split second that his words have immediate consequences and despite his best effort of not speaking, he can mess up.

With trembling hands he started signing apologies, begging for your forgiveness over and over until his shoulders started trembling and in a last effort he signed words unclear but you knew what he meant “please hold me” You whispered as he signed it and sighed. Realizing that he's more affected by this than you were and that he really had no malicious intentions you pulled your lover close, comforting him and yourself as his arms wrapped around you tightly, hands clutching to the fabric of your shirt. “Love” he mumbled out aloud, knowing this one word won't make you do anything but it was the first time you heard him say that he loves you out aloud. “I love you too” you whispered back, cheek still aching from the way his hand slipped but right now your heart needed healing from the betrayal of getting manipulated. Both, you and Toge were sure that this was a cut in your relationship but the bond you shared will act as a bandaid and you will be okay again, especially since he will be more careful now.

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up! pt. ii

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | part i

note: fukuoka is the canon location of hawks hero agency

You stare at the text for what embarrassingly feels like at least the tenth time this hour.

pick you up at 8 ;)

Was sent mere moments ago from the contact Hawks, that had several hearts next to his name that you don’t remember him putting, saved in your phone after he dropped you off at work this morning.

Nearly giving your coworkers who just so happened to be looking out the windows at the time synchronized heart attacks in their cubicles, which would’ve been very hard to explain to your boss.

Who, thank All Might, was not here today.

But the millisecond you walked out of the elevator onto your floor, their nosy natures quickly won over their states of disbelief.

Desperate for the juicy details, nothing could stop them from swarming you like a group of hungry piranhas, and you’re flooded with a sea of questions you’re simply at a loss for how to answer.

“How did you meet him?” “So when’s the wedding?” “Were you rescued in a villain attack that wasn’t on the news yet?” “Oh my god, did you two—?”

“Guys!” You cut them off with a frantic wave of your hands, you did not need to hear the end of that sentence. “We just happened to meet. I, uh.”

Your coworkers look at you with expectant eyes, eagerly waiting to hear your no doubt heart-racing meet-cute story with the hero so popular, that when the paparazzi got a picture of him sipping kombucha tea, the drink went out of stock in stores nationwide faster than you could even say its name.

“I accidentally took his coffee order.”

You cringe a bit as you finish, and you’re met with the most comically shocked faces you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“You WHAT!?”

“Damn I literally just tweeted ‘my coworker stole Hawks’s coffee’ and it already has a hundred reposts.”

“Oh honey, you’re lucky our boss is out sick today. He’d fire you for that.”

“Yeah, Hawks is his all-time favorite on the charts since All Might.”

You groan. “I know! He was so nice about it too, I still feel bad.”

“You should be.”

All your coworkers simultaneously glare at your company’s front desk receptionist that somehow snuck up to your floor, who for some reason takes that as a signal to continue.

“I could never be illiterate enough to take his order if I was in that coffee shop.”

“No one cares, Janet,” everyone says in deadpanned unison.

Janet huffs and turns to leave, but not before pointedly throwing another withering look at you.

She never did like you ever since you politely corrected her grammar in that passive aggressive email she sent when you were a new hire.

Not illiterate your ass.

Throughout the day, you answer more emails, calls, and print papers in a daze.

When you go to forward an email, all you can think about is how his strong arms felt on your waist. When you go retrieve ink to refill the printer, all you can think about is his gentle yet firm grip that he had on your thighs.

This could not be healthy.

But what if it was? You’ve never been touched so intimately, so softly before, like you were something precious, even in your fleeting experiences with relationships.

No one’s made you feel this safe like he does from just being in their presence.

But you blame that on him being a hero. He was probably trained on how to calm civilians down, especially during rescues.

You don’t really think that applied to people who stole his coffee, but maybe that was just you trying to feel special.

With a shake of your head, you straighten yourself in your chair. You had to get it together.

No more thoughts of Hawks on company time until it’s time to clock out!

But it seems like the winged flirt had other plans.

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:00]

hey

[sent an image]

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:01]

saw a pretty flower on

someone’s roof and it

reminded me of you :)

You freeze when you see the notification pop up, mid-bite through the food that you picked up from your favorite aesthetically pleasing cafe for lunch.

With a mouthful of sandwich, you click on the message to text back, when suddenly the realization hits you.

You had no idea what to wear for the date.

Oh my god, what were you even supposed to wear? Was there some kind of etiquette for this?

I mean, it’s not like he’s taking you to the Hero Gala. It’s just a higher end homey sushi and ramen place, but still.

Pinterest probably didn’t have “cute date outfit ideas for going out with the freaking number two hero” in their search results.

In your mind, you nervously run through different casual but still elegant clothes to wear. Maybe that nice blouse you had been saving, the one with the ruffles on the sleeves? You bite the inside of your cheek. No, maybe your classy sleeveless turtleneck midi dress instead?

Ugh, but you’ve already worn it out too many times last month. Not to mention the current ninety degree weather would cook you alive in that.

You pray that the paparazzi wouldn’t dare to stalk you on your date, but imagine if they did and took a picture of you two?

Caption: Hawks takes girl that never wears anything else out on date.

Even worse, caption: Hawks seen taking girl that can’t dress if her life depended on it out on date.

Nope, not on your watch.

The further you brainstormed, the more each piece of your wardrobe seemed less and less fitting to wear for such an occasion.

An idea pops into your head.

What was Hawks’s favorite color? You could base an outfit off of that instead.

Thinking about it, it was probably red. Hell, if you had pretty crimson wings like him you’d forget every other color in the rainbow.

Should you text him and ask?

After a little mental wrestling yourself, you muster up all the courage you could possibly have on a Monday afternoon.

[12:20]

you

that’s so cute :((((

thank you <3

you

also random but what’s

your favorite color?

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh we playing twenty questions? ;)

you

lol i guess we are ;)

hawks ♡♡♡

hmmm ok then

hawks ♡♡♡

my favorite colors

probablyyy red

you

i knew it

hawks ♡♡♡

oh?

hawks ♡♡♡

been thinking about me

have you, pretty girl?

you

……..maybe

hawks ♡♡♡

you’re so cute when

you get all shy

Your cheeks warm at that, and you physically have to put down your phone for a moment to cool off.

[12:34]

hawks ♡♡♡

my turn

hawks ♡♡♡

whatcha having for lunch?

you

[sent an image]

sandwich :)

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh that looks yummy

you

it is!!!!

you

it’s from the cafe across

the one where i nabbed

your coffee lol

hawks ♡♡♡

ah when fate brought

us together by my overly

sweet latte

hawks ♡♡♡

i’ll make sure to stop by

it after patrol tomorrow :)

you

yay!!! lmk what you think

i want a full review

hawks ♡♡♡

yes ma’am (︶▽︶)7

you

what are you having for lunch?

hawks ♡♡♡

[sent an image]

just chicken lol

Of course he was. It did look good. The fried edges were perfectly crispy, and it was a nice golden brown color and—

hawks ♡♡♡

but i wish it was you instead ;)

you

!!!!!?1!?)$1&1$@-

hawks ♡♡♡

aw, you embarassed right now?

you

YESOHMYHOF???

you

YOU CANR JUST

SAY THAT

hawks ♡♡♡

whyyy nottt

hawks ♡♡♡

it’s true though! :(

you

oh my god i’m going to die

you

and this sandwich is

going to be my last meal

hawks ♡♡♡

noo don’t die

you

i will

hawks ♡♡♡

id miss you :(

you

then know that it

was all YOUR fault.

hawks ♡♡♡

pffft you're so cute

hawks ♡♡♡

wish i could see your

flustered face right now

you

STOP

you

i think i'm going to

have to block you

you

this isn’t good for my heart

hawks ♡♡♡

D:

hawks ♡♡♡

noooooooo!!!!!!

come backkkk!!

You had to bite back a fond giggle, feeling warm all over. How was it fair for him to be this cute over text and in person?

hawks ♡♡♡

okok but before you block me

which i don’t think you will

hawks ♡♡♡

send me your address so

i know where to pick up the

most beautiful girl alive <3

you

oh u smooth ass mf

hawks ♡♡♡

for you? always

you

UGHHH

fine here it is

you

123-4567 fukuoka, tenjin,

chuo ward, 8-91

hawks ♡♡♡

perfect

see you soon birdie ;)

After an eventful day at work, you’re turned around, glancing at your back in the mirror.

Even though the scarlet dress that falls just below your knees hugs your figure in all the right places, you still feel a little self-conscious in it.

You honestly haven’t touched it since you bought it at the mall with a friend, who insisted that red was your color even when you had wrinkled your nose.

But as you admire the smooth, soft fabric of it now, you can’t help but be reminded of a certain someone’s beautiful wings.

You think you were really starting to warm up to the color.

A spritz of your favorite perfume and slight touch up of your makeup later, you hear a knock on the door to your balcony.

That must be him!

You excitedly unlock the sliding glass, and you’re finally greeted with the sight of Hawks’s signature grin that you missed all day.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you say back, a bit breathlessly.

As if you were the one who flew all across the city just to see him.

He takes the moment to look you up and down, not in a hungry, lustful way like you’re used to when you’re around other men, even when you’re not exposing much skin.

Hawks admires you.

Like you’re a statue of a goddess, made of the most pristine marble. Like you’re a beautiful cherry blossom tree at peak bloom, with the wind serenading your soft pink petals.

Like you’re something so divinely beautiful and enchanting, you deserve to be revered.

“Wow.” Hawks opens his mouth, but no other sound comes out. The bouquet he’s hiding behind his back for you goes limp in his hand.

For a man who never runs out of words to say, he’s been rendered speechless.

There’s a tingle of anxiety at your neck and you’re suddenly a little nervous. “How—How do I look?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, and finally speaks.

“You look absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous.”

Hawks’s lips curve upwards softly when you visibly melt, his touch sweeter than the caramel of his eyes as a hand tips your chin up to meet his warm gaze that the summer heat had nothing on. 

“And that’s the least interesting about you.”

─────────

“This is really good.”

Is what you ultimately decide when you’re on the fourth piece of the unagi roll you ordered.

Hawks grins, you looked cute with your cheeks puffed up like that. “Isn’t it? I knew you’d like it.”

You nod while covering your mouth, chewing slowly to savor the delectable taste of the sushi. “I’m literally going to gatekeep this place so hard.”

“Good.” He reaches across the table for your hand with an amused laugh. “It can just be our little spot, then.”

You softly smile back at him.

“Our little spot.”

At that moment, the waiter comes over with Hawks’s shoyu ramen. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks!” Hawks beams at him, then turns his attention to the bowl in front of him.

Then a slight frown appears on his face.

You tilt your head. “What’s wrong?”

His worried eyes meet yours.

“You sure just sushi is enough? You can always order something else, it’s on me.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” You wave a hand. “I’m not really that hungry—“

“I don’t believe you.” A hint of a teasing smile plays on his lips. “Could hear your tummy growling a bit earlier.”

“You heard that?” You whine. How embarrassing.

“All the more reason to share my ramen with me.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to?”

“I do.” Hawks stubbornly says, picking up his chopsticks to grab noodles with them. He holds them up to your lips, a growing smirk on his handsome face.

“Say ahhh.”

Throwing a quick glance around the restaurant, your cheeks flame. “Hawks!”

“What?” He’s still wearing that casual, shit-eating grin. “It’s just us and a few other people here, c’mon.”

You huff. “I can feed myself!”

“I know you can, birdie.” Hawks holds your gaze with piercing but warm eyes. “But I want to do it.”

You fiddle with your own chopsticks, looking at anything but his eyes.

“Please? Let me take care of you.”

Finally, you cave at his pleading expression.

“Okay.”

He feeds you, and you’re not still not sure why he’s so happy to do so, but you let him.

The owner of the sushi and ramen place laughs as he looks over at the booth you two had occupied a few hours before closing.

As always, there’s a generously heavy tip left on the table and this time a new, small note.

thank you, boss :> we’ll be back!! - h

─────────

It’s summer, again.

Keigo flies you back home in his arms after his patrol and your nine to five, and as you touch down on your balcony, the sky is starting to turn a brilliant gradient of orange, pink and purple as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

His eyes are lidded as he pulls you closer to him by the waist on the couch.

“You like when I’m this close to you?”

In the privacy of your apartment with the only sound being the breeze from your air conditioning and the faint chirping of crickets outside, it’s like the both of you are in your own little world.

“Yeah.” You sound muffled while hiding your burning face in his chest. “You still make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” His low voice is lilting as he tilts his head, and pulls you even closer to him with a firm hand now on the small of your back.

Keigo smirks, drinking up the sound of your little gasp. “I’m gonna take that as a yes, little dove.”

You blink dreamily, disorientated by his warmth seeping through his sleeveless turtleneck and the feeling of his firm chest against yours. He was so cozy. “Dove?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause they symbolize peace, and you’re my safe place.” Keigo’s eyes soften at the way you snuggle into him in response. He was yours too, your comfort person. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Mmm.” You’re resting your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Tell me again.”

“As many times as you want.” He leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re perfect.”

You let out a laugh, his breath was tickling your ear. “Kei, why’s your heart beating so fast when you say that?”

“Mm.” He offers you a sly smile, hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you lay on top of him.

“Guess you just do something to me when we’re together, birdie.”

Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you hug him even tighter at that.

“I’m so glad I stole your shitty excuse of a coffee that day.”

And it’s when he laughs from deep within his chest that you know he is too.

— Courtship feeding is believed to function as ceremonial pair bonding. The male bird usually feeds their female mate, and the resulting nutritional boost contributes to more and healthier offspring.

[2tcs]

I love your content so far from what I read and I had a crack I did just hit me

After a while the bat family finally decides to get rid of Ra al Ghul like take him down and take his position from him as the leader of the League of assassins to dismantle it

Ra al Ghul never warned anyone if they want to actually become like the main watcher over the Lazarus pits but they have to go to a 2000 door haunted house run by the ghost King who is 15 years old

So I'll be entire bat family is practically being put through spooky's haunted house 1000 doors except it's Phantom haunted house 2000 doors

Danny believes that anyone that wants the Lazarus pits is undirectly like a bad person so he kind of uses it to a trauma dump on people and be mentally tortured these people so they drop out of taking it

He's getting help from Ghost like Ember Techn, Poindexter, Wulf even cujo

Like they put Ra al Ghul through hell and now they're going to put the bat family to that because they have no idea or not if they're good people

So it's just Danny traumatizing them by making with the horrors and some of the deaths of the ghost the last shocker is at the last door they have to relive Danny's death then Danny will come out and hand them a key and then proceed to give them the whole feel about being the new owners of Lazarus pits

I just enjoy the idea of Danny and the ghost being terrifying

I don't think Danny knows enough ghosts to pull off 2000 doors but he does know Ghost Writer. As well as several ghosts who could make them relive each other's worst/most traumatic moments. Ras probably went alone when he did his trial. But if the whole batfam is going in? So much ammo.

It could start out simple. Lure them into a sense of ease.

---

"Huh. When the scary voice said we would be facing trials to prove our worth. I didn't expect sentient, cuddly blobs." Duke said petting one of the blobs that was chirping happily. Not noticing as his fellow vigilantes and friends also began to cuddle the blobs.

It takes them three hours before they realize that they've lost time and begin to fight the calming effect that the blobs exude and head towards the door on the other side of the room.

---

And maybe embarrassing.

---

"Once upon a time."

"WHY THE FUCK AM I WEARING TIGHTS!"

"I don't know. I think they look good."

"Shut up dickface."

---

Even a bit annoying at times.

---

"I AM THE BOX GHOST!"

"WTF! This guy is more annoying than Condiment King!"

"At least he isn't dumping ketchup on us!"

---

The first few hundred doors could even be called easy for people like the bats.

---

"Quit hitting yourself. Quit hitting yourself." Jason said after he ripped off the robot's arm and started to use it to beat the robot.

"Hay. Don't you think you're going too far Hood?"

"Stop your incelence! For I. Skulker. The greatest hunter ever. Shall be the one to skin you alive and use your pelts as a rug in my den!"

"You were saying Dickolase?"

"Give me the other arm. I want to break this pinata open."

---

But that ease does not last long. Soon they are faced with the suffering of others.

---

"What was that. What was that!" Steph shouted as she clung to Tim. Trembling from the adrenalin rush.

"I think. I think we just died? In a motorcycle crash? Did we just get hit by a CAR while on a MOTORCYCLE?!"

"That motorcycle crash was quick compared to how I died! So shut the fuck up!" Jason yelled before stomping toward the next door. And if his hand was shaking as he reached for the doorknob? No, they weren't

---

And even faced with the consequences of their failures. Failures that nearly tore them apart. Failures that could still tear them apart.

---

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Shut up old man! You never asked! You weren't there! You're Never There!"

---

And temptations.

---

Dick looked around as his family piled into the living room of the manor. Everyone was laughing at something Duke said. Jason laughed the loudest as he slung his arm over Tim's shoulder for support. (Wrong, this is wrong, why is this wrong?)

---

And nightmares.

---

"Give them back! GIVE THEM BACK!" Bruce screamed to the sky as he clutched his kids as close to him as he could. Falling into despair as their bodies, their corpses, grew colder. The echos of their own cries of pain and anguish ringing in his ears.

---

They still manage to fight through the physical and psychological horror. Even when they are pushed to experience torture that not even their most vial villain would do to them.

---

"I'm alive! I'm me! Mom! Dad! Please! Please!" "Shut up you freak! Honey, get the muzzle. I don't want to hear its lies anymore." The woman, the monster, in the teal hazmat suit said as she pulled out their intestine and hung it on a rack for further examination.

---

They persevered. And when they leave the last door behind? And are faced with a young boy, no older than 14, who looks like an amalgamation of all of the Robins when they were that age?

---

Danny watched as the would-be-owner of the Lazarus Pits stumbled through the door. Only for an entire group of Kevlar waring fruitloops to fall out of the door.

"So you are the fools who think to control the blood of King Lazarus. So far you have seen many facets of the horrors that can come from..." Danny started his monologue before he was interrupted by the one wearing a cloak reminiscent of a bat falling to his knees.

"Please. Please say we don't have to fight you. I can't. I can't." He said before breaking down in tears as several others joined him in his cry fest.

"Shit." Danny said as he looked at the people before him. Panicking over what he was supposed to do.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

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[silaslich]

If it hurts to breathe, open a window

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Summary - following the first mission with Soap in mw2. You meet Ghost for the first time, he’s different to the stories you’ve been told.

Wc - 10k

Cw - heavy on plot, injury/blood/death, directly follows mw2 canon, canon typical violence, plane crash

Dark clouds crowded the sky overhead, swirling in a mass of stoney graphite and charcoal grey. The butter-kissed horizon of daylight had faded into a mass of deep violet and midnight blue, melting against the sky to make way for the cover of night.

There was so much noise around for your ears to process; the trucks engine roaring as it’s tyres rolled smoothly and quickly over the damp tarmac, the loud excited voices of the men sitting next to and across from you as they chatted away- having to shout into one another’s ear over the sound of the Boeing CH-47’s rotor system booming to life as she prepared to depart onto the runway.

You kept your eyes down, staring idly at the dark steel floor, mind processing and dissecting the information you’d been given not even an hour ago.

General Ghorbrani was dead. Killed in a missile strike in Al Mazrah several months ago after being discovered working with the Russians- whom of which were supplying Iran with armour and hardware. Part of Tf-141 along with Shadow Company had been the ones to neutralise the threat and the entire arms deal.

Same shit different day, only, it wasn’t as simple as that this time. Ghorbrani had a second in command, Hassan Zyani, Quds Force Major. He’d taken up the mantle for Iran. Now it was him supplying terrorists; money, weapons, intel. You name it. The man was dangerous and he wanted retaliation for the Ghorbrani strike, he wanted revenge, that in itself was dangerous enough. Laswell was convinced he was planning something, and whatever it was, it was going to be big. She had managed to track him and found that he was on the ground in Al Mazrah, and that’s just where you were headed.

You were knocked out of your dissociative state when someone lightly punched your arm. “Y’alright?” The Scotsman was his usual optimistic self, a stupid grin slanting across his face as he looked at you.

You nodded, realising the vehicle had stopped and was beginning to empty around the two of you. Soap stood up from the bench and jumped down from the tailgate, nodding his head to the side, signalling for you to follow him. You did, adjusting your gun at your side as you landed squarely on two feet.

John ‘Soap’ Mactavish had been a thorn in your side for the majority of your military service. Despite being deployed hundreds of times in numerous countries all across the globe you still ended up bumping into that big Scottish bastard far too often. He looked out for you, although you never asked him to, he’d taken a shining to you. And you to him. Like the brother you never had, and never wanted. He always knew how to lighten even the darkest of situations; whether it was his shit jokes or stupid questions, he never failed to pull you out of your own head.

You had joined the British Army at your earliest opportunity when you left college at eighteen. With nothing keeping you tied to home anymore- you left. Without a single pence in your pocket or a dream in your head. Better to die fighting in a war than die fighting an overdose in a back alley like some do. Stuck in a town that never wakes. Dingy corner shops and abandoned parks that are rusted to death. Those same people that have been there for years and never leave. They’re too content there, you think, perfectly happy in their mediocrity. You had wanted more. You didn’t want to fade into that kind of life. Scraping together change from a shitty job to get by, meeting and settling with someone for the sake of it only to have a child entirely accidentally- stuck forever. You needed more.

After serving for a little over a decade you were drawn for the SRR, moving up rank and earning your title as Sergeant only a year later- then finally you were transferred to the SAS. Who you’d now served with for the last two years. It was worlds apart from your early army days, you hadn’t needed to go through the selection process because you were handpicked and transferred, but the stories you’d heard over dinner in the canteen and through whispers in the barracks spoke for themselves in volumes.

Soap held his rifle with two hands, keeping it close to his chest as he moved to step forward. The two of you were strapped to the gills in full gear; night vision goggles sitting atop your helmet, throwing knives strapped to your sides and your full equipment vest covering your chest. A patch of the British flag in grey, black and white strapped to your vest proudly.

You stood fast- following Soap’s back with your eyes as you watched him approach another soldier. The soldier was tall. Much taller than Soap was, and that was saying something considering the Scotsman was at least a head taller than you, the line of your shoulder just reaching the mid of his bicep. His height hadn’t been the first thing you noticed about this soldier- no, it was his mask. The crude face covering was fashioned from a black balaclava and skull mask; sewn together with thick stitches connecting them to one another and painted with thick-dull lines of off-white down through the eyes and over the teeth. You cocked your head and squinted your eyes, you were stood too far away to hear what they were saying, and with Soap’s back towards you and this soldier’s face covered nothing gave their topic of conversation away.

Simon Riley. Otherwise known as Ghost both in and out of the field, not many earned the right to call him by his real name.

You’d never met him, only now setting eyes on him for the first time; but Soap had told you all about him. Not just Soap, but near enough every soldier in any platoon you’d served with had a story to tell of the Ghost. Wether it was something they’d either seen or heard, he had a reputation. Not only was he an expert marksman; he was highly intelligent and was a master with his knife skills, but he was most notorious for his stealth and torture expertise. He was an anomaly. Not only was he greatly feared but he was simultaneously looked up to and admired, soldiers wanted to be like him. Be him.

Johnny gave the man a punch to the shoulder, identical to the one he’d just given you, from the stupid grin on his face when he turned back to face you, it was clear Soap was happy to see Ghost. The man in the mask stood for a second and you watched, he didn’t follow after Soap right away, you saw briefly that his mouth was moving beneath his mask, he was talking to someone over comms. Slowly turning to walk the other way as he did.

MacTavish approached you “let’s get ourselves a win, yeah?” he tapped your shoulder twice as he passed by you, making his way toward the helo just twenty feet behind you, now full of marines.

“Let’s” you answered him swiftly, still watching from the corner of your eye as Ghost continued to retreat further away from the transport, you turned you shoulder to follow after Soap when he was no longer in your view.

~

It wasn’t long before everyone was onboard and you were air born, flying inbound towards the border of Al Mazrah. The craft rocked and jerked with the turbulence, it was cramped and warm and far too loud. Flashing white lights assaulted your vision like beacons from time to time, breaking through the streams of deep crimson red that painted the entire inside of the holding compartment. The flight was relatively short in comparison to other missions you’d been on. Still, there was something stagnant lingering in the air, a hunger palpating the breath of these men.

Laswell’s brief had been short and sweet, a run down on enemy positions and the split teams objectives. Three words kept ringing through your skull. Capture or kill.

When it boiled down to it. Hassan was needed alive, but the reality was there was every chance that it might be forced out of someone’s hands. It was still a mission success if he was killed, but the priority was getting him alive.

By chance, Ghost had been seated directly across from you the entire duration of the transport over. With his gun held to his chest he stared forward, right through you, and you did the same. He didn’t scare you, he had no need to. However, his energy did throw you slightly. He had a calm eeriness about him, and his demeanour was even and smooth, but you had a feeling that would all change as soon as he set his boots down onto enemy ground in a few short minutes.

The helo stuttered in the air, dropping lower and cutting through the air as you neared closer to the ground. Silently, Ghost stood.

His gruff voice tore through the white noise of the whirring rotors of the craft, this was the first time you’d heard him speak.

“Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard with the Sergeant to land downrange” the heavy footfalls of his boots echoed across the floor as he proceeded down the craft, your rank and name ringing in your ears as he continued addressing his soldiers. “Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive” he stopped at the ramp, turning back to speak again “but this is capture or kill.”

As the craft came to thudding land and the ramp began to descend with a mechanical whir, the men selected for Bravo team began to stand, migrating towards Ghost as he stood and waited. Soap stood from his seat next to you with a grunt, adjusting his gun to free up his right hand; wordlessly he held out his fist. You didn’t need prompting, you reached up and bumped your fist against his, nodding at him as his mouth quirked up, just slightly. As you looked towards the ramp your eyes were met with cold dark irises staring right back at you, neither of you made a move to break the eye contact. Ghost was momentarily blocked from your view by Soap’s back, you heard the clack of Ghost flipping his night vision goggles down “keep up, Soap” he barked as he turned to descend the ramp.

You found yourself watching them both as they left, their stances shifting low as they drew their guns and headed towards the broken sandstone structures that had been destroyed long before your teams had gotten here. The ramp shut quickly and you were airborne again, the loud deafening sound of the rotars whirring over your head kicking back into gear again. You shook your head and took a deep inhale of breath, shifting to a stance that meant you wouldn’t stumble from the turbulence.

“You heard the lieutenant team Alpha” your voice was clear and loud, carrying through the torrent of noise. “Let’s get this done” you added as you turned, glancing out of one of the circular windows to peer out into the navy star-speckled night sky.

The sky was one of the only things that stayed consistent in your life. When things got rough or began to drown you, all you had to do was look up. No matter rain or shine; light or dark or sunset or night sky. It always gave you a calming sense of reality, something to escape away from the unfair world you lived in. Away from the blood and the bullets.

As you casted your eyes over toward a cluster of hills nestled against the horizon, a fast approaching stream of fire and smoke stole your eye. Before you could raise the alarm, the pilot’s voice sparked your comms device to life “All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed. We’re getting lit!” His panic was evident and your heart jumped in your throat, you needed to get these men out alive.

“Alpha team hold fast! Prepare for impact” your voice was hoarse as you shouted over the pilot’s voice as he continued shouting through the comms, you urged your men to copy your actions as you held onto the supports above your head, bracing for impact. You felt the entire craft lurch and you were thrown forward, hitting your head against the metal frame of the wall as you collided with it.

“Razor 1 going down! We’re going down!” The pilot bellowed and it rang through your already ringing ears, your vision blurred and the swirl of red lights had you dazed. You tried to stand again, the missile had hit and the whole contents of the craft were flung upwards, including you and your men. You urged them to hang on, to protect themselves from injury as best they could-this was bad and you knew it. You gave them hope as your brain ran into overdrive, wondering how to come out of this.

The impact was like nothing you’d ever experienced- there weren’t any training drills that could simulate a cargo helo crashing from a missile strike at full plummeting speed. Yourself and everyone else on board were flung like rag dolls, colliding with each other, colliding with the walls and ceiling. You caught yourself on a loose seatbelt as you were sent flying forward, palms stinging as the material tore through the skin of your palms. You managed to steady yourself and were forced to watch as one soldier attempted to break his fall with his hands, his arms snapping like twigs from the g-force of the crash and the weight of his own body. You let go of the belt and landed on your back, your ribs connecting with a weapons carrier on the way down as another jolt sent you hurling at Godspeed. You heard the crunch of your bones and winced at the sting running up your side like an electric shock.

The whole ordeal was quick; as the smoke rose and the broken-frayed wiring sparked to illuminate the chaos around you, you could see clearly the full extent of destruction and devastation from the crash.

You coughed as you felt blood begin to fill your mouth and you could feel something warm oozing down the right side of your face. Before you could fully process the scene around you, your comms crackled and a voice found your ears. “Alpha, what’s your status?!” Ghost’s voice was on the brink of showing a slight slither of emotion. You felt like you were choking, the blood and the smoke, it was all too much. You blinked through the darkness and tried to gather your bearings. Rising gingerly to your knees, you were quick to have to clutch at your side, trying to subdue the pain.

Blood stained the walls and floors, bodies were slumped around you and all you could hear was the sounds of coughing and shifting that were almost muted against the sound of the fire now ripping through the crash site. “Alpha, how copy?” Ghost was there again in your head, voice rattling through your ear piece.

You cleared your throat “Ghost” you choked on the blood in your mouth “Alpha is immobile multiple critical!” You slumped down, your body ceasing from the pain as it tore through your nerves. Your senses were lit ablaze when bullets began to rain through the fire and debris, catching the metal and rattling like hailstones. You pressed yourself low to the ground with a pained grunt, pressing your thumb down on your comms again. “Shit! We’re taking effective fire!” You shouted, crawling on your hands and knees toward the wounded, planning to find a gun and cover them from the bullets.

“Sergeant, we’re moving to building 1, hold tight!” As quick as his voice was there again, it was gone.

Your eyes searched the wreckage for anything to help combat the active fire you were taking, that’s when you noticed a gun beneath one of the wounded and you crawled closer towards him. Trying to be as gentle as you could, you rolled him onto his side but he still howled in pain- despite the guilt you knew you had to press on. You nudged the gun from beneath his legs and laid him flat again, not wanting to do him anymore damage if it were his neck or spine that was injured. You grabbed the gun and moved towards better cover, the wreck wasn’t secure and it wouldn’t be long before the enemy moved closer and you’d be compromised. You didn’t open fire yet, there was no point with just one gun, you kept your eyes about you but moved to tend to more wounded.

It was clear that amongst the casualties there were mortally wounded soldiers on your hands, some already dead or close to it. You tried to make them comfortable, trying hard not to think too hard into it. You would want the same if you were in their position. You tried to drown out the noise of the shells raining through the wreckage. Spouting nonsense about nothing, humming a tune as you tied a strip of ripped cloth around someones half amputated leg. You’d seen chaos before, even before you joined the army, but you hadn’t seen this caliber of bloodied carnage in a long time- not since you’d first been deployed.

Back when the fresh faces of young soldiers are first shipped out, not knowing what lays ahead, unknowing that the friends they made in their months of training could soon be lying face down in the mud. You didn’t like thinking back to that time, but right now, you’d give anything to be back there.

You didn’t keep track of time, you thought it best not to. The fire was burning its way around you, it felt like it was under your skin, sweating from the inside out. Bullet shells didn’t cease fire upon your position, they grew erratic and laboured, like the enemy were unsure if anyone was even still alive in the wreckage. You jumped when you heard a voice in your ear again.

“Soap- we’re moving to the crash site to help the wounded. Rest o’ you hold here and cover us” it was Ghost again. The boys were close, not long and you’d have help. It might have only been seconds before you heard footsteps closing in, you could never be safe, you pointed your gun towards the noise and held your finger on the trigger. Always ready. You focused your eyes, squeezing the trigger.

“Blue blue!” A voice shouted, you dropped the aim of your gun, relief rinsing through your bloodstream as you saw Ghost and Soap enter the wreckage.

“It’s good to see you two” you sighed “we’ve got five KIA and one wounded, it’s just me and my gun” you said, eyes daring to peer outside toward the tree line, checking for more movement. Ghost stiffened.

“They’re here, get your fuckin’ gun on that tree line” he ordered, moving himself into position as Soap followed.

You raised yourself up, holding onto some webbing draping across the craft for some leverage, you’d taken more damage than you’d initially realised. It would have to wait. Coming up to stand to your full height, you shuffled yourself into a better position. You took a low firing line, flipping the night vision goggles atop your helmet into position so you could better see. It wasn’t clear, smoke still rising, but it was clear enough.

“Got movement” Soap stated roughly.

“If you have a shot, take it” Ghost’s tone was menacing, his demeanour had done a complete 180 onto its head, like you’d predicted. You were the first to shoot.

“Engage!” you shouted, spotting more shooters spilling from behind a wall. Bullets sliced through the air, the sound ringing in your ears from all angles. You hit multiples, as did the boys, the enemy gave it their best go too. Your eyes caught sight of something, you shouted as you realised what it was. “RPG!” You ducked your head, watching the men in the wreckage around you do the same, very briefly. What was left of the helo rocked and jerked from the force of the blow, more metal flying away and shredding.

“Fuck” Soap growled, losing his bearings. Ghost let out a frustrated noise.

“Get your guns up” you all continued to fire, watching more enemy soldiers dropped to the ground.

This continued, more and more soldiers spilling from the tree line and opening fire. You were low on ammo, you threw a grenade out the window in front of you and it rolled towards a cluster of wooden supply boxes, at least three men were killed when the blast went off. Ghost was opening fire like hell, Soap too, the Scotsman quickly running out and setting mines between reloading stints to fend off the targets that managed to get close enough.

“Dig in, lads. We’re not done yet” the lieutenant was still firing as he spoke, not letting his guard down once. You kept your eyes forward, squinting them when you noticed an abnormal layering of smoke begin to rise from the tree line.

“We got smoke, boys, in the tree line” you grit your teeth, knowing what this meant.

“No visual” Soap said, flatly.

You retorted “I can’t see shit”.

There was a second of silence, “incoming!” Ghost shouted.

More fire hit you, a bullet whizzed so close past your face you wouldn’t have been surprised if it left a mark. Too close. You’d not realised, but Ghost was practically at your side, covering more men coming from the tree line closer to where you were shooting.

“Take cover!” he barked, cold eyes glaring forward as he shot more rounds into the smoke. More explosions rang out, coming closer each time, rumbling the very earth from the force of it.

“They’re launching grenades!” Soap shouted.

Your gun ran out of ammo and you’d lost your hand gun in the crash, your eyes darted around, then you saw the one strapped to the lieutenant’s thigh. You ripped it quickly from the holster, adjusting your position on your knees to get a better shot. You fired through the explosions and into the darkness, hearing more thuds as more targets hit the dirt. Ghost didn’t seem to react to you taking his gun, maybe he was too focussed on the incoming fire. You didn’t catch what he said, speaking through comms to whoever was there. Your brain felt like mush and your ears were still ringing, not to mention the bleeding from your head hadn’t stopped.

“Air support is on its way” he said.

Some of the smoke started to clear. Less and less soldiers were pushing through to the wreckage, this was nearly over.

“Let’s move up. We clear this position and push forward, if Hassan is still here he’s up ahead” Ghost gave the order, Soap clearly didn’t agree but there was no time for discussion. You whistled for their attention.

“Armoured vehicles closing in, there’s four of ‘em” you stated, watching them roll into the darkness through your goggles.

The men adjusted their stances, “let ‘em get close” Ghost ordered, clearly thinking about conserving energy and ammo. You nodded.

Just as they came close enough, the three of you let bullets free, the enemy returning it back with the same fever. To your relief the skys growled over head, barely noticeable through the shrouds of smoke, turrets of bullets rained down by the hundreds, air support cleared the way for you to move up the hill.

A soldier from bravo team radioed through from where he was covering your position, “all clear lieutenant, no movement ahead” he stated.

Ghost replied straight away with a simple “rog”.

Ghost turned, not specifically toward you but toward the entirety of the wreckage, darkened eyes scanning the carnage. His thumb pressed into the button of his comms device, “air support, task a bird for casualty evac” it crackled as he waited for a response.

“Roger that lieutenant” they quickly responded.

Soap and Ghost led the way out of the wreckage and you quickly followed after them. “Alpha you’re with us” Ghost shouted, a number of soldiers joined you as they answered back a “yes sir” in unison.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire and your ribcage felt weak, hollow-boned like that of a bird. The pain was piercing you, like needles pressing deep down into the fibres of your muscles. But you kept on, legs carrying you along with the others, pure adrenaline being your only saving grace at this point. You hissed in pain as your damaged knee almost gave way beneath you, the lieutenant noticed.

“They used us for fucking bait, didn’t they?” you growled, trying your best not to look like you were struggling. Ghost cocked his head toward you.

“They’re well supplied and fighting smart, thanks to Hassan” he put it simply. Soap chimed in.

“Aye. Looks like you were right, Lt.” he said.

Your eyes took in the scene in front of you, fire and explosions lighting the way. “You think Hassan’s still here?” You asked, eyes and borrowed hand gun still aiming forward.

“Heli crash gave ‘em an opening. Let’s see if they took it” Ghost was a realist. Good to know.

All of you continued to run. Breaths heaving and bodies aching. Adrenaline fuelled your blood, you moved up quickly, arriving at the last building. You went to take positions when fire rained toward you, a soldier only inches to your left dropped, caught in the line of a sniper.

“Man down!” you shouted, unable to look at the man as you took his rifle. You dropped low as everyone around you did the same, focusing fire on the roof top of the building.

“AQ has got night vision” Soap stated the obvious, taking out two snipers simultaneously. You grunted in response, focusing your eye through the scope and taking out another shooter up ahead.

“Clear” Ghost shouted. “Move up. Let’s find Hassan, dead or alive” his tone shifted, dangerous now.

You made it to the house. Clearing the first floor, dropping anyone that moved. “We need positive ID on Hassan, check the bodies” you barked out to the soldiers behind you, sticking with Soap and Ghost as they continued to move on.

It was all negative. No positive ID from any of the bodies, he wasn’t upstairs either. The three of you continued, a door flung open, before they could even move to fire their weapon, Ghost shot a round into their stomach and another into their skull. Dropping them effortlessly like it was nothing.

The house was wrecked. A twisted mess of broken brick and fractured stone, electrical wire looming low overhead firing sparks in all directions. You stuck close to Soap as he followed Ghost, noticing that there was a voice playing through something- you all moved toward it, heading up more stairs. Ghost broke the door with a kick, no positive on Hassan, just his propaganda playing on loop through a laptop.

“Hassan’s everywhere” Ghost growled and

“Everywhere but here” Johnny scoffed.

You split off, heading off alone through more of the upstairs, the boys didn’t noticed you’d gone. They’d clearly continued on thinking you were right there behind them. You pointed your gun around the door frame of an upstairs corridor, your body following as you perceived it to be clear. Last minute, bullets flew through a compromised section of the dry wall, heading straight towards you. By some luck, you’d managed to dodge them, leering forward behind a protruding structure in the wall and retaliating with your own fire. You cleared the corridor and entered the room that the target had been guarding. Hassan had been in there.

Ghost and Soap must have been alerted by the gun fire, they came in hot, practically sprinting to your location. They stopped short in the doorway, your back was towards them, their eyes searched the room. You turned towards them, a uniform jacket scrunched tightly in your fist.

“Hassan’s uniform” you seethed. Mactavish gave out a grunt.

“So he was here” he flailed an arm in frustration. Ghost remained in the doorway, his eyes low.

“Lost him when we secured the crash site” he said simply, lowly.

The weight of Ghost’s words hit you in the chest like a bullet, but you knew they shouldn’t have, deep down you knew he was right. Soap was standing between you and Ghost, his eyes darting between the two of you.

“Are you sayin’ we shouldn’t have helped?” Soap squared his shoulders. Ghost just shrugged.

“Choices have consequences”. It was just that simple.

“All bravo, we’ve got movement out here” the voice hit through your ear piece, breaking the tension in the room.

“On the way” Ghost confirmed.

The three of you continued on. Moving back the way you’d come and heading out towards the rest of the team, they’d seen movement in a warehouse up ahead. All of Bravo and what was left of Alpha moved in, lighting up fire when they reached the rolling doors. More soldiers dropped. Shot dead. You all kept pushing through, eyes through scopes and fingers on triggers. You broke off, tucking and rolling behind a metal container, opening more fire as you pushed the enemy back with forcible ammunition. Ghost was on your tail, following after you and overtaking, pushing on through. Soap was up next and came to cover you, locking his palms together to make it easier for you to hoist yourself up on top of the container. There was another container there to keep you shielded, it gave you a vantage point over the targets that had tried to retreat to higher ground. You dropped them easily.

For what felt like the first time in hours, everything stopped. All of the noise. Everything.

“Are we clear?” Soap shouted up to you, you let out a laboured breath. You stuck your thumb up.

“Clear” you said. Your knees burned as you jumped down from the container, you didn’t give yourself a chance to ease yourself down.

“Search it, let’s see what they’re hiding” Ghost’s voice echoed through the now dying silence, the warehouse carrying the gravely baritone of his voice. You closed in on Johnny, following him as he approached one of the container doors that was ajar. From first look, it was controls. Panels and buttons and screens.

“What the fuck is this?” Soap queried. You looked closer.

“It’s all in English” you said, eyes still scanning frantically. Living up to his name, Ghost was suddenly there, behind you, so close you could feel his warmth at your back. You watched as Soap flipped one of the switches, the entire warehouse shook, the container vibrating and whirring.

All three of you stepped back quickly, eyes trained up watching it all unfold.

“Fucking hell” you breathed.

“Steamin’ Jesus” Soap’s jaw was on the floor.

“Ballistic missiles”. Ghost’s gaze hardened.

You frowned “it’s a mobile launcher”.

Another soldier chimed in behind you. “These will go 1,000 miles”.

“At least” Ghost added.

You stepped forward and moved around to the left of the container to get a better look, Soap wasn’t far behind.

“How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” Soap growled in the back of his throat.

The men watched as you ascended the weapon carriers that were piled up next to the container, making quick work of the climb, a new shot of rage fuelled adrenaline kicking through your veins.

Ghost spoke up “7-6, get us through to Laswell” his eyes were still scanning the discovery in front of him.

“Roger, stand by” the soldier spoke quickly “Bravo 7-6 Charlie to Watcher-1, how copy?” You all waited for a response.

Laswell’s voice quickly chimed in “this is Watcher-1, send traffic” she spoke clearly.

“Laswell, this is Ghost. We got something” the concern was laced in his voice.

“You found Hassan?” She asked quickly.

Your eyes landed on something truly jolting. “Ghost, Soap, take a look at this” you urged, turning your neck to meet their eyes, their expression no doubt mirrored yours. Laswell’s frantic voice broke the silence again.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?” She asked again.

You watched as Ghost pressed down the button to his comm, leaning down to speak loud and clear. “Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles, they’re American” a silence enveloped the warehouse.

“0-7 this is Gold Eagle Actual, repeat your last” General Shepherd’s voice was frantic.

“I’ll say again, Hassan has American missiles” Ghost repeated.

It’s almost as if the air was sucked from the warehouse like a vacuum. You would have heard a pin drop it was that quiet. The way you slumped down into a seated position wasn’t graceful or quiet, but you weren’t about to stand for any longer then you needed to. Soap snapped his neck toward you, his eyes searching yours, you nodded toward him with a half-arsed thumbs up. You saw in the way that his expression fell that you weren’t in a good way, the bleached lights of the warehouse would have left no injury of yours unseen to the eye. You’d lost a lot of blood but you’d make more, right now there were more important things to worry about.

~

Rain pattered gently across your cheeks, it’s cold chill seeping right down to your bones- forcing you to shiver. You hummed, arms crossed over your chest as you sat on the damp brick stone wall with your chin tilted skyward, more droplets cascading down your face like gentle streams over your skin.

This was probably the only thing you missed about England. The shit weather. Soaking wet springtimes and late hazy summers, rugged cold autumns and early winters smothered with snow. You struggled to remember much about them; you didn’t have fond childhood memories of building snow men and drinking hot chocolate, nor were you able to think back to a summer where you’d stay at the park all day playing football, coming home to a freezer-burnt ice cream that your mum had dug out for you.

There was none of that. None of the warm fondness or swell of nostalgic familiarity in your chest. You pushed everything away. There was nothing that you saw worthy to keep in your head; no core memories of birthdays or holidays, no movie nights in or sleepovers with friends. Your entire childhood had been stolen from you, thrown away- just like you had been.

Your memories of British summertimes were filled with laughter; water fights on the barrack fields after quitting time. Bike rides at sunrise instead of hitting the gym, even wild swims at the coast on rarer occasions.

The wet springtimes; running drills through knee high mud, purposefully hitting the ground with heavy footfalls to splash one another. Wringing out your rain soaked shirts in the locker rooms and whipping each other till your skin welted- crying with laugher till you were on the floor.

Autumn, perhaps your favourite. Walking across base - watching as the leaves fell in a blanket of umber and tawny, crunched under your boots, the smell of damp earth in the air, so fresh and free as it stole the very breath from your lungs.

Harsh winters were common, on the contrary to summer, wild swims in below freezing temperatures as part of vital training, your teeth chattering so hard you were sure they’d break. Warm hot chocolate spiced with a drop of whiskey in the evening; settled around a table, talking about everything and nothing in the communal rooms while shuffling a deck of cards- thinking about the idea of found family, realising it’s not as far out of reach as you’d thought.

Those were your memories of home, of England, your memories of the place you were born.

The military had been the making of you- there was nothing before that, you were made for this. You told yourself that on repeat, the army had saved you, put a roof over your head. There was no shadow of doubt that your life would have been very different if you hadn’t taken this route, and you were convinced that you would have been six feet under by now.

The rain was only passing. The frigid breeze carrying it ever so gently, kissing your skin. You wished a storm would come your way, wash you out and provide a much needed clarity- a reset. You did always love thunderstorms, watching the lightning split the sky, cracking and illuminating as it broke apart.

You were sitting outside. The backend of the barracks were more sheltered, further hidden from higher ups that would scald you for being outdoors so late.

After the last twenty-four hours you’d had, you should have completely crashed. Been dead to the world as soon as your head hit your pillow. But you didn’t - couldn’t. Unable to sleep, unable to settle, thoughts racing and mind following. There was so much going through your head, and that wasn’t common for you, this should have been just like any other day; any other job.

Something was different, and you knew it was far from over yet.

Soap had been by your side the entirety of the transport back to the barracks, his eyes wide and searching as he asked you question after question, barely letting you close your eyes for even a second for fear you’d slip into a coma from the blood-loss.

You wanted to bang your head against the metal of the craft as you sat there listening to him drone on. Either that or you would rip Johnny’s voice box out of his throat with your bare hands. Ghost’s fists clenched where they sat resting on his thighs.

“Leave it, Mactavish” he’d barked, clicking his tongue as he did, clearly it wasn’t just your nerves Soap was grating on.

You wanted to laugh as you watched the Scotsman shrink back in his seat, like a dog with its tail between its legs, not liking getting told off. Yet, your smile washed away, swallowed by the tension in the craft. The entire mission hadn’t gone to plan, coming up short, following dead lead after dead lead. With fatalities and injuries on top of that, it didn’t serve to keep the morale of the team up.

The three of you didn’t speak much. You could see the tiredness eating it’s way at Soap, feeling as his body grew heavier and heavier beside you in his seat. Ghost was sitting across from you, like he had done on the transport over seas chasing the dead lead, you couldn’t see him all that clearly, the night flight back to base didn’t provide much light to go by, only giving you a rough shadowed outline of where and how he was sitting.

Yet, you were sure you could feel Ghost’s mind ticking over. Almost as if you could hear the man thinking, could hear the gears turning over and over in his head as he sat there- stewing away behind that mask of his. He kept his arms folded across his chest, another barrier thrown up in defence, dead eyes glaring towards the ceiling as he rested the crown of his head against the back of his seat. He had his legs kicked out and splayed apart, resting either side of your boots, right foot tapping away in absent thought.

You hadn’t managed to sleep, didn’t even feel groggy at all, and you were always the first to sleep on transport. Usually loved getting rocked to sleep from the turbulence or terrain. There had been a running joke for years that you could sleep anywhere at anytime, your body had improved over the years at getting used to time zones and differences, it barely reached you anymore.

It was unusual. Your body wouldn’t allow you to rest, perhaps the adrenaline hadn’t subsided just yet, maybe after you’d been to medical upon landing and gotten cleaned up you’d feel better.

Negative.

Soap had marched you to the medial building as soon as you’d gotten to base, tugging you by the arm like you were a naughty child. The other soldiers had gone straight to the barracks, heading straight to their bunks to sleep off the last twenty-four hours, they’d earned it. Even Ghost went.

You shooed Johnny away as soon as you were being seen to, urging him that he didn’t have to babysit you and that he should rest up. You reminded him that this wouldn’t be a long respite. He had nodded, a smile quirking at his lips as he held out his fist, you rolled your eyes- but you bumped your fist to his nether the less.

The sweet nurse had tried to express her concerns for the state you were in, but as lovely as she was, you brushed her off. She was short and blonde, the tiredness in her pretty hazel eyes showing you she’d been in the med room since early doors. She’d urged for you to have x-rays taken of your chest, that even if your ribs were just fractured that it could potentially cause other issues if you hadn’t already punctured a lung or lacerated any other organs. You pulled a bullshit excuse out of your arse and handed it to her with the nicest of smiles, hopping down from the examination bed as you buttoned your shirt back up. She’d already cleaned and taped the wound on your head, cleaning some of your other cuts and grazes and smothering them in balm to keep anything nasty out. She sent you on your way after shoving some heavy painkillers down your throat, knowing you weren’t going to take her advice and that you’d deploy again tomorrow, and she was right- you couldn’t sit this one out now.

After leaving the medical building you’d made your way outside, and you hadn’t moved since. It must have been hours now. You stopped counting after two, letting the cold chill of the rain and wind sting your face as you perched there on that wall, content and calm. Perhaps it was the painkillers making your head foggy, calming the thrum of your blood as you stared out into the star studded darkness.

Upon hearing heavy footfalls scuffing across the concrete, you turned your attention to the source of the sound, watching a shadowy figure approaching as they descended the stairs that led back towards the main buildings. You couldn’t see all too clearly, there were no lights to illuminate the area in which you were sitting, to purposely discourage loitering. Whoever it was didn’t speak right away, you tilted your head back towards the sky, closing your eyes with a sigh. They came to a stop next to where you were sitting on the wall, not invading your space directly but barely keeping their distance.

A faint click of a lighter striking caught your attention and your eyes opened to flicker over to your left- it was Ghost.

The cigarette was already between his lips, his left hand cupping it to protect it from the wind and rain as the other hand held the lighter, dying away with a loud click.

You watched as he inhaled deeply, the swell of his chest rising as the end of the cigarette illuminated a deep amber, causing shadows to dance across his face from the glow. The mask caught you. This wasn’t the one he’d been wearing before, this one was a simple black balaclava with his characteristic skull printed onto the lower part of the face- it was already pulled up to the bridge of his nose when you had turned to look at him. There were thick smudges of black-grease paint plastered over his eye sockets, making the colour contrast with the hickory brown of his eyes.

There was something about your lieutenant that you couldn’t quite grasp fully; you’d met plenty of reserved soldiers before, closed off and more secretive about themselves and their lives outside of these walls- but Ghost was different. It’s as if there was nothing outside of these walls for him. The military and the 141 were his entire life, the reason he breathed air and woke up in a morning.

When the others made plans for leave or talked about their families, he didn’t, he’d stay and he’d listen. Never has he ever uttered so much as a word about his private life, maybe he did have one, maybe a wife and a family- but you couldn’t see it.

He was just so- unmoved. He barely showed outward concern for himself or his team, the latter more so but only if it was fatal. He knew that collateral damage was a given, he knew that every mission he deployed on he would come back with less soldiers then he left with. Ghost swallowed that pill everyday, the lives he holds in his hands, the weight of the grief on his shoulders. It was any surprise he was still standing, but you guess he was numb to it now, that’s why he didn’t feel it anymore. He was so used to death and destruction, it was starting to be ineffective at jarring him, at making him feel any kind of way about it.

Ghost pockets the lighter, reaching up and holding the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as he retracts it from his mouth, a deep-dark cloud of smoke falling from his lips as he breathes it out.

Your eyes lingered. Assessing the dressed down version of the infamous soldier as he leaned back against the wall. His boots and trousers were what was left of his uniform, from the waist up he was wearing a charcoal coloured jacket with a high collar that he’d pulled up, covering what you could see of a simple black undershirt peeking out from between the zipper of his jacket.

The darkness didn’t provide your eyes well, only when he took a drag of his cigarette could you see the outlines of the lower half of his face. Even then, you didn’t risk staring, despite your- curiosity he was still your lieutenant.

It’s normal to be curious- you keep telling yourself. He’s your lieutenant; your point of call, your lifeline when you’re out there risking life and limb. Yet, you’ve never seen his face, would never be able to pick him out in a sea of hundreds. He doesn’t owe you anything, you’re new to his charge, under his wing so to speak, but you’re leading this mission with him and Johnny- the least you should be able to ask for is some truths. Everything about him is redacted, save for his name, even then that had been hard enough to get, apparently everything about him was on a need to know basis.

The man took a long-heavy drag of his cigarette. “How’s your head?” He asked flatly, his eyes trained forward as he spoke.

His voice might not have been loud, but you’d been in silence for hours, the gravely tone of his voice hammered straight through to your bones. You watched him out the corner of your eye.

“It’s fine” you said, not really wanting to elaborate in case he tried to catch you out.

Ghost hummed “you sure about that?” He queried, tone a little harder.

When you craned your neck to look at him fully this time you found he was already looking at you, his eyes pointedly focused on the tape holding the left side of your forehead together. You didn’t take your eyes away.

“I’m very sure” you reiterated, hoping he’d drop the subject, you had a feeling he wouldn’t.

“And the punctured lung?” You stiffened. How did he know? He pushed himself up from leaning back against the wall and turned his body so he was parallel to you now, his right hip leaning into the brick as his right elbow kept him propped there. He had let go of his cigarette, his lips keeping it secure as he continued to smoke it, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth.

You gathered your thoughts in your head, thinking of the best response you could give. The man spoke before you could.

“Your silence tells me a lot, sergeant” he huffed, taking ahold of his cigarette once more as he returned to his prior position, mirroring the way you faced forward. You kissed your lips against your teeth.

“I’m fine” you said again, you saw no point in trying to persuade him, he’d clearly already made up his mind.

Ghost made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and you heard him rooting for something in his pocket. You were surprised when a cigarette was held out towards you. You frowned, casting your eyes over to him to find he was still staring forward, mouth devoid of a cigarette and his free hand stuffed into his pocket, he’d clearly smoked it right down to the filter and ditched it.

How could you think you could lie to him? He’d seen first hand the pain you were in, so much pain you couldn’t see straight, blood staining your face as you fought for a singular breath to enter your lungs.

He was testing you now. If you refused the cigarette then he’d assume it was because you were still in pain with your lungs and chest, if you took it then perhaps he would lay off.

You made up your mind, brushing your fingers over his as you took the smoke from his hold. You placed it between your dry lips, you were still in your full gear and you knew you had a lighter somewhere, before you could start your search- Ghost already had you covered. His hand extended out toward your face with the flame dancing and licking at the breeze, you leaned in close and cupped both of your hands around his as it held the lighter, inhaling deeply as the earthy taste of the tobacco hit the back of your throat.

You’d smoked causally and socially throughout your entire army career, surely smoking through one cigarette without as much as a splutter would be easy enough.

Ghost retracted his hand and pocketed his lighter again, watching you smoke from the corner of his eye. You could feel his eyes on you, so you purposefully didn’t look his way, you gazed off into the pitch black, eyes struggling to focus on anything at all.

He stuffed both of his hand into his pockets, enjoying the quiet, listening only to the steady pattering of soft rain against the brick and concrete and the gentle sound of your steady breaths exhaling the smoke.

You weren’t about to admit that he was right, but he was right. The nicotine dried your lungs and the tickle of tobacco at the roof of your mouth and back of your throat had you gagging to cough, mixed with the subtle metallic taste of your own blood that still lingered on your palate. It wasn’t a delightful mix. You decided to distract yourself.

“Anyway, how come you aren’t asleep, Lt?” You asked, genuinely intrigued. The man quirked a brow, or at least, it looked like he did.

“Could ask the same to you” He was right but you asked first. You tutted.

“I’ve been with medical” you countered, thinking you’d caught him out.

“Three hours ago” he gifted flatly. Fuck. You shrugged him off.

“I lost track of time” you took his silence as his answer.

It was obvious that he hadn’t come out here just to smoke, there was something he needed to say, and you wished he would just spit it out. He shifted his stance, like he was in pain, you almost asked if he was okay, but thought better of it. He was more then capable of looking out for himself, when you were out in the field you’d worry and watch his six, back here- you’d leave him to it.

Ghost sighed “it’s been advised that you don’t ship out tomorrow” his words cut through you, his softened tone did nothing to soften the blow. You stiffened, shoulders squaring off as you took a deep inhale of the cigarette.

“On what grounds?” You asked quickly, tone shifting. He noticed.

“Medical” he spoke while looking at you pointedly, you laughed.

“Wow” you shook your head with a disbelieving smile “you take a little bump to the head these days and that gets you grounded?” Your question was entirely rhetorical, your head was the least severe of your injuries.

Ghost shifted his weight, still looking at you, watching as the emotions played out on your face. “listen to me-“ you cut him off.

“No, it’s bullshit” you stated with a scrunched frown creasing your face, still heaving plumes of smoke as you spoke.

“Oi” the lieutenant barked, making you freeze and look at him. “I’ve dismissed it” he said, his calm front falling back into place. Just another mask to add.

Your eyes blew wide. “You- what?” You asked, confused. He sighed, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from between your fingers, bringing it up to his own lips to take a drag.

“I think it’s best we finish what we started- all of us” he said, puffs of smoke escaping his lips between his words. He handed the cigarette back to you as he continued, watching as you brought it to your own lips to continue smoking it. “You handled the crash well” he said “would have had more fatalities if you hadn’t have helped when you did” it was clear that he believed what he was saying, you didn’t take Ghost as someone who minced his words, he said it how it was.

“Thank you” you said, simply, returning your gaze to the dark sky, rain still falling gently.

It took a few seconds for Ghost’s words to settle. You furrowed your brow in thought, offering the cigarette back to him, which he gladly took. A comfortable blanket of silence fell over you, the next few minutes were simply nothing. A void in conversation that wasn’t forced or awkward, it was just- natural. The two of you passed the cigarette between one another wordlessly, Ghost taking the longest and final drag till it was down to the end of the filter before he flicked it away, stomping it out with the heel of his boot. This signalled that it was time to call it a night, or a morning, you didn’t know what time it was. You pushed yourself down from the wall, groaning and cracking your joints as you stretched out, sitting in the cold for this long wouldn’t have done you any good.

Ghost pushed himself up from where he’d been leaning against the brick, now you were standing here, parallel to one another, you could see just how tall he was in comparison to you. Even the width of his shoulders were almost twice that of yours. You were forced to look up to meet his eyes, those cold-dead eyes of his. He tilted his chin down to see you clearer, that usual frown of his under the mask gone, no where to be seen. His expression was soft, almost content. You broke the silence.

“Thank you Lt” you said, watching the fabric over his brow furrow. “For not grounding me” you added. His eyes softened slightly.

“Don’t let me regret it” his voice was gruff, maybe even tired.

Your eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, but he was so close you could faintly see the outline of his jaw and lips as he spoke. There was only a scant amount of space between you and him. You didn’t fight the urge to reach up your hand and pinch the mask where it was pushed up against his nose- yanking it down in one swift movement. He let you do it. Didn’t even move to stop you. “Better to keep your anonymity Lt” you said, smiling softly as you moved to walk past him and head toward the steps. He turned his shoulders slowly toward you.

“You know my name” he said flatly, barely amused by your attempt to joke with him.

He was right, you did know his name, but that took the fun out of it.

You sighed “Come on, Riley. Time to get some shut eye, before we get in trouble for being out here” you adopted a horrific Manchester accent as you spoke, whatever drugs that nurse had given you, they were pretty fuckin’ wicked. Ghost clearly didn’t agree, but he also didn’t correct you when you used his surname. That was a feat in itself.

“I’m a lieutenant, what the fuck are they gonna say to me?” he grumbled, mostly to himself, but you had heard him.

You laughed softly, something warm swelling in your chest. Your initial perception of him had been cold and disconnected, he presented himself as a man who existed solely for his role within the military. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, you were sure you’d find out. Your exchange with him this evening had showed you that he was observant and truly did value each and every soldier in his platoon. He wasn’t allowing you to be medically grounded because he believed you would be an asset to the continuation of this mission, if that man had any doubt about the severity of your injuries and the chance that you could slow them down- he would have you grounded in a heart beat. He was giving you a chance, and you were determined to show him he was right to trust you and your judgement.

You held onto this feeling as the two of you climbed the stairs, entering the halls of the barracks and parting ways to your respected quarters.

[meazalykov]

wrong number

bayern munich frauen x reader

1/6, 2/6, 3/6, 4/6, 5/6, 6/6

"who are you, and why do you have my number?"

you've been preparing for this move for what feels like forever.

the idea of leaving your small hometown in virginia to live in munich is both exciting and terrifying. you’ve spent weeks packing your things, saying goodbyes, and trying to mentally prepare yourself for the massive change that’s about to happen. 

sure, you’ve dreamed about studying abroad for a long time. now that it’s here, the reality of it feels overwhelming.

you’re going to be thousands of miles away from home, from everything you’ve ever known. your family is supportive, and your friends have been hyping you up nonstop. yasmeen, your closest friend, has been particularly great about helping you stay grounded, always there to distract you from the “what ifs” when the anxiety gets a little too intense. 

today is one of those days.

the two of you had planned a mall trip—something normal and fun before the whirlwind of final packing and travel arrangements takes over. well, yasmeen says that you need a new closet for munich and you don’t disagree.

it feels good to be doing something so ordinary, especially when you know that soon enough, everything in your life is about to be not-so-ordinary. 

you’ve been to this mall a hundred times with yasmeen, today feels a little more special though. maybe it’s because you’re hyperaware that you won’t have moments like these once you’re in germany.

will you make friends in germany? what if germany turns out horribly? are the people nice? is there xenophobia you might experience due to yourself being american? these thoughts plagued the back of your mind. 

"you’re gonna miss me so much, you know that, right?" yasmeen teases as the two of you walk through the mall’s food court, eyeing the chick-fil-a counter but opting for chipotle instead.

you roll your eyes playfully, nudging her with your elbow with the arm that's carrying your aritzia bag. 

"i’ll miss your constant harassment, that’s for sure."

"constant harassment? i’m literally the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"okay, sure," you laugh. 

honestly, yasmeen has been a huge part of your life for the past few years. she was the first person you clicked with back in high school, and now it feels weird to think about going through the next few years without her by your side. 

you’re trying not to dwell on it, though. you’ll still have facetime, you tell yourself. 

after grabbing and eating your rice bowls, you both head toward the stores. it’s one of those days where everything feels easy—there’s no pressure to buy anything. you did though obviously.

at one point, yasmeen holds up a bright red kit with a smirk.

"ouu a bayern munich kittt. you should totally buy it, you will fit in with the munich community."

you tilt your head, laughing. 

"what is that? i don’t even watch soccer."

"woah! you better once you hit germany– i heard soccer to them is like how the nfl is to americans."

you shake your head but decide to try it on anyway. yasmeen snaps a photo and tells you that you look like you’re about to cheer for some random german soccer team. 

you don’t think much of it and put the jersey back, moving on to the next store.

as the day goes on, you feel a strange mix of contentment and anticipation. it’s nice being here, with your best friend, doing normal things, but there’s a part of you that’s itching to start this next chapter of your life. 

it’s like you’re stuck in this weird limbo between your old life and the new one that’s waiting for you on the other side of the world.

eventually, after several hours of shopping, you realize your phone had died. you don’t even remember when it happened. 

you’ve been so caught up in the moment with yasmeen that you didn’t notice the battery draining.

"ugh, my phone’s dead," you say, glancing at the blank screen.

yasmeen shrugs. 

"mine’s still good. if anything, i can call you an uber."

"nah, i’m good. i’ll just charge it when i get home."

you both grab shoes at birkenstock before say your goodbyes outside the mall. yasmeen gives you an extra tight hug. 

"don’t get caught up with your european friends and forgetting about me, okay?"

"never," you promise.

when you get home, you immediately plug your phone into the charger and head straight to the shower. 

the hot water feels good against your skin, washing away the stress of the day. you’ve got so much on your mind—packing, travel plans, what your life is going to look like in a few weeks—but right now, standing under the stream of water, you feel calm. 

you let your thoughts drift away and focus on the simple rhythm of the water hitting your shoulders.

when you finally get out of the shower, you feel refreshed, like maybe you can tackle all the things on your to-do list without getting overwhelmed.

when you grab your phone and take it off of your charger, you notice something strange. 

it’s blowing up with notifications. you squint at the screen, trying to make sense of what’s happening. 

there’s a new group chat, and it’s filled with numbers you don’t recognize.

confused, you open the messages. the chat is already deep into a conversation about something, but none of it makes sense to you.

+49 176 1234567: pernille you’re AMAZING wtf was that!!!!????? 

+49 171 7654321: arsenals defense during this match had nothing on you or syd holy shit

your brows furrow. arsenal? match? what are they talking about? you know absolutely nothing about this conversation. 

hell, you’re not even sure what country arsenal plays for. the confusion only grows as you scroll up to see more of the conversation.

you: hi?

almost immediately, your message is met with a flood of responses.

+49 171 7654321: giulia! finally! where have you been?

+49 178 1233567: we’ve been trying to reach all day, i know we had no training but are you okay?

your heart skips a beat. giulia? who the hell is giulia? you’ve definitely never gone by that name.

you: uh, i think you’ve got the wrong number. i’m not giulia.

for a moment, the chat goes silent. you stare at your phone, wondering if you should just leave the group.

before you can, a new message pops up.

+49 176 1234567: wait, what?

+49 171 7654321: did we add the wrong number again?

+49 171 11122222: sydney, you’re an idiot. you added the wrong number!

there’s a pause before a new number is added to the group.

+49 152 3334444: you guys finally added me.

you assume this is the real giulia. still, no one seems to be kicking you out of the chat, and before you know it, the conversation picks up again.

+49 176 1234567: giulia, you missed our whole debate about the arsenal match.

+49 171 7654321: yeah, and we were saying bayern needs to keep it up for juventus.

you stare at your phone, more confused than ever. arsenal, bayern… these are clearly soccer teams, but why are they talking to you? you don’t even watch soccer. eventually, you decide to chime in.

you: um?? i have no idea what any of you are talking about. 

this time, the chat explodes with messages.

+49 171 7654321: what?!

+49 176 1234567: how do you not know bayern munich?

+49 175 7778888: do you watch fusball? 

+49 171 1112222: okay, who are you?

+44 177 9900000: ok guys that makes me feel better about this not being a crazy fan.

+49 170 4479173: i agree with georgia 

you explain your situation—that you’re a 21-year-old college student from virginia, and you somehow got added to this group chat by mistake. 

you tell them about your upcoming move to munich for your study abroad program, hoping to clear up the confusion.

+49 152 3334444: wait… you’re moving to munich? like… munich, germany?

+49 171 7654321: that’s insane omg we all live in munich.

+44 171 9900000: wtffff 

+49 176 1234567: this is such a weird coincidence.

you blink at your screen. this is getting stranger by the second. what are the odds that you’d get added to a random group chat full of people who live in the exact city you’re about to move to?

+49 171 1112222: okay, but how do we know you’re not some creepy dude pretending to be a girl?

+49 172 4567389: LMAO LENA 

+57 170 9193831: wait… 

you roll your eyes at the suspicion but understand why they might be cautious. so, you send them your instagram handle to prove you’re real. 

you: ew, i am not some old dude. @ y/n.l/n is my insta, just me out for yourselves.

after a few minutes, messages start pouring in again.

+49 152 3334444: yep, she’s legit.

+49 176 1234567: okay, cool. she seems sweet.

+49 171 9718193: guys laura would love her photography skills

you: who’s laura

+49 171 9900000: someone from the german national team. she plays in frankfurt

+44 177 9900000: this is so cool idky why.. usually i’d be freaked out

a few new followers pop up on your instagram notifications, and you open the app to check. you almost drop your phone when you see that some of the accounts following you are verified. 

*sydneylohmann is now following you*

and another 

*georgiastanway is now following you* 

*tuvahansen is now following you* 

and more.. 

*leaschuller is now following you* 

*lenaoberdorf is now following you* 

*kathi.ng is now following you* 

*pharder10 is now following you*

*guzman013_ is now following you* 

*sarahzadrazil25 is now following you* 

now it seems like the whole team is catching on.. 

*buehlklara is now following you* 

*magdalenaeriksson26 is now following you* 

*magou_doucoure is now following you* 

*dahmannlinda is now following you* 

it's until you do a quick google search that you realize who they are.

they’re professional soccer players.

you sit there, staring at your phone, completely in shock. you’ve somehow stumbled into a group chat full of actual women’s soccer players. 

trying to play it cool, you decide to treat them like normal people.

after all, you don’t even know anything about soccer, so it’s not like you’re going to fan out over them.

you: so, what are your names? i want to save your numbers because all of the unsaved numbers are overwhelming haha 

they go around introducing themselves, and you quickly type their names into your phone, saving each number under the name they give you.

+49 152 3334444: i’m giulia

+49 171 7654321: sydney

+44 177 9900000: georgia s 

+49 179 7777777: lea 

+57 170 9193831: ana g. there’s two ana’s so i’d add the last name letter to tell the difference 💜

it’s surreal, somehow you find yourself chatting with them like they’re any other group of girls you’d meet in a random group chat. 

they even start to warm up to you after a few days, especially after you tell them more about your move to munich. 

a few of them offer to show you around the city once you get there.

georgia: honestly, munich’s great. you’re going to love it.

sydney: we can help you find all the best spots.

lena: i can definitely ☺️

lea: lena you just moved here from wolfsburg.. 

lena: lea shushhhh 🙄

pernille: ??? 

you smile at your phone, feeling a little less nervous about the move. it’s strange, but you’re actually starting to look forward to meeting these girls in person. 

sure, they’re professional soccer players, but they’re also just… normal people. and they seem to like you.

as the chat continues, you get the sense that they trust you. maybe it’s because of your instagram or the way you’ve been honest with them from the start, but whatever it is, they don’t seem to mind that you accidentally got added to their group. 

in fact, they seem to enjoy having you around.

klara: you seem chill. i know its been a week since you’ve been added but do you promise to keep our secrets safe? 

lena: ^

you: i promise. i like you guys! 

it’s not every day you accidentally make friends with a group of famous athletes, but somehow, that’s exactly what’s happened. 

as strange as it is, you’re kind of excited about it.

part two here

[freedomfireflies]

I Love You*

Summary: The second part to Yellow* and One for the Money*

The one where you tell Mr. Styles you love him and you wonder if he'll say it back.

Word Count: 3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, blow job, multiple orgasms, brief Daddy kink, Sir kink

I love you.

Three little words that feel so big in such a small room. 

Mr. Styles remains still. Unmoving. So quiet, you wonder if you actually said the words aloud or if you only thought them.

But you can feel his heart racing. Can hear the subtle hitch in his breath as the seconds tick by. And you know, undoubtedly, that he heard you.

You clear your throat. “You don’t…you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

There’s another long lull between your admission and his response. He shifts in your arms before finally he finally nods once.

And that suffices as his reply.

Truth be told, you feel relieved. You aren’t even sure why you said it at all, much less now. And after such an intimate scene. Especially when you knew he most likely wouldn’t say it back.

But you don’t blame him for that. Mr. Styles has never been the overly romantic, affectionate type. You don’t expect that to change just for you. You’re happy with the relationship you have. You like that you stay at his apartment more than your own. You like that he dedicates his free time to you. And you like that you work together and play together.

He’s more than just your partner and your boss. He’s…yours.

“Sir?” you whisper, and you feel his hand tighten around yours. “Are you all right?”

He nods again. Quickly. Strained. “I’m fine, Peach. Are you?”

You nod, too. “Mhm. I’m better now. Promise.” A beat. “Could we start the scene again?”

He lets out a sigh and finally looks up to catch your eye. “Maybe later. We’ll see.”

You pout and feel that anxious twist in your stomach return. You don’t want to end this moment on a sour note. The note where you had to safe word and make him stop only to tell him you love him and surely freak him out. You want to go back. Start it all over again. Do it right.

He notices your frown and tilts his head. “Peach,” he warns. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“I said we’ll see,” he repeats sternly. “If you’re good, I’ll consider it. But if you want to argue with me, you can sit here, achy and dripping, with nobody to touch you.”

You bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He pats your hip. “I’ve got a few more emails to answer before dinner. If I go, will you be all right until I’m done?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He takes hold of your chin. Firm. “I want your honesty.”

“You have it.”

He hesitates. There’s a tension here, between you. An unspoken strain and an edge you’d give anything to smooth out.

You can tell he wants to resolve it. He’s a problem solver. It’s in his nature to fix things. And that’s how this whole arrangement was started in the first place.

But how can he fix what he knows he broke?

He kisses your cheek. Quickly. Gently. “Be good while I’m gone.”

And with that, he leaves you. He turns off the camera, puts his clothes back on, and disappears into his home office.

You spend the next several hours trying not to stare at his closed door. Or thinking about how it ended. What you said. You delete the footage off the SD card and vow to never speak of this day again.

He feels so far away, even if it’s only a few hundred feet. But there’s an ocean between you now and you are lost in his sea. 

Dinner is good. You order Chinese and it’s delivered right as he’s exiting his office for the night. You do your best to put things back to the way they were before. You talk—a lot—and he listens. He’s quiet. Nodding along without much commentary. He picks at his food and you know something is still on his mind.

You hate it.

He cleans up while you go take a shower. You take your time, allowing the water to wash away your regret. Make you clean again. Until each mistake has been swept down the drain.

The two of you will be okay. You have to be.

When you get out, you find him on the bed. He’s got his reading glasses on and a book in his hand and he looks…

Ethereal.

You’ve always been attracted to him. How could you not be, when he has a jaw like that and abs that could grate cheese? But somehow, he looks even better like this—relaxed. At peace. He’s still wearing his fancy slacks and white button up. But the sleeves have been rolled to his elbows and he’s left the first few buttons undone. 

You step further into the bedroom and he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s engrossed in his novel, glasses perched on the tip of his perfect nose as he flips to the next page. And you smile. Your insides already aching as you crawl onto the end of the mattress and allow your towel to fall away.

When the bed dips, he glances up. Briefly. He notices the feral look in your eye and the way you’re moving toward him. He knows what you want and thankfully, he doesn’t deny you.

He looks back to his book. “How was your shower?”

“Good,” you murmur. You reach for his belt and slip it through each loop until you can toss it toward the floor.

He’s quiet.

“How’s your book?” you ask and he hums.

“It’s all right. Not entirely helpful but I like the subject.”

You grin. You adore when he sounds studious. “That’s good.” You pull his zipper down and reach inside his briefs. 

Still, he doesn’t so much as flinch. He reads and he pretends as though you aren’t currently dragging your palm along his hardening cock. He pretends your tits aren’t mere inches from his grasp and he pretends that he can’t see the way you’ve already begun to drip.

You take him in your mouth. Your tongue is wet and ready and you swing your leg over his thigh in order to brace yourself against his lap and take him fully. He’s large. Incredibly large and you forget that sometimes until you feel the way he curves down your throat. 

You pull back and spit only to watch the way it drips down his length until you can smear it around the way you want.

“Peach,” you hear him say and you look up. He moves the book aside to see you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” 

He reaches down and pinches your cheek. “Watch it,” he warns and he’s strict but somehow kind. “I thought I told you to wait.”

“I did wait,” you argue before sucking on his tip. You pop off and lick your lips. “All day. Couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Hm.” He moves his hand to the back of your head and tugs you away. “I’m not sure I should let you.”

“…why?” You straighten up. “I’m okay now. I want to do this. And you never got to finish—”

“Peach—”

“—which I know isn’t the point,” you amend quickly, remembering what he said before. “I know. But I want to make you finish. I want to make you feel good. Especially after what you did for me.”

He frowns now. Sighs. Takes off his glasses and sets down his book. “I’m your dominant and your partner. It is my job to take care of you. I don’t do it because I want something in return and my kindness is not transactional. I care about you. I want you to be okay. Always.”

I care about you isn’t exactly an I love you but it still makes you smile. Really, really big.

“I know,” you whisper. You squeeze his thigh. “But I feel…edged.”

He smirks. “Do you?”

“Mhm.” You dip back down and drag your tongue up from his balls. You notice his jaw tick. “And if you really want to take care of me and make sure I’m okay…you’ll cum in my mouth.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He considers this, fingers tapping over the hard cover of his book. Then, he nods once, and slips his glasses back on. “All right. I’ll let you have your way just this once. But once you’re through, you’re to get into this bed and go to sleep. Is that understood?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Go ahead.”

With that, you continue your sucking and fondling while he continues reading his novel. The bedroom is eerily silent except for the loud echo of your wet, enthusiastic lapping at the large cock sitting proudly on your tongue. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if he won’t give you your own orgasm before bed, you’re content to have him just like this.

It doesn’t take long until he’s twitching in your mouth. He doesn’t look at you or watch the way your cheeks hollow or the way his balls look in your pretty hands, but you know he’s desperate to. You can tell by the way he turns the page. The way he grips the book and tries incredibly hard not to rip it in half as he moves to the next chapter. 

You don’t slow. You keep going, even as his legs flex beneath you. As his chest takes in labored breaths. You want to get him there and he subtly nudges his leg further into your cunt to feel your arousal smear across his skin. 

You do everything you know he likes, even though the camera is off. You suck and squeeze and give him everything you know he likes. Because this performance is just for him. The way you moan, the way you swallow, the way you bob and take more of him than you think you ever have before.

You’re his good girl. His investment, his toy, his.

And moments before he finally releases himself all down your throat, he tosses the book aside, grabs a fistful of your hair, and yanks you off.

“Get on,” he grits and tugs you closer.

You don’t need to be told twice. You scoot forward and line him up just so before he takes hold of your hips and helps you sink down. Things move quickly and he doesn’t have the patience to wait any longer. 

And it’s beautiful, this moment. The way he stretches you open. And even if there’s a slight burn from the intrusion of his thick cock, you revel in the pain. Both of you groaning the moment you feel it.

And you know he won’t be able to hold off much longer.

“How did it taste, Peach, hm?” he asks as he fucks up into you. “How did it feel to have me in your mouth?”

“Good,” you pant. You claw at his curls. “So good, Sir—”

“Yeah?” He slaps his hand against your ass and you mewl. “Like to take my cock, don’t you? Like to be my dirty little slut—"

“Yes—”

“Like to feel me down your throat…have me cum all over your tongue.”

You make too many noises and he reaches up to pull your lip with his teeth. He kisses you and groans into your mouth and this is what sex should be. Rough and hard but filled with adoration.

“What a fucking whore,” he groans. He tugs at your hips. Watches the bulge in your belly with every thrust. “Begging to suck my cock, wanting to make Daddy feel good…guess I don’t give your mouth enough things to do, hm?”

You shake your head and wilt in his hold. He rarely refers to himself with that nickname and hearing it now almost tips you over.

“So fucking wet,” he exhales and you look down to watch with him. “S’fucking pathetic, isn’t it? Didn’t even have to touch you to have you dripping.”

He’s right. He always is.

He pinches your clit. Takes your nipple in his mouth and lets his large hands scratch down your back—your shoulders blades, your spine, your ass. And you have never felt safer than here in this moment with him.

“Cum,” he says, and he nips at your skin until it’s littered in marks and memories.

“Cum,” he whispers, and he pulls on your hair and wraps it around his fist to bare your throat to his teeth.

“Cum,” he pleads, and he kisses you—hard—until the room is spinning and you finally let go.

You unravel together. A collection of moans and cries and tangled limbs as you make a mess of each other. And you don’t care—about any of it. About what was said earlier, about what wasn’t said, about the way he looked when you said it.

You cling to his strong shoulders and you kiss him hard and you indulge in the feel of him dripping from your cunt.

But he’s not through. He pulls you off his cock and flips you onto your knees until your ass in the air.

You feel his tongue. Dragging up your cunt, tasting the remains of his cum, your cum, everything. He spanks you—hard. Paints his mark across your skin and leaves it there just so he can admire it.

“Say it,” he hisses and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Wha…what?”

“Say it,” he says. He spanks you again and nips at your pussy. “Say you love me.”

You clutch the duvet and your thighs are shaking. Your mind feels fuzzy. “I…”

Another slap to your ass and you’re overstimulated and wildly sensitive. He fucks his tongue into your dripping hole and grunts at the way you keen and you’ve never felt this kind of beautiful confusion.

“Say it.” He holds your thighs open and nearly suffocates himself as he mouths at you. “Fucking tell me you love me. Tell me again.”

You shake your head. You don’t understand. “Harry…”

Wrong. He slips his fingers inside and fucks his cum back into you. Fast. Lewd. Loud. “Come on, Peach. I know you want to. Know you do….so say it.”

And maybe this is a trick. Maybe this is some cruel, sadistic game just to make you lose but you can’t think straight when he’s this close. When he’s bending your body to his salacious intentions and treating you like a toy.

“I love you,” you whisper. You screw your eyes shut. “I do, I love you, Sir.”

He curses. Groans. “Again.”

“I love you.” You fall onto the bed stomach first but he doesn’t stop. He flips you around and he looks at you as he eats you. “I love you, Mr. Styles.”

His lashes flutter. You reach for his hair and tug it with your fist and he moans into your cunt before drinking you down. Spitting on your pussy just to smear it around and thrust it back into you.

You arch. “Shit, I love you—I—”

You cum again and he enjoys every second of it. He pulls you as close to his face as he can get you and lives inside the sound of your strained whimpers.

And when you finish, he leaves your clit with a satisfied pop and licks his lips. You watch him crawl up your body until he’s settled atop your chest and you smile lazily as he reaches up to run his hand down your cheek.

“My sweet Peach,” he whispers and kisses you hard. You taste everything. You taste him. You taste the desperation woven alongside his tongue. He kisses you until you can’t breathe and he only stops so he can stare at you a little longer.

You brush your fingers through the damp curls along the back of his neck. “That was fun.”

He’s quiet. Studying you closely and you feel as though you’re being graded on a test you didn’t know you were taking. 

Then, he murmurs, “I don’t say it.”

Your heart skips. You don’t have to ask what he means. “I…I know. It’s okay. I don’t expect you—”

“I don’t say it because I’m afraid I can’t live up to it,” he continues. He ignores you. “Because the last time I did, I couldn’t deliver on what it meant. My love didn’t look the same as hers did. I said it. And she still left.”

Your other hand finds his shirt. You trail your touch over the exposed skin of his chest and you feel the way his heart races. “I know.”

His brows furrow. “I want to say it,” he says softly. “I want to. For you. Because I do. And I don’t want this to feel unfair—”

“It doesn’t,” you assure him. “I promise. I…I figured you wouldn’t say it back and I was okay with that. Because it doesn’t change the fact that I do.”

Another beat. “I’m worried you didn’t mean it.”

“What?”

He sighs and sweeps his thumb along your jaw. “You’d been anxious, and you were scared. You said none of your other partners had ever been kind to you in moments like that, and…sex is intimate. It can change the chemistry in your brain and maybe…maybe you didn’t mean it—”

“I did.” You grab his face and you make him listen. “Harry, I meant it. I still mean it. And I’ll mean it tomorrow, too. And the next day. And the next.”

His expression softens.

“And I meant it long before today. I wanted to tell you tons of times and I didn’t because…I don’t know. I didn’t want to scare you,” you admit and you both smile. “It is a big word. But it’s just a word. It means nothing without action. And even if you can’t say it, you show it every day. And that’s all I could really want.”

He dips down and nuzzles his nose against yours. “I don’t deserve you, Peach.”

“No,” you tease. “No, you don’t.”

You kiss again and his body feels good against yours. His heart feels good against yours.

Then, he exhales, "I love you."

And you don't say anything. But you smile. Because you know everything he's giving up just to offer you what you want to hear.

Minutes go by before you finally change the subject and say, "You know, I kind of wish we'd been recording all that. That would have been some great content."

He laughs, relieved, and the sound is so incredibly beautiful. 

“Next time,” he says and you grin as he holds you closer. “Tonight…your love belongs to me.”

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY CUTIES!!! Granted, this wasn't exactly a Valentine's blurb BUT LISTEN IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH!!!!! ASLFJSF

I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH and hope you're having the best day! No matter what it looks like or who it's with ♥️

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @ilovec0lbybr0ck @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz