#the first three will take me roughly a day and a half

[beesonjupiter]

saw a tiktok about 1000stars...

guess i have plans for the next 2 days

[charliemwrites]

Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

“Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip. 

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

 He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

 “There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

[ddejavvu]

Doctor's Note - Sodapop Curtis x Reader

summary: you stand soda up, accidentally

contents/warnings: soda is somewhere around 18-19, mentions of his failed relationship w sandy, distrust/miscommunication, angst -> fluff. based on my very painful experience this morning with crippling back pain

send me requests for the outsiders!

Selfishly, sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to date Sodapop before he'd met Sandy. When he was more carefree, when he wasn't glancing at any man you talked to just a second too long. He's not possessive- and even if he is, he doesn't enforce it. But you know he's wary, and you know it's her fault.

Darrel had warned Soda to stay away from girls for a while, to give himself a break. And he had. Two long years later his hiatus was broken when you'd come into the DX fiending for a coke, and when you'd asked, 'Do you know where I could find a soda 'round here?' his eyes had glimmered with opportunity, and he'd pointed proudly to his nametag.

"Right here, ma'am. No caffeine in me but I could keep 'ya up all night if you want me to."

It had been so wildly crass, so insanely audacious that you'd burst out laughing, both from the absurdity of his name and the brashness of his comment. He'd apologized for it, too, twenty minutes into your conversation that lasted an hour.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. I mean- I don't usually come on strong like that. Couldn't stop myself- prolly got it from my friend Two-Bit, he's always crackin' jokes like that. Hope you didn't think it was greasy."

"I think it was very greasy," You'd laughed, tilting your chin towards the tin of hair grease abandoned at the other end of the counter, "I thought that was the whole point."

"That's my buddy Steve's", Soda had told you, light dancing in his eyes as he readjusted his elbows on the counter to lean further towards you, "He does these real fancy swirls in his hair, and I've been able to do 'em a few times, but mainly I just slick mine back, and half the time I don't even grease it anyways because I'm just bummin' round the house so there's no need. My other friend-"

He was a natural-born talker, and you'd been just as caught up with talking yourself as you were with listening to him. It had taken the reappearance of his aforementioned coworker, Steve, for you to glance at the clock, and realize that you were 40 minutes past the time you should have been back at work from your lunch break.

You're surprised you hadn't scared Sodapop off with your swearing alone, but you'd managed to scribble your number onto his hand before you'd left. You hadn't even remembered to buy a drink, but he'd brought you one when he showed up for your first date.

Now, three weeks later, you're getting ready to show up to his house. This is a big thing: you're meeting his brothers. He's told you so much about them you feel like you know them, and he's also given you your fair share of warnings, too. Darry's too stern sometimes, and it might take a while for him to warm up to you. Ponyboy's an awkward teen, and on top of it, he'd trusted Sandy- they all had. You know you've gotta prove yourself better than her, and you're starting with some sweet perfume and a bundle of flowers for their dining table.

--

"Get your bum ass off the couch and vacuum," Soda's hands shove roughly at Ponyboy's thighs, "She's gonna be here in thirty minutes!"

"Jeez, Soda, she's not my girlfriend," Ponyboy grumbles, but he stands and heads for the closet where the vacuum lies all the same, "Don't understand why I have to be the one cleanin'."

"'Cause Darry's the one cookin'." Soda glares at him, "And I'm cleaning too. I've been cleaning for days."

"Bathroom looks good, little man." Darry voices his approval from the kitchen, "Thought I was gonna die of shock when I realized you'd scrubbed down the toilet."

Not much conversation is heard over Ponyboy's aggressive vacuuming, but Soda calls the cleaning at five minutes to your arrival time.

"Okay. Rules again?" He looks expectantly at his brothers, and Darry looks irritated that he's being grilled this time.

"No judging." Ponyboy grumbles, but he doesn't think it's fair, because Sandy had seemed so nice and sweet, and she'd run right out on Sodapop. So he feels like he has to judge, because maybe Soda's gonna get hurt again. He doesn't want that.

"No grilling." Darry continues, equally put-out by Soda's request. He wants what's best for his brother. Sodapop's two-year long relationship drought was refreshing, and he's seen the boy blossom into a wonderful man. Still, he can't help feeling some lingering resentment towards Sandy, and he knows it's not fair to attach it to you, but he doesn't know what else to do with it.

"And no arguing at the table." He glances between Darry and Pony both warily, "I mean it, this isn't the night to discuss grades or curfew or chores. Just- be nice to her. Treat her like a real guest."

"Alright, little buddy." Darry secedes, squeezing Soda's flannel-clad shoulder slightly, "Now, you gonna go wait by the door for her?"

"No! I'm not that desperate." Soda scoffs, but Darry notices the way he flops down into his eldest brother's armchair, the only seat in the house with a view of the front walkway. Ponyboy settles himself awkwardly on the couch, watching cartoons even though there's an anxious tension in his skinny shoulders.

You're set to arrive in two minutes, and Soda's practically vibrating out of his seat. There's no sign of the cute little sundress you said you'd wear today, but that's okay, because he thinks it's so considerate of you to show up punctually versus early. if you'd come fifteen minutes earlier you would have seen him near-tears over the spot of chocolate that wouldn't rub out of the wall behind the television. Ponyboy had pointed out that there's no way you would have seen it unless you'd been wedged between their tv and the wall, but Soda was not going to invite you into a messy home.

One minute goes by, and Soda's cuticles hurt from where his nails tear at them. He tries to stop himself- after all, you wouldn't want to hold his hand if his was bleeding. But his next nervous habit becomes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, which isn't nearly as satisfying for his fingers.

He waits for what he's sure is more than a minute, which means you're due to flounce up the stairs in seconds. But he doesn't see you, and he knows Pony's watching him crane his neck every three seconds to look for you. So he tones it down- after all, he's got a 10-minute grace period at the DX for his shifts. If he can clock in at 8:10 and still be 'on time', you can show up a few minutes late.

"Any sign of her?" Darry pokes his head out of the kitchen, seeing the front door still shut. Soda shakes his head- then he catches a glimpse of your hair color outside the window. Upon further inspection, it's a stray cat. Ponyboy snorts at him, and Soda sinks back into the recliner.

Okay, so you've used up your grace period. But Soda gets it- you probably sang one too many love songs about him in the shower, and now you're tripping over your own feet trying to run to his house. Or the bus was late, or you missed it entirely, and you'll show up before the food goes cold.

Fifteen minutes go by, and Darry hovers over the finished meal, wondering whether he should plate it or not.

Twenty minutes go by, and Darry considers removing one plate from the table.

Thirty minutes go by, and Darry turns off the stove.

An hour goes by, and Pony retreats to his room for some homework time. Darry's meticulously cleaning the kitchen, but Sodapop thinks it's more because he doesn't know what to say than because he thinks you'll judge them for a grease stain on the wall.

When Darry's scrubbed the kitchen raw nearly an hour later, he pads softly over to Soda where he still rests in his armchair.

"Soda, I- listen, I don't think she's comin' tonight."

"I told her today." Soda's got his fingernail pinched between his teeth, his leg having long-since stopped its nervous bouncing, "I- I know I told her tonight, and she said she'd be here, but I-"

Darry's hand squeezes his shoulder again, this time tighter, and something awfully familiar resurges in Soda's chest where it's laid dormant for two years.

"C'mon, little buddy." Darry urges him up out of the chair, "Let's turn in early tonight."

--

Soda's not doing his best work despite having gotten eleven hours of sleep the night prior. He's sluggish and mopey, and Steve sticks him on the register so that no one risks a foolish mistake to their car. Soda stares at a knot in the wood grain, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and doesn't look up even when the entrance bell dings.

"Soda-" He hears a voice, one that he'd been waiting since last evening to hear, one that exacerbates that sickly feeling in his chest. He hasn't been able to shake it, and your face had blended with Sandy's in his nightmares last night.

"Soda, I'm- I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you show?" He barely has the courage to look up at you, but he does, because last time he'd groveled. He'd begged, pleaded, bargained with her to stay with him, and he wasn't going to do that this time. He was going to be the man Darry wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry." You repeat, clutching a paper in your hands, brows permanently furrowed, "It was an emergency. I was getting ready, and- and all of a sudden my back started hurtin'. Real bad, Soda, I- I had to lie down on the ground."

Soda watches, interest piqued, as you stagger towards the counter, clearly limping. Sickness is replaced with worry in his chest, and he watches as you brace yourself against the register.

"My folks didn't get home for hours. I was just laying there, I- I couldn't reach the phone, I couldn't move my legs, I was just stranded there." Your voice thickens at the memory, and you sniffle absentmindedly, "Soda, I would have called you, I just- I couldn't move. I swear. I tried, Soda, I swear I tried to get to the phone, but it was so painful. And then when my parents got home they had to carry me to the car 'n all, and the emergency room took forever, and- and we didn't get home until three in the morning, and I knew you'd be sleepin' so I didn't call, and I felt so bad because I knew you'd be waiting on me, and- and I'm so sorry, Sodapop."

All at once yours and Sandy's faces come undone in his mind, and hers is cast aside as he studies yours. There's tears, big shiny ones lining your eyes, and your chin trembles slightly. You're still clutching the paper, and when you realize he's glancing at it, you gasp.

"Oh! I- um, I got you a doctor's note. I didn't want you to think I was lyin'."

You push the page towards him on the counter, and he takes it with trembling hands.

'Patient Y/N Y/L/N admitted to emergency services at 8:49 PM Wednesday, 30th July. Diagnosed with severe lumbar muscle strain. This patient is placed off of work from 7/30/1968 through 8/05/1968.

Patient would like to add that she did not intend to stand up her date with one Sodapop Patrick Curtis on Wednesday, 30th July. Patient would like to reschedule for another night. Doctor prescribes a calm, laid-back dinner date until patient recovers.'

"Had one hell of a time trying to get him to put that in there." Your sheepish voice pipes up from where Soda's reading the last words on the page, "But I told him you were a nice boy and he said there's not many of those around here. I'm sorry, again. I'm so sorry."

Lumbar muscle strain rings a bell in Soda's head. It's something Darry's definitely mentioned before, the few times they've bullied him into seeking medical attention for all of his blue collar aches and pains. He's sure if you're hurting the way Darry does sometimes, that you weren't lying about not being able to move.

You're staring at him like you're worried he'll send you away, and the piece of paper in his hands is the only thing stopping him from doing just that. But he glances down at it again, and takes a deep breath.

"It's okay. I believe you. My brother Darry, he- he pulls muscles sometimes. Don't usually see him cry, but I do when that happens. Are you okay?'

You visibly relax at his words, but something in your back must have protested the movement, because your face pinches up again.

"Um- yeah. Mostly. It hurts when I move too much." You admit, "But I had to make it down here to see you. I'm so sorry. Were you- were you angry at me?"

He doesn't think so- he was offended, he was disappointed, but most of all, he's pretty sure he was beating up on himself more than he was beating up on you. It felt like it did the first time, and he was the common denominator in both.

"No." He answers honestly, "But- uh, I think Darry probably is."

You wince, and he doesn't blame you. But he holds the note a little tighter, "But I'll tell him what happened. Like I said, he knows what that feels like. Don't worry about it, honey. You- uh, did you want to still meet them?"

"Of course! Of course," You nod eagerly, bracing your weight against the counter, "Do you still... want me to meet them?"

"Of course." He echoes, finally breaking his stoicism with a grin, a shy one as he reaches for your hand over the counter, still clutching the note in his other hand, "Can't argue with the doctor's orders."

[reiderwriter]

Puppet On A String

Chapter One of I Can't Help Myself

Synopsis: Expecting your big promotion any day, you're none too happy to hear about the departments miraculous new hire. You're even less happy when he moves into your office and starts touching things.

Warnings: Shitty office politics, brief allusions to Spencer's time in prison, swearing, reader is understandably bitter.

Masterlist || 5k Celebration Challenge

The day your professional aspirations came to a crashing halt was also the day that you met Doctor Spencer Reid. To say that your view of him was somewhat soured by the unpleasant circumstances of your morning meeting was an understatement and a half.

Sitting in your bosses stuffy work office, you felt your heart stop as the situation was explained.

“You understand, right, Y/N? We really value your work here, so we're really relying on you to help him settle in.” He grinned at you from behind his desk, but all friendliness in the gesture was dampened by the fact that he hadn't even bothered to look up from the papers he was looking through, glasses hanging low on his nose.

“I'm trying to understand, I am. But last week, we discussed me moving onto the tenure track. Are you saying that's out of the picture for me now?”

The smile turned into a grimace as he looked up at you, finally. He removed his glasses and folded them in front of him as you squirmed in your seat. You needed to advocate for yourself, but it wasn't easy when it felt like you were in the principals office being reprimanded.

“Doctor Spencer Reid will be joining us on loan from the FBI. Someone at the Bureau called in a favour with one of the college executives. The decision is above my pay grade - thus it is above yours.”

Your cheeks felt hot as he reprimanded you, and you bit your tongue as best you could.

“He will be with us for the semester, and then we can discuss your promotion again next semester. I will ask again, you understand the situation?”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken - the department wide email introducing your new member of staff and the generous donation from the FBI that came with him. You brought nothing to the department other than a stellar academic record and hard work.

“I'm glad we could both come to an understanding,” he said, aptly dismissing you as you stood to take your leave.

“Ah, one last thing, Y/N,” he said, stopping you in your tracks as you readied yourself to run to the nearest bathroom stall and cry until your first class - roughly 7 and a half minutes.

“Doctor Reid will be sharing your temporary office space. We're strapped for space, and there weren't any other facilities available at the last minute. Since your students always remark on how approachable and welcoming you are, you're the best person to show him around, too.”

The gloom in your heart hardened to anger as the man dismissed you, returning his glasses to his head and not bothering to make eye contact as he added more work to your already heavy load.

“Of course. Thank you.”

You closed the door behind you, willing yourself to not slam it, and stalked down the corridor to your own - now communal - office.

Half of your brain was screaming at you to quit, but with rent in a college town to pay, and the academic year already in session, there was no way you were finding something this lucrative again.

You'd worked your ass off for the last five months. You just had to survive three more with Doctor Spencer Reid.

You had to keep your emotions in control until at least your office, you thought, even as the inescapable tears threatened to fall down your face. You hate that you cried when you were angry, that your emotions couldn't even sort themselves out enough to give appropriate physical responses, but at least you could angry-cry in peace before your new coworker showed up.

You ripped open the door and stomped to your desk, slamming the door shut behind you as you fell down with your head in your hands and let out a frustrated groan.

“Um… hello, can I help you?”

The voice caught you so off guard, you almost jumped from your seat in shock, backing up to the single window in the office.

“Fuck, you scared the hell out of me. What- who are you?” You asked the man you now saw sitting at the sofa opposite your desk, next the door. So close in fact, that you didn't see him walking in.

He was sat down, but you could tell he was tall, slightly older than you, but with big brown eyes that betrayed some experience. He sat comfortably at first, legs crossed, book in hand, but as you spoke, he sat straighter, stiffer, his relaxed expression becoming somewhat colder.

“I'm Doctor Spencer Reid. I was told this is my office from today onwards? If I'm incorrect, I can leave you to your…”

Of course, the very attractive, soft-spoken man in front of you just happened to be the derailment of your career. Temporary, you reminded yourself. Temporary derailment.

“No. Doctor Reid, of course. Hello. I'm Y/N. We'll be sharing the office for the semester, I just didn't know you'd be here today.”

He frowned slightly, like sharing the space was as uncomfortable with him as it was with you.

“If you can excuse me, I have a class to teach in…” You looked to the shelves where your small clock had fallen over once again - the office was cramped and the shelves unstable enough that closing the door meant knocking at least three things over.

“Three minutes, shit. I have to leave, please keep to yourself, I have a lot of important documents in here.”

The words were colder than you would've liked, but you couldn't find the strength to care much about his opinion of you.

You grabbed your laptop and left the room swiftly, abandoning Spencer Reid to your shared office.

Your first meeting may have been sour due to circumstance, but your second was unpleasant on the strength of Spencer Reid's grating personality alone.

In your five months at the college, you'd worked up a system for classwork.

Gather books. Go to class. Pick up coffee. Teach. Leave class. Pick up a second coffee. Go to your office. Host office hours. Work on a research paper. Rinse and repeat for any other classes you had that day.

With such a busy and caffeine fuelled schedule, you kept your office as neat as you could with your rickety shelves.

So, returning to meet Spencer Reid a second time, you almost threw up at the sight that befell you in the office.

“Hey, welcome back.”

The man sat on the one inch of your floor that wasn't taken up by furniture with all of the books in the office stacked up around him, the shelves bare and tipping precariously to one side.

“What the hell did you do to my office?” You blanched, looking around, unable to see the set of books you had organized for your next class.

“The shelves are broken, I put in a request to have them replaced, and I've been organizing the books by topic so-”

“The books were already organized. By class, and week they're to be taught. Fuck, I have a seminar in 30 minutes, I need those books.”

To his credit, Spencer Reid looked panicked as he sat sifting through all the books, even as your anger rolled off of you in waves.

“I can fix this. What shelf was it on?”

“Don't bother, just ruin my day some more. Hey, how about next time, you just throw everything in the trash?”

“I was trying to help, we're going to be sharing the office, and there isn't exactly space for two desks with your current filing system.”

“So you decided to rearrange without telling me? Asking me? I've been here five months, but you strolled in five hours ago and decided to change everything to suit you.”

“That's not - look, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you can start your apology by footing the bill for whatever improvements you've made. We're not tenured professors. Anything we add to the room or request comes out of our paycheck, and I'm not starving myself for floor to ceiling bookshelves.”

Whatever retort he was about to make was lost as you grabbed your bag from the floor and stormed out, leaving him behind in your dilapidated office.

When you returned to your office later that day, he was nowhere to be found. His new furniture, however, was crowding the room. A clone of your own desk was pushed up against the side of it, the pair forming an L shape. Great. Couldn't have gotten any closer if you tried.

Your couch was still in place by the door, but the old bookshelves were gone. They were replaced by a sturdier looking wooden set that now shelved all the books you'd inherited in the office or were using for class. And some new titles.

He hadn't put them back in the order you needed them in, though you doubted he ever would, but instead had them grouped by topic and within groupings in alphabetical order.

“How very precise,” you said, running your fingers along the book spines as you made your way to your desk.

“Whoops,” you said, pulling out a book you knew wasn't yours and letting it fall to the floor.

Was it petty? Sure. Was it therapeutic?Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Nice. Mature,” a voice said behind you, and for the second time in 12 hours, you jumped at the sound of Spencer Reid's voice.

“Jesus Christ, you need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what, walking into my own office?” He said, leaning against the new bookshelves.

“Our office. Shared. For three months.”

“Oh so you do remember we have to coexist?” He asked, grinning down at you. When did he get so close that he had to look down at you?

“Trust me, your presence is…felt,” you said, gesturing around the cramped space.

“What classes are you teaching?” You sighed, pushing past him to the open door and sitting down at the sofa.

“Profiling and the Criminal Psyche and I'm guest lecturing in Criminology 101. I have a few special lectures on geographical profiles in the next month.”

“And office hours?”

“What?”

“Your office hours, you're going to need to post them soon. Mine are Mondays and Thursdays at 11am, you'll need to be out of the office then so I can consult with the students about any absences or grades. If you haven't decided on your hours yet, my schedule is taped in the first draw of my desk.”

You grabbed your jacket from the hook on the door and pulled it over you like a blanket, laying yourself down on the sofa.

“Why would I need your-”

“Do us both a favour and schedule your hours during my contracted teaching time. It'll be easier.”

“Then why don't you schedule yourself during mine?”

You scoffed as you pulled a couch cushion up to rest your head on, closing your eyes as you drowned him out.

“Gee, you're some kind of genius. Can't you figure that one out yourself?”

You heard his sight of frustration but plugged in your headphones anyway, enjoying your 20-minute power nap as you stubbornly refused to face the day's stress.

A week later, you were deep into a College Cold War.

Spencer had attempted what you'd thought was a truce on his second day, arranging the pile of books you needed for that week's seminars on his desk happily.

Until you went to grab the top of the stack, and his hand held yours down on top of it.

“Sorry, that's for my class,” he said, glancing up at you. He smiled as he noticed the irritation in your eyes as you ground your teeth together.

“I'm teaching a class today based on this text. It was an assigned reading-”

“What a coincidence. It's an assigned reading in my class as well. For all 46 students. You better run over to the library, Y/N.”

You dragged your hand out from under his, brushing off the heat that ran up your arm from his hand as disgust rather than attraction.

His existence was irritating, but his face and body were more distracting than anything.

Storming off, you knew you had to one up him somehow, but you wanted to put some thought into it before doing something impulsive. Your first thought had been slashing his tires, so some perspective was definitely needed.

A week passed, and you found yourself having to endure the man's company on a Friday night for a departmental welcome meal. You'd assumed a week ago when it was scheduled into your outlook calendar that it would be to celebrate your promotion, and now the egg was most definitely on your face.

You'd debated not even turning up, but a warning email had let you know that attendance was compulsory, and the dress code was semi-formal.

So, you begrudgingly forced yourself into the little black dress you'd purchased a lifetime ago for your first graduation and got yourself a taxi over to whatever ridiculously expensive restaurant you have to fast at this time.

“Y/N, you’re here. We weren't sure you'd show up, after… you know!” One of the older professors said as you walked in, pressing an air kiss to either cheek as she handed you a champagne flute.

“Well, attendance was compulsory, so here I am!” You wanted to wipe the pompous smile off the woman's face so badly, but unfortunately, she was a member of the hiring committee. Three more months of sucking up to her was in your future, courtesy of a shitty move by the FBI.

“You say that, but our guest of honor isn't even here yet. Typical, right?”

You downed the drink she gave you and excused yourself to take your seat at the dinner table, needing a place to rest your glass to save yourself from cracking it in your furious grip.

It took another hour for Spencer Reid to show his face, and to your glee, he looked genuinely uncomfortable at the prospect of the night ahead.

“Sorry, I was unpacking some stuff at my apartment.”

“Oh, did you move recently?” A curious voice trailed up the table to ask him as he awkwardly side stepped to his seat. Right beside you, obviously.

“No, just… I had some stuff packed up.”

He held his tongue, not revealing more as the table fell in an awkward silence.

You dragged another glass to your lips and sat back in your chair, doing your best to stay unaddressed as the appetizers finally came out.

“Does the department have dinners often?” Spencer whispered, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he leaned closer to you.

The hot feeling washed over you again as you turned towards him, immediately pulling back and putting some distance between the two of you.

“No. Usually, it is only when welcoming guest lecturers or when someone gains tenure.”

“So who got tenure?”

You scoffed. “Funny. Thanks, Spencer.”

“What?”

You looked back at him again, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“This meal is to introduce you. Everyone else here has tenure.”

“You don't.”

“Yes, well, there wasn't exactly room in the budget for the hotshot FBI profiler and a steady income for another Professor.” You slammed your glass down again and picked up your bag and things, hoping the table hadn't heard your conversation.

“Please excuse me.” You said smiling at the rest of the table. Some of the women sent you sympathetic glances, but the department dinosaurs simply continued their conversations. You'd think a department of psychologists would be able to figure out they were all absolute narcissists.

You carefully exited the group and took yourself outside for some much needed air.

“Y/N.” He shouted from behind you again, and you had to be honest, you were sick of him following and sneaking up on you.

“God, what now, Spencer? Go back inside and get celebrated or whatever. They probably can't start the self-congratulatory circle jerk without you anyway.”

“I came to apologize. Again. But you don't seem to be able to handle the words ‘I'm sorry,’ at all, do you?”

He looked exasperated, but however he was feeling, you felt worse.

“Look, Spencer. I probably have nothing against you personally. But I've just been conned into another three months of probationary minimum wage because your boss at the Bureau decided he wanted rid of you for a month or two. Some of us didn't get child genius scholarships for multiple PhDs and aren't receiving two paychecks right now.”

“If money is an issue, Y/N, you know I could-”

“No. No, stop butting into my personal problems. We can be civil, but we're not… we're not friends, Spencer.”

You stepped back and let out another sigh as you forced the words to stand between you.

“Okay. I'll stay out of your way.”

“Great. Looking forward to it.”

“Sure. Me too.”

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 17

Prompt: Threesome/Moresome Pairing: OT8 SKZ x fem!reader WC: 4.4k Summary: Maybe after this the term “comeback” takes on a new meaning.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: Gangbang, lots of cum, light bondage, reader goes nonverbal, all consenting, traffic light system and boundaries discussed, anal, piv, oral (male receiving), titfucking, multiple partners, dirty talk, multiple pet names, cumming prematurely(?), some aftercare/during care. 

 Eight pairs of hands. Eight types of touch to match their eight personalities. Sudden squeezes, languid strokes, hesitant brushes, deep pushes, light tugs, gentle pats, intermittent shy caresses, persistent strong grasps. It was Chan’s idea that you’d heartily agreed to.  “The boys have been seeming sort of down lately,” you’d mentioned over the thundering rush of dishwater. “Should I make a cake or something?”  Nose pressed to the side of your head Chan inhales deeply, squeezing the fronts your thighs. The scent of your scalp and the squish of your quads soothing his anxious mind. “We’ve been working hard. I think it’ll turn out well.”  “So…cake? Can you all eat it? I could make a carrot cake or modify-”  Chan grabs a handful of ass, not one to miss the opportunity for a bad pun. “Wouldn’t mind sharing some of this cake. I’m sure we could all enjoy it.”  “You think?”  “Baby, the reason the boys are always excited to see you…”  “It’s not the novelty of Betty Crocker Funfetti?” Chan giggles, grabbing a handful of bum as he grinds against you, an obvious lump forming in his sweatpants. “We could make you into Funfetti.”  “How do the boys feel about pie,” you ask coyly, pushing your hips back to greet him.

 That was how this whole idea started. And now you were tied to a bench, trussed up like a pretty present, holes exposed and ready. Blindfolded.

 It’s easy to sink into the sensation of each of their hands, unique in their own right. You can only really for sure name Chan’s, calloused and firm.  “...and we can do anything?” Jeongin’s voice twangs, tense at the thought. “She really will let us do anything?”  You’re only half listening, indulging in the peace of mind numbing stimulation. Moaning and nodding as your chin wrests on the bench you’re strapped over.  “She knows how to say no. Color system, if she’s unable to speak, two pinches is slow, three is stop everything.”  A chorus of tenor and baritone voices murmur in agreement. Your stomach tingles, chills passing the inches of exposed skin. You’re so ready. You’re beyond ready.

 There’s almost a ghost of a touch, floating down your side as the room shifts.  “We’re going to pass you around like the cheap whore you were born to be.” A deep bassy voice purrs in your ear, Felix. Your back arches exposing more of your holes like a cat in heat. “You like that? You like the sound of my voice, pretty? Does that turn you on? We’re all watching you.”  “Mhm,” you bite your lips and you wiggle against your confinements.  “Want me to tell you everything we’re gonna do to you? Dirty slut. First we’re all gonna give this cute little cunt a try,” you feel him slide his fingers along your slit, staying shallow enough to tease your entrance before catching the rim of your jeweled plug weighing heavily in your hole. “Chris did say we can use you however we want.” Felix muses as he pushes the end closer to your rim, jostling it just enough to earn a whine.  “Hurry the fuck up,” another voice chimes in, two fingers roughly ramming into your wet hole. Seungmin. Impatiently pressing his tip against the cleft of your ass as he fingers you open. “She’s ready, I’m ready. Keep doing your perv asmr thing but I’m fucking her.”

 With that Seungmin pushes into you, sighing with relief. Your spine curls as much as you can, spread over the bench as you are, fingers scrambling in the air.  “Oh fuck!” Seungmins hands wander over the small of your back, pushing weight down on you as his hips rock back and forth. “You have to try this pussy, god damn. Now i see why the old man is so fucking whipped.” He groans again as he pulls all the way out until only the very tip of his shaft is still sheathed. Glistening with your arousal he uses his thumbs to spread your slit wide, watching your walls stretch to accommodate him.  “Minnie’s right, you’re taking him so well. In fact, you’re going to take all eight of us aren’t you?” Felix purrs. “Now, be a doll and open your mouth for me.”  You drop your jaw, tongue lolling out, blindly accepting whatever Felix was going to give you.  Before Seungmin can build any speed and before Felix has his way with your mouth you hear a commotion at your rear. Then Seunmgin being pulled from you, leaving you jaw agape and whining from the loss of fullness.

 “Asshole, before you fuck her up we all gotta try.” Sharp words with crisp plosives cut through the confusion. Suddenly a thicker intrusion bullies its way between your walls. “Tremendous ass princess,” a hearty smack of a rough hand comes down on your ass cheek. You’re barely breathing with the thick length shoved snugly inside of you, the force of the spank has every muscle flexing to hold you together.  You moan.  Two hands grab each lobe, molding them like putty in his strong grip. Changbin. “Can’t wait to run you through.”  You’d always wondered about the rapper, most closely your type following your own boyfriend. How did his dual persona fit into his bedroom manner, how alike would he be to Chan, was it true what they said about rappers and their tongues? As suddenly as he’d entered you feel the protested drag of your walls, eager to keep him as he exits.  A thinly voiced dragged out “no” escapes your lips.  “Bok-ah, you want next?” Changbin offers, patting your ass.  You’d almost forgot Felix was there.  “I’m okay with just these pretty lips up here,” he says as he thumbs over your lower lip. Dropping your jaw again you remember he’d wanted this to begin with, before the other boys had started tag teaming your cunt.  “I’m okay too,” IN chimes in, “I can wait my turn.” He lowers his voice almost imperceptibly, just enough to sound like a cool mature guy. You could just imagine him standing a bit farther back, eyes transfixed on your glistening lips as they stretched for each of his members.  “Yeah you’re the only impatient one, meathead.” Minho. Of course Minho. His hips roll easily against you, just a taste of what’s to come. His hand runs over your ass, over the other entrance. “Got any toys for her?” He addresses the room, talking as though you couldn’t reply.

 Felix, you assume, finally taps the tip of his length against your tongue. Much to your delight he’s slightly sweeter than you’d assume as you lick against him. Chan’s reply to Minho is inaudible as Felix purrs. “You like that? Been drinking nothing but pineapple juice for you. Chris told me you’d like that.”

 Taking him fully in your mouth you bob enthusiastically focusing fully on him as two more strange new cocks slide into you all too briefly before Seungmin settles back over you, fucking you with a steady and uncomplicated rhythm. Felix is veiny, fun to explore as you run the length of him. He easily guides you the full way down, your nose pressing into his pubic bone as spit runs down your face. “Hey Chris, can we take off the blindfold?”  “Sure man, whatever you want.”  The blindfold flips up to your forehead. Luckily the lights are low enough so your eyes don’t have to adjust much. “Focus on my face sweetheart. Just want to see your pretty teary fucked out face while we ruin you.” Felix smiles as he feeds you his cock all the way to the base once more, watching you splutter and fight back your gag reflex. The tight ring of your throat squeezing him as he grinds into the wet warmth. You battle valiantly to keep your eyes looking up at him as they threaten to flutter shut, tears streaking your cheeks.  Not a second too soon he eases up, beaming down at you, thumbs wiping at your stained face. “Such a good girl for us. Chris is gonna be so proud of you.”  You smile for a second, spit burbling from your lips, before you feel Seungmins hands at your mid back, pushing you into a deeper arch. From one strong stroke you can tell he’s found it, face opening into a groan. “Do that shit again ‘Lix. I wanna see her struggle.”  “You heard the man, you ready?” He watches as you gulp and take a deep breath which is almost immediately punched out of you by Seungmin slamming his hips against you. Your fingers grip the legs of the bench as you are pressed between their bodies as deep as they can go on either end. Groaning around Felix and clasping down on Seungmin the noise in your brain crescendos and violently mutes into a peaceful fuzzy static.  Seungmin laughs as you twitch and spasm.  “Holy fuck, I can’t-” Felix struggles to keep his hips steady, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  “I’m gonna too-” You can hear the gritting of Seungmins teeth as he speaks.  “Be good and take it all okay, take all I’ve got-” Felix mutters, spilling down the back of your throat. You gag, tears and spit and snot running everywhere as he pulls back from you, still weakly spurting on his thighs.  Barely able to breathe as Seungmin chases his high you mumble his nickname over and over. “Minnie, oh-fucking- ah-” Felix’s hand keeps your head from scraping against the bench as you become boneless, eyelids fluttering shut. Seungmin pulls from you just as you reach your high, whining and writhing in the agony of denial. Hot cum splashes across your ass slowly dripping down your thighs.

 “How’s our girl doing,” a soft melodic voice asks. “What your color darling?”  “Green,” you pant, vision still swimming. “Green green green green.”  He laughs. Hyunjin’s giggle. Good.  Slim and strong, there is always something languid about his movements. His finger tip traces your spine gently. “A beautiful sculpture should be appreciated,” he says slowly. It sends shivers running after his hands. Descending to the curve of your ass he spreads you wider, licking into your puffy oversensitive parts. Tongue lapping at you as you squeal the wet lewd sounds fill the air.  “Fuck, Hyunnie!” You practically rock the bench as you writhe. His tongue ventures to your other hole, teasing the tight bundle until you cry out. All of your fingers and toes curl and twitch as your walls clench around nothing. “Fuck me please,” you beg, voice wrecked with sobs. You’re surprised at your quick rebound but the promise of the lithe dancer is almost too much to bear.  Hyunjin’s lips graze your shoulder blade as he bottoms out in you with a shudder of effort, nearly knocking the bench forward in his attempt to get as much of himself inside of you as possible. Churning in your stomach you feel full again, fuller even. You nearly cum again, world whiting out in front of your eyes.  “That’s right pretty, all for you.” You wish you could see, could watch the man fuck into you more than anything in the world. He feels larger than you’d have ever expected from his slight frame.  Draped over you, the squelching of your two sweaty bodies pervades your mind as he humps quickly and shallowly. Chasing his high more than anything, each thrust punches you in the gut. The sounds that come from your mouth are unladylike wheezes that catch in your throat and turn into grunts. Two long fingers fill your mouth, sticky and salty from the mix of bodily fluids. Hyunjin cums mercifully quickly, spilling inside of you.  “I wanna see the other guys fuck it deeper,” he whispers, sweat dripping from his nose to your cheek. The thought gives you goosebumps.  Strong arms wrap around your back, caging over you as he undoes your buckled down arms to lift you from your post. Your toes barely sweep the floor before he has you on the nearby mattress. Changbin, stronger than your Channie, surprises you with his gentleness. For all the hurrying and jeering he’d done to the other guys, he’s suddenly soft with you.  “Hey,” he smiles all too familiarly, in a way that makes your gut stir. “Tired yet, princess? Told ya we’d run you through.”  You make grabby hands up at him, whining as you try to pull him closer.  “She usually non-verbal?” Changbin actually sounds a little concerned as he turns his head to ask your boyfriend. “Or should we- are you still good? Still green princess?”  You nod.  “If she says go, go.”  Changbin doesn’t waste another second, pushing into you aided by Hyunjin’s cum. The stretch despite the other members best efforts still forces a guttural groan from your lungs. He’s not as long as the others but the change of angle and thickness makes up for it in the best way. You can feel him bullying the plug on the other side of your walls in a way no one else has managed to do. He nuzzles into your neck as he starts fucking into you, only grunts coming from his normally busy mouth. Zoned into the singular thought of filling you.  With your hands finally free you’re able to explore his back as you scramble to hold yourself together. Your fingernails leave little crescents in the otherwise steel frame. Sturdy and unshakable as you tremor below him.  “Bin- I’m- ah-” you start to warn him of your swiftly approaching climax but he’s two steps ahead as your cunt clenches down. Arms wrapping beneath your thighs he pushes your hips just a little bit higher up. You see stars. It’s like he’s fully in your guts as he maintains his pace, fucking right into that spongy spot of yours. Mouth agape you can feel yourself wanting to make noise but your head is so full you can’t tell if its actually happening or not. All of your muscles contract at once as you climax.  “Holy shit did she-” the next thing you hear is a murmur from Jeongin. Release drips down Changbin’s pelvis as you both pant.  “Oh yeah, that’s our princess,” Changbin smiles like a champion as he slides from you, spent. Both of you are soaked in your cum, his cum, and Hyunjins cum. Grabbing the box of baby wipes he starts to clean himself off before he sees Chan start to clean your thighs. You barely notice he’s waddled off and back until you are being propped up between his thighs, a straw passing between your lips. “Drink for a good job.”

 The click of a cap is like fingers snapping, awakening you from your fucked foggy state. You look up and back to see Minho’s upsidedown bemused smirk as he watches the meatheads treat you like the sentient communal fuck doll that needs a tune up. Slowly he strokes himself, appraising you.

 “Jiji, care to join? I think this one has room for two.”  “Huh? Y-yeah,” you hear the taut voice of Han on the opposite side of the room.  “Hey, big boy, move.” Minho is less gentle with him, sliding behind you to take his place behind you, holding you between his thighs as Changbin had. His hands spread you wide open to the room, fingers grazing over the plug still nestled between your cheeks. The nearly icy drip of lube tickles your other hole, sliding around the stem of the plug. A deep breath in helps relax and allow the applier to slowly fuck the metal in and out..  Minho chuckles and smacks your thigh, your hole clenching down suddenly. “Are you tired? Huh? Too many cocks? Be thankful there’s only eight of us.” Thumb positioned on the end of the jeweled plug he slowly teases, swirling in languid circles as you writhe. Each nudge has your stomach tensing, desire growing within you.  Han Jisung is standing in front of you as you look dazed up at him. Blood rushes to his cock so fast he swears he might pass out from the loss to his brain. He watches as Minho finally fully tugs the plug from your fluttering hole and lifts you, slowly spearing you on his cock. Your chest heaves as you slide, mouth open and panting. Minho’s fingers fill your cunt, the sloppy sound of several fluids mixing reverberates in his skull.  “You going to stand there or fuck her?” Minho casually nods down to his fingers. “There’s room. Right, doll?”  You nod mutely, wriggling your ass on him.  Han dives head first into your cunt, eagerly pushing his tongue deep inside of you, lapping at Minho’s soaked fingers. Your legs threaten to snap shut on his head as your oversensitive pussy sends waves of bliss through your body. Minho keeps you locked open as he rocks himself slowly against your ass just barely moving his cock inside of you. It isn’t like he has to do much with Han’s tongue flicking so desperately at your slit.  Groaning, you’re unsure of whose name to call out. Minho or Han?  “Going to cum again? Thought you might be too worn out.”  “H-ha,” you half laugh and moan. You want to boast and brag but the hubris is fucked far from you. Back arching, your hole clenches down on him. You’re so very very close. His hands migrate to your tits, grabbing them, letting the space between his fingers lightly pinch your soft skin. They’d been so neglected and needy that the sudden attention pushes you over the edge, cumming hard on Han’s tongue. He continues to lap at you through it, not stopping until Minho tugs at his hair.  “Jiji, where do you wanna cum, I’m close.” Minho grunts. Sweat travels down his brow.  Han makes a quick appraisal of you, “wannafuckhertits.”  You’re tossed like a ragdoll to the mattress again, Minho easily positioning you on your back with your legs slung around his hips. Han straddles your chest, thighs are warm on your ribcage. His cock is practically drooling precum as he slides it between your mounds, quickly slicking up with your sweat. Squishing the sides together his eyes lock where the head of his cock pops out and disappears. Your tits are so hot around him as his precum slicks the valley between.  “Open,” he commands breathily, waiting for your lips to part. The second they do he drags the pad of his thumb over the wet inner side, pulling them open more. Your tongue naturally hangs out loosely, eyes glazed over. You’ve long given up any pretense of modesty. Of pretending this wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for. His hand goes to the back of your skull to support your head as you crane forward to attempt to kiss his member. Grunting and straining you’re both working so hard for it as Minho pounds away and jostles you just enough to increase the difficulty.  You feel Minho climax, warmth spreading inside of you. He barely misses a beat as his leg clenches, sinking deeply into you, holding your legs aloft. Your eyelids flutter and toes curl. It feels good to be this full. Feels good to be this filthy. You stretch your tongue just the bit longer and feel contact, hot and salty. Ropes of hot cum jet across your chest and chin and lips as Han’s breath hitches. He freezes and gasps, staring as his cock continues to dribble onto your clavicle.  “Shit I-”  “Ssfine -s’good.”  He stares at his handy work.  “Clean it.” Minho says from behind his back. “Clean your mess.”  Han moves quickly without questioning him, licking across all the streams that he’d shot only looking up, ostensibly to Chan to check if he could clean your lips. The only one to dare to do so, tentatively licking your bottom lip before fully taking it between his lips. Not fully locking into a kiss, not quite.  Your stomach churns as you return to emptiness, only your boyfriend and the youngest left. The others preoccupying themselves with clean up and their own after care.  “How do you want ‘er?” Chan lifts your torso up off the bed and into his arms again, plying you with water. A quick kiss to the cheek asuages any fear that he wasn’t also enjoying himself. “C’mon maknae. Top? Side? Back? She’s got just enough left in her. Don’t you, my sweet thing?”  You nod, “how do you want me?”  It’s only a moment of consideration longer as his eyes linger on your pussy, red and raw. Jeongin’s sweet smile looks all the more sinful as he nears. He slides you into his arms with a surprising ease. A look of shock flashes across your face as he lifts you on to his cock, still standing. Chan had fucked you standing occasionally, but you hadn’t expected this of Innie. Your sweet Innie. Squealing as you let gravity bounce you off his hips, driving him deeper and deeper, clit aching as the blunt pressure hits each time. You’re practically grappled to him, arms locked over his shoulders and ankles crossed behind his back.  Curses spill from your mouth like a prayer. Everything burns bright as you hurtle towards your climax. The thrumbing of your pulse rings in your head and your breath catches. But Jeongin falters slightly, his own breath catching suddenly as well, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. His cock slips between your bodies as he fumbles a few thrusts. A sudden spurt of warmth hits your thigh and stomach. Jeongin is swearing.  “You didn’t- I’m sorry I-”  You blink at him bemused.  He sighs into your shoulder, “I came already.”  “Oh? Oh don’t worry about it I-”  “I wanted to make you cum.”

 The puff of air from your short giggle tickles his throat. Your lips are warm where they kiss his cheek. “You’re so cute.”  As your arms start to burn you’re ripped from Jeongin’s arms and tossed unceremoniously to the bed again. A strong grip wraps around your ankle and tugs your ass to the edge of the mattress. This was how you’d assumed Changbin would be. Instead you see Chan’s wide grin looking over you.  “You look so fucking hot babe.” He praises you as he pushes his cock into your ass, watching your eyes roll back into your skull. “Love it when you’re fucked out like this. When all you can do is take cock.”  You shudder. Tired and overwhelmed and needy under him. Sticky. He feels…good. Its the only word your tired mind can center on. You feel good.  “Innie- you wanna make her cum right?” Chan asks over his shoulder. “Grab that er…big white thing with the blue buttons and c’mere.” Momentarily he leans forward to kiss you, letting his hips gently rock into you. You whimper. He nuzzles you. “Doing alright, sweet thing?”  You nod into his shoulder. “Tired.”  “Don’t worry, princess, I’ll do everything,” Chan pushes the sticky strands of hair back from your face and turns to his group mate. Jeongin barely weighs the bed down as he crawls to your side. “She’ll cum quick so make sure that fucker is set low okay? She’s had a long night already.” Jeongin nods. The toy whirrs to life and he starts to lower it. “Check it on yourself first, bro.” Chan knocks the toy back. “Inside of your wrist.”  You hear a few clicks. Chan locks eyes with you, he looks like a god between your legs. He carefully stretches one to kiss your calf. His cock stirs your insides, thick bastard. You moan and close your eyes. You trust him.  Jeongin carefully places the toy over your mound, your back arching away from the bed. Chan instructed him well.  “Talk her through it.”  “Huh?”  “She likes it when you talk to her, she won’t talk back but she’ll sound really pretty.”  You gasp and whine. He’s right.  Jeongin’s voice is smooth above the buzz of the toy, talking just under his breath enough for only the three of you to hear. “Our prettiest girl did so well for us. Making all your boyfriend’s friends cum. You really are made for taking cock, no wonder Channie hyung keeps you all locked up. Just imagine the trouble we’d get in if he let you into the practice room.”  Another gasp. You can see it, you’re there with him and with Chan at the same time.  “Couch broken. Mirror streaked with sweat and cum. We’d ruin it. But you’d like that. Show everyone who’s girl you are. Right? You’re our princess.”  Your legs are shaking as you nod. Chest tightening again your gut coils in anticipation.  “Can our princess cum again? Please?”  Your legs tremble in answer, hand reaching out to wrap around Jeongin’s bicep. He can see the tension in your neck as your muscles clench all the way to the top of your skull. You’re so so so painfully nearly there.  “Tight lil’ hole ‘s likea vice-” Chan manages to slur. “Ah, fuck, baby-” his voice crackles as he sucks in air through his clenched teeth,”-cum with me darling. Be a good girl.”  Everything happens in a flash, your breath hitching, head thrown back. A magnificent groan spills from your gaping mouth, almost loud enough to rattle the vibrator back. Chan slows as your hips stutter and kick, his warmth spreading inside you as your walls milk him. Jeongin stares wide eyed, vibrator dropping off to your side, as he watches you flood his friend’s pelvis and thighs. His own stomach caves as weak spurts of ejaculate dribble down to the bed.  Chan pulls from you and bundles you into a little ball on your side. Kissing your arms and legs as he instructs the rest of the boys in their clean up duties. You’d done enough, you didn’t need to worry about this, you never needed to worry about this part of the night. Chan made sure of that. Your tired limbs are lifted to a warm tub, eyes too weary to open. Many trusted hands hold you as they carefully wash the filth from you. Their touches are less distinct now as you lean into them. All warm, all sure, all caring. One or many, you couldn’t tell. Your boys, all of them.

ngl i blacked out and wrote this. i have not re-read. i’m sorry if its not coherent.

[ellecdc]

pls tell me u will write a part 2 for not alone?🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

took me a while to get this to feel cohesive (also couldn't decide for the longest time what I wanted the outcome to be for a few people so that took a while to figure out) and I'm still not 100% sure it reads cohesively but I hope you all like it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who they are 'worried' about...whatever that means [2.2k words]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

CW: hostage situation, attempted overtaking of camp, brief and hardly noticeable implied suggestion of SA, death of minor and unnamed character, blood, injury, Sirius being an arrogant son of a bitch even when his life is at risk

You have quickly come to realise why the boys chose this location to set up camp since agreeing to stay with them.

It was in a rural, secluded area with a small population prior to the End Of The World As You Knew It which left it almost next to empty now, but it was still in walking distance of a small town with various shops that they could pilfer when they began running low on supplies.

There was a creek about half a kilometre behind the barn that they could use to collect drinking water and also to bathe and wash their clothes.

And need to bathe and wash your clothes did you ever. 

So, whilst “keeping an eye on the encampment” (which was really just a polite translation of none of the boys trusting you enough with their safety to bring you along on a run into town), you opted to head down to the creek to clean up. 

The water was freezing, but you breathed through the pain in your toes and fingers as you waded into the water, reminding yourself that feeling pain meant you were alive - that you were still here. 

You used to fear pain - before - but now you almost craved it; now you found comfort in the discomfort, knowing that it meant you had survived another day. 

Soon enough your body acclimated to the cool, running water and you submerged yourself into the deepest part to let the steady flow wash away the layers of grime, dirt, and sweat that you were likely covered in. 

There was a time in your life you probably would have felt rather horrified that three very attractive men had seen you in such a state - but it seemed that there was no room for vanity or ego in an apocalypse.

Once you were cold enough that you were sure you had squiggle lines surrounding your being like an old cartoon character, you used a rock to scrub at your clothes, feeling (though cold) quite peaceful as you listened to the trickling water and various birds singing around you. 

You laid your soaked clothes on a boulder in the sun to dry and pulled on a second set of clothes - or rather, your only other set of clothes. You wondered for a moment if you should have more - how many sets of clothes should one have in an apocalypse? You couldn’t bear the thought of having to carry around a third change of clothes, so came to the conclusion that you were fine with just the two.

You were interrupted in your musings when you heard your name being shouted. 

“James?” You called back, hastily finishing tying your shoes before grabbing your gun. 

But it was Sirius you saw first, sprinting through the bushes and staring at you with a mixture of dread and outrage. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked him as he stalked towards you. 

“Where the fuck were you?!” He barked instead of answering, looking like he was just itching to grab you roughly by your shoulders.

“I- what? I was here? What happened? Is everything okay?” You continued, not moving your eyes from the fuming man in front of you as you heard James and Remus step through the bushes Sirius had just come bursting through. 

“No, everything is not okay; the fuck were you thinking just taking off and not saying anything!?” He berated you.

“Pads.” Remus warned carefully; slightly breathless from chasing the long-haired man over to you. 

“You’re a fucking piece of work.” Sirius spat with finality before turning and shouldering his way past Remus and James, disappearing through the bushes on his way towards the barn.

“Was the trip not successful?” You asked quietly once you could no longer hear Sirius storming away. 

“No… it was.” James offered cautiously. 

“He was just… worried about you, dove.” Remus placated.

You shot him an unimpressed glare. “He was worried about me, not about me.” You muttered back, shoving your gun back into your bag and running your fingers through your wet hair that was leaving damp patches on your shirt. “If you guys don’t want me here, just say so, but if you’re going to keep me around you’re going to have to start trusting me.”

“We do trust you.” James argued, causing you to scoff derisively as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Not enough to join anyone on excursions! And not enough to take a night-watch shift alone; but sure, add taking a fucking bath to the list of things you definitely trust me to do.”

You didn’t wait for a response before you were stalking back to the barn, leaving your clothes behind to dry for the rest of the afternoon. 

You were just about to push through the slightly open door (none too gently, either, mind you) when you heard Sirius’ voice.

“There’s no one else; I’m alone.” 

Ice cold dread seeped into your bones as you held your breath in wait for a response.

“Are ya now?” A cocky voice taunted. “This seems like quite the setup for one bloke.”

You crept along the edge of the barn until you found a hole you could peek through.

Sirius was kneeling with his hands up in surrender whilst three men stood before him - one man loomed over him and the other two formed a blockade between him and the barn door as well as the stairs to the loft. 

“What can I say?” Sirius countered. “I’m quite the bloke.”

The man currently interrogating Sirius was apparently not interested in his haughty quips and slammed the butt of his rifle into Sirius’ jaw, causing him to fall over.

You quickly looked over your shoulder, ears straining to see if you could hear Remus or James following you back, and you prayed to a God that you weren’t even sure you believed in anymore that they had decided to stay at the creek to give the two of you a chance to cool down. 

You crept back along the side of the building slowly before pulling yourself up the ladder to the hay hood that Remus had put up as an emergency exit. 

You could kiss that brilliant, brilliant man right on the mouth for it now. 

You crouched low and snuck over to look beyond the edge of the loft; the man with the rifle was the only one with a firearm from what you could see, the other two men holding only a crowbar and machete. 

You silently opened your rucksack, pulled your gun out and put a knife between your teeth as you edged closer to the beams so you were effectively standing directly atop of the man currently looming over top of Sirius.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, where the fuck are the others?” He spat at him.

“We heard the lot of you arguing - we could just finish you off and go looking for them, if that’s what you prefer.” One of the cronies added tauntingly.

“You’d be looking for an awful long time.” Sirius grunted as he spat blood out from his mouth. “Seeing as I’m alone.” 

“Stop fucking lying.” The interrogator barked as he landed a kick to Sirius’ ribs. “Pretentious or not, one bloke doesn’t need four sleeping bags.” 

“How do you know I, hmph,  didn’t find it like this?” Sirius choked out as he rolled onto his back where he spotted you in the rafters. 

You brought your finger to your lips, and Sirius let his head roll back towards the guy so as to not alert him to your presence. 

You watched as one of the guys - the one with the machete - started poking around the makeshift kitchen area, and the other moved towards the door to keep watch.

Taking the split attention of the group to your advantage, you waited for Sirius to look back up at you before you jumped from the rafters.

Sirius rolled out of the way just before you landed on the interrogator, the two of you crashing to the ground - though you were the only one prepared for the impact - causing the rifle to slip out of his grasp which you kicked towards Sirius. 

You slipped the knife from between your teeth and held it against the interrogators throat and pointed your gun at the machete wielding man, firing a shot which hit him in the right shoulder. 

The man with the crowbar who had been stationed near the door made for you when Sirius shot the rifle, the bullet grazing the man's thigh and bringing him to his knees. 

Your ears rang when an elbow met your temple right before a fist connected with your mouth as the interrogator forced you off of him. 

“Is this why you were lying?” The man spat as he stood above you. “Trying to keep this thing all to yourse-”

Sirius shot the rifle again, silencing the interrogator for good as he fell to the ground with a thud. 

Apparently, the machete wielding man didn’t deign to wait around and see how things played out after you’d shot him in the shoulder and had fucked back off from whence he came, so you and Sirius pointed your firearms at the last man still standing (or… you know, breathing at least) who seemed to have the sense to raise his hands in surrender. 

Remus and James appeared at the barn door, then - both winded from clearly having run at the sound of shots being fired - to find the two of you holding the remaining captor captive.

“Nice of you to come by, boys.” Sirius joked as he lowered the rifle with a pained groan now that Remus and James each had a weapon pointed at the attempted usurper. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Remus barked as he took in the body on the ground and the state of each of you at the same time James murmured “we thought you were firing at each other”. 

“Oh, take a wild guess.” Sirius muttered bitterly, hissing in pain as he lowered himself into a chair. 

“How many were you?” Remus barked at the man, sounding so unlike himself that it actually made you flinch.

“Fo-four, four of us and a 12 year-old. Us…three and then a woman and the child stayed back.” He responded quickly. 

“From around here?” James continued.

“No…passing through.”

Remus looked up from him to share a look with Sirius; a well practiced silent conversation passing between the two of them.

“Keep fucking moving then.” Remus gruffed as he grabbed the bloke by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the door.

Your - for all intents and purposes - home fell eerily silent then, save the sound of your attempted assailant’s leg dragging along the gravel road as he stumbled away from the barn.

“You alright?” Remus asked finally as he let out a breath.

“Fine, moons. Never better.” Sirius muttered.

You were too busy watching the blood pooling around the interrogators body to realise your companions were waiting for your response. 

You looked up at the lingering silence to see all of their eyes on you.

“M’fine.” You offered.

James hummed in acknowledgement, though you could sense disbelief in his tone. “Rem and I will get rid of him, okay? Please try not to get into any more altercations whilst we’re gone?” He tried to joke, but there was a lingering anxiety in his voice as he and Remus began wrapping the body up in a blue tarp.

“Do not go to sleep until we’re back; either of you.” Remus added before muttering something under his breath about concussions and how someone not concussed ought to be on watch in case they come back, except “they” was replaced with “those” and then some Welsh word that you were sure was simply very unflattering. 

Once they had left, you and Sirius sat in silence as you both grappled with what had just happened, and alternatively, what had just almost happened. 

You weren’t sure what you might have looked like - though the metallic taste of your teeth let you know that you at the very least had a busted lip - but Sirius’ jaw where the rifle had hit him was already turning a purple colour, his chin was scraped and bleeding from hitting the concrete flooring, and he had a protective hand placed over the ribs that were kicked. 

You wordlessly placed a bowl of water in front of Sirius before moving to your seat with your own bowl to clean the blood from your persons.

You could feel his eyes trained on you as you wiped away blood that was staining your face; likely equal parts your own and someone else's. 

“Don’t go down to the river alone… please.” You heard him say quietly suddenly, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let your two arms fall from their tasks. 

“Are you still on this? Haven’t I proven my trustworthiness yet? Honestly, I-”

“It’s not safe.” Sirius interrupted; a strange look crossing his face as his brows furrowed at you. “It’s not safe.” He repeated, quieter this time. 

He stood abruptly then; abandoning his bowl of water and grabbing a pack of cigarettes before disappearing around the side of the barn for a smoke. 

Oh.

So apparently he had been worried about you, not about you.

And though you really wanted to feel embarrassed that they had picked anything like that out for you, you also couldn’t help but notice that a new jumper, trousers, and some knickers had been folded and placed on your sleeping bag for you.

[chlorinecake]

The Jealous Type | P. JS

contains rich boy jay x female reader, heavily gossip girl coded, kissing, jealousy, angst, cunnilingus (⚠︎)

Jay has a temper, which meant you’d have to hold a movie-star smile whenever he stormed out of business meetings upon flipping a few chairs…

Jay has a high sex drive, and you still haven’t quite mastered the art of making yourself look half-decent after a quickie in his office…

Jay has a reputation, and you’ve known since day one that dating the son of a multimillionaire in a city of bright lights with even brighter personalities meant one thing for you:

That you’d have to learn to look clean while playing dirty at all times.

Picture the backseat of a sleek Rolls Royce, tinted windows, chilled drinks, and roughly three minutes away from your final destination.

“I live a fast life, ____,” Jay began while sitting beside you, almost in a manner of warning as he relaxed into his seat.

“Great. Running sounds like fun,” you said, trying to display confidence before him.

“Every once in a while, maybe, but only if you can keep up…”

You let his words sink in, “Then I'll practice for you.”

He shook his head, “I'm afraid there's not much time left for that, love...”

“Well I've always believed in this thing called beginners luck.”

Your voice trailed off, heart prepared for another one of his defeated responses until he reached a hand in his side to grab something.

“Hold my wallet,” he said plainly, handing the leather rectangle to you.

“Jay, l—”

"Open it...” he pressed, taking your hand in his to force your reluctant fist open, “like it's yours.”

Taking heed to his words, you let out a breath, thumb and index finger tugging at the zipper to reveal a line of bills and his infamous black credit card.

“Jay, what’re you getting at here?”

“Don't look so impressed, it might come off as common,” he interrupted, watching your fingers pause at the leather opening.

You scoffed, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That we’re in a movie, ____,” he smiled, “Just act the role to win the part.”

Aww, how wise of him….

“Great, so you won't let me run with you but playing pretend is okay?”

His smile didn’t falter at your words, only morphing into a smolder as he peered closer to you.

“Now why would I ever make you run in these sexy five inch heels?”

Your eyes fell to his hand that caressed your thigh once again, “Because sometimes, beauty is pain...”

“Very true… but it doesn't have to be...,” his voice encouraged gently, “not yet... not tonight.”

You expressed agreement with a hum before speaking again, “So can you take your fancy wallet back now?”

“Keep it,” he answered almost immediately, “Let's see if beginner's luck will help you hold onto it…”

“I'd sew this wallet to my ribcage if I had to—”

The vehicle suddenly came to a stop, flashing lights barely visible through the tinted windows as the car doors unlocked in unison.

“This is your exit,” the chauffeur clarified with a strong European accent, Jay offering the driver a thankful wave and stepping out of the car.

He walked over to your side of the car and did the same, telling you to “watch your step” as your feet met the ground.

Jay was right about one thing…

There wasn’t much time for you to practice “running” now that you were just seconds from meeting his friends and family for the first time…

The event in question was Mr. Park’s annual dinner party, held at his newly renovated restaurant in The Palace Hotel.

As soon as you stepped through the automatic sliding doors, you were met with the sound of live classical music thrumming from the center stage.

It wasn’t long before you and Jay got to socializing, helping yourselves to a few hors d’oeuvres and swigs of sparkling champagne under the glass chandelier.

His parents apparently had to leave the event early due to an unexpected emergency, so gossipy topics surrounding his family were definitely on the table.

You made sure to stay beside Jay the entire night, not only to comfort him, but to protect yourself.

That’s when a certain woman who had her eyes stuck on you two since the night began made her way by with a seductive sway in her hips.

“Nice chain, handsome,” she started without hesitation, her unfamiliar face somehow telling of her familiar intentions:

Trouble and drama.

“Thank you, Jennifer,” Jay replied, jawline clenching slightly at her prior use of a nickname.

Saying that Jay looked annoyed right now would be an understatement.

This Jennifer person was obviously his ex, though she continued speaking as if you weren’t even there.

“Isn’t that the same one you used to let me wear?,” she asked, eyes falling to his collarbone where the chain necklace sat.

“No,” he answered, a feigned smile masking the bitterness in his heart, “I got rid of that one a long time ago…”

“Aww,” she pouted, poking her acrylic nail into his shoulder, “do you have any idea how sad that makes me feel?”

“Don't poke at my boyfriend like he's some kind of toy,” you defended, your sudden boldness startling her.

Her hand stop at his the hem of his sleeve, cold green eyes meeting yours with a glare strong enough to make your skill crawl.

Yep… you officially hated her.

“Please, darling... lighten up,” she chirped, “this is just how me and Jay like to play sometimes... isn't that right, handsome? Or do you need a reminder—”

“That'd be rather unnecessary, don't you think?,” Jay snapped at her, “Maybe even a little crass...”

“Well your new girl seems tough... a little story time wouldn't hurt her…”

“Too bad I'm feeling a bit talked-out for the evening,” you spoke against her shameless demeanor, “It was nice meeting you, Jennifer. Really...”

“You too,” she mouthed with a smile, too prideful to reply loud enough for you to hear.

Turning on a heel, you hooked your elbow with Jay's, leading him outside of the venue.

“____, I can explain,” Jay started, matching your walking pace as you circled to hotel parking lot.

You shook your head, “There's no need, Jay… Your ex is a bitch, I get it.”

“____...”

“Can we just go back home already?,” you proposed, just realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

You exhaled weakly, Jay finding your shoulders as he turned you to face him, just inches from the car.

“Yes, love, we can go home, just please calm down for me, okay?”

The pitch of his voice lowered with its volume, “This was just as hard for me as it was for you…”

With that, a silence swarmed between you, just as his hand went to grip the chain around his neck.

He gave it what looked like an effortless tug before each metal link broken apart, leaving the once beautiful necklace into shiny sprinkles of gold on the pavement.

You let out another breath, “You lied, Jay... why would you keep her necklace—”

“I'm not proud of it, ____...,” he interrupted, eyes facing the ground, “but I wasn't gonna sit there and feed into her games by telling the truth...”

“Yeah… that’s because you just stood there and let her touch you instead," you retorted, walking past him and getting into the car.

You’re glad the ride home wasn’t long, you two having arrived at his penthouse somewhere around ten minutes upon leaving.

Jay's boots clicked with each step as he held your hand, guiding you up the stoned path and past the front door.

Few words were exchanged between you both once you got to the master bedroom, plopping yourself on the bed as he stood with his hands at his hips.

“What a waste of good food today... my dad would’ve been pissed to find out the guests hardly ate anything…”

Jay spoke lowly, drawing your eyes to the red velvet stain on his still crisply ironed white sleeve.

“Speaking of food, you have a bit of cake on your blazer... here, let me help you...”

He sighed, “I've got it, ____. It's really no big deal...”

“No, i-it's in an awkward spot, just let me just wipe it for y—”

“I said I've got it, alright!?”

His sharp features faltered upon realizing that he'd just raised his voice at you, and for no good reason.

“I apologize, love—”

“Whatever, Jay,” you sighed, plopping yourself on the hotel mattress, “this was all just a bad idea to begin with…”

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, arching his back so his blazer to fall off his shoulders, noting in his mind to spot-clean the stain later.

“It's just... I don't fit in your world... not a single part of it…”

Jay joined you on the bed, just in his T-shirt and slacks now as he took your face in his right hand.

“There's not a single place in my heart where you don’t fit in perfectly… y'know that?”

“I do, Jay...,” you answered quietly, meeting his dark eyes, “thank you...”

“Of course,” he smiled, placing a tender kiss to the back of your hand, “now let's get out of these fancy clothes and into something more comfortable, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, Jay standing up now and leaning before you to untie the heel straps around your ankles.

“You looked beautiful tonight, by the way,” he smiled, hands reaching beneath your evening gown to pull down the thigh-high satin stockings you wore.

“So did you.... handsome,” you smiled, propping up on your elbows to wash him undress you, and cheeky look on his face at your words.

“I learned something about you thanks to tonight,” he started, standing back up and giving you a look, “didn’t know you were the jealous type…”

You scoffed, feeling his hand tap at your thigh as a cue to turn over on your stomach now.

And so you did, hips up as he crawled onto your back in a straddling position, moving your hair out the way while admiring your beauty.

Your eyes were still internally rolling at his comment up until you felt him massaging your shoulders gently.

Somehow, you could tell he smiled at the little hums that escaped your throat once he applied a bit of pressure.

In a strange way, Jennifer’s behavior had a way of pulling both anger and anticipation out of you…

No, you didn’t like how she got all handsy with your man right in front of you, but you somewhat enjoyed the effect your reaction had on Jay…

He felt bad about what happened. Terrible, even.

And you could see it all over his pouty face that he wanted to make things up to you…

You laid there face down on the mattress beneath him, not able to focus on anything other than the feeling of his bulge pressing into your thighs.

He was turned on right now, and so were you—

“I still think I behaved myself pretty well tonight considering, though,” you huffed quietly, letting your body melt beneath his weight.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his touch trailed from your hips to your waist, “And I’m very proud of you for that, love,” he whispered adoringly.

His hands now found the necklace around your neck, unclasping it with a simple click before reaching over to place it on the mini bedside table.

“Want me to unzip your dress for you as well while I’m here?…”

All you did was nod lazily in response, the cold metal zipper of the matching white gown you wore sending shivers down your delicate spine.

He slowly followed the trail along the curve of your back, chill air hitting your skin once he fully unzipped it past your hips.

“You know I’d never leave you for someone else, right?”

You let out a hum, feeling a bit frisky now that you were half-naked beneath him…

“Can’t be sure… who knows, there might be another piece of jewelry attached to one of your ex’s lying around here somewhere…”

He made a face at you even though you couldn’t see him from your position, “Seriously ____?”

“Very…” you answered, “…and I’m sorry...”

“It's okay,” he chuckled, letting his hands knead your hips, “But I guess that just means I’ll have to prove you wrong now…”

Your eyes flew open, brows slightly furrowed, “And prove me wrong how, exactly?”

“By giving you something I’ve never given anyone else before…”

He shimmied the evening gown past your thighs, revealing the lace lingerie set you wore underneath, it’s elastic hem snug around your plush skin…

The sight alone was enough to make him feel needy, your round ass perched up perfectly for him.

“Oh, so the whole wallet thing wasn’t a first-time trick either?” You joked, knowing he always liked it whenever you were sassy with him.

Jay smiled at your words once again, “On your back for me, princess.”

You sighed playfully before rolling over like he asked, his hands leaving the curve of your body as you got adjusted.

It didn’t take long for Jay to start teasing you back, letting a single finger circle your clothed breast but never touching your nipple.

You wanted him to grope your tits so badly, but instead his other free hand ghosted over your core, intentionally avoiding contact with your sweet spot.

“I have to ask this because I'm a gentleman, but do I have permission to make you cum more than once tonight?”

His question didn’t catch you off guard, but it definitely made you feel something in your stomach.

With dreamy eyes, you struggled to either focus on the spot between his legs or the smirk on his face…

“Only if you mean it...,” you finally uttered, giving him the cue he’d been waiting for so he could please you properly.

He let out a chuckle at your words, “Make sure you hold still for me, princess… you can pull on my hair if it gets too much...”

You watched as he nestled between your legs, looking up at you as a kitten waiting for head pats.

“But that'll hurt you, Jay...”

“I know,” he smirked, tugging your lingerie to the side and marveling at your swollen heat.

He immediately started lapping at your wetness, spitting on your clit despite how wet you already were.

“So fucking pretty,” he hummed in between making out with your sensitive cunt, foul sounds bouncing off the walls as your chest heaved with need.

Your hips subconsciously circled his face, the added movement heightening your pleasure.

You let your hands find his hair, not pulling yet but more so clawing at his scalp.

Jay groaned at your actions, looking up at you while his tongue still flicked against your clit.

The sight and sensation combined made your thighs tremble, Jay’s strong hands holding your hips down against the mattress.

“Baby, you’re supposed to stay still, remember?”

The words left his mouth in such a cooing manner, your mind going foggy because of his raspy bedroom voice.

You managed to squeak out a weak sentence, breathiness in your tone from all the action, “I-I’m trying, Jay…”

You cut yourself off when a loud whine slipped past your mouth, Jay’s hand reaching up to grope your tits while he kept sucking.

At this point, you couldn’t help but to tug at his locks, guiding his face against your folds for your own pleasure.

And he loved every bit of it… you using his face to help yourself climax.

You didn’t expect for a finger to enter you though, especially not a second one once he sped up his licking movements.

Another moan meddled from your body, eyes sealing shut as your hips rutted into his mouth, Jay’s little grunts acting as your breaking point.

The band in your stomach eventually popped, your clit throbbing with pleasure once Jay let his mouth ease your high with kitten licks and kisses.

He looked at you with such love in his eyes, “Are you convinced yet, princess?”

You couldn’t believe he was trying to talk to you in a state like this, but you still knew exactly what he was referring to with that question…

“Yes, but I think you could still do a little more,” you whispered back teasingly, caressing his face that was beaming with a subtle glow just from tasting you.

A smirk tugged at Jay’s lips once you stuck out a hand to pull him closer.

He sealed the contact with a kiss, resting a hand on your exposed thigh that still trembled slightly from your first climax.

“____,” he broke away breathlessly, clinging to your waist, “are you sure you can handle more? We can stop here…”

It’s not that he was concerned, as it was quite obvious in you haze stained eyes that you wanted more from him.

Though, given how tired you’d become after such a long day, he didn’t wanna risk overdoing it.

“But we just started kissing properly,” you protested lazily, leaving another peck to his puffy lips.

“I know, princess,” he smiled again, massaging the flesh of your thigh with his hand, “but we can always continue this another time…”

Another time when you two didn’t have to be at the airport around four in the morning the next day...

You understood him perfectly, and as his lady, you intended to respect him whenever he called the shots, even if it meant you’d have to wait.

“A better time, then,” you added, lips not being able to stay off of his as guided you back against the mattress.

In all honesty, it wasn’t easy for him to tell you no like this, especially not with the raging boner in his pants now, but he knew your rest was more important.

It didn’t take long for him to hang up all your clothes, hop in the shower with you.

He had even helped you wash your hair, massaging your scalp and washing you down before grabbing you both a clean set of pajamas to wear.

And of course, they were matching.

Finally, you took it upon yourself to prepare a set of fresh bedding linen for you two, starting a load on laundry to get back to whenever you could.

Letting out a yawn, Jay found the silk mattress first, still smelling of his potent lavender body wash by time you joined him.

Finding your waist, he pulled you against his toned chest, snuggling his member in between the natural shape of your hips, but not in a sexual way…

More so, it was a protective cuddling position, in essence…

He left a few kisses along your neck, helping you to get comfortable under the covers.

“Moving forward,” you started randomly, “let’s make sure there are no Jennifer’s on the guest lists for your private events…”

Jay let out a laugh that melted your lovesick heart all over again, “Aww, we have our first mutual enemy…”

“Can’t say she doesn’t deserve it, either…,” you returned, grazing the knuckles of the hand he held you with, “thanks for making me feel better, baby...”

He pressed another warm kiss to soft skin, “Of course, princess… Now let’s get some sleep now, hmm? We have another obligation tomorrow, you know….”

Ahhh, yes… The fast life of Jay Park.

“To tomorrow…” you agreed, feeling his warmth leave you for a second as he turned the night light off, “now hold me properly, you’re not close enough.”

✧ Thank you to everyone who’s reading this right now!! I meant to give this story a full smut ending, but for some reason, it’s always hard for me to write intense sexual stuff for Jay ;-; … Anyways though, this was also my first time writing a oneshot for our Mr. Jongsby, so let’s hope I did him justice and y’all liked this one :’3 …

✧ My masterlist for newbies and bored readers huhu ^^

✧ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr

[thehandsresisthim]

“a test of endurance - part two”

contains: smut, gn!dom!reader x sub!johnny x sub!ghost, orgasm delay/denial, punishment, bondage (rope), nipple clamps, toys under clothing, semi-public

this work is part of a small “kinktober” thing - i sadly don’t have the time to write a lot, so instead of posting something for each day in october, i decided to try to post something on each sunday in october. here’s the first part!!

word count: ~1100

The next time you tease both your boys, it’s induced by Johnny.

On a cold Wednesday morning - Simon and Johnny are still on leave, you’ve got the day off work too - Simon wakes up to a strangled moan, mixed with a weird sensation against his thigh.

It doesn’t take longer than a second for him to recognise what’s happening - Johnny is humping against his thigh, cock catching against Simon’s boxers as it weeps, staining the fabric.

Johnny sighs and whines with every thrust, his body shaking. It’s been three days since you’ve denied them an orgasm, and Johnny, ever the needy brat, refuses to accept that.

So, waking up to you gone, presumably having left to buy some breakfast for the three of you, Johnny decides to grab the moment by its balls, having relieved himself of his clothes and now humping against Simon.

Could he have also just quickly stroked his cock, hidden away in the bathroom, to only be found guilty by the next session since he’s so bad at pretending to be desperate to cum when he really isn’t?

Sure, but Johnny is determined to drag Simon down with him. The blond bastard had it coming, he decides - boyfriend or not, Simon’s determination to be obedient is getting on his nerves.

Besides, the idea of corrupting the man into disobedience, breaking Simon’s perfect record, is very appealing.

And, - Johnny can only guess that it’s because the man is still half asleep - Simon takes the fucking bait, chomps down on it before he can realise that he’s become a fish on a hook.

“Johnny, wha’-“ he stutters out, “master told us not ta-“

And Simon reaches down, his calloused hand closing around Johnny’s weeping cock, clutching his base. Of course, he’s attempting to shove Johnny off, to make him behave by roughly tugging on his sensitive cock - Simon doesn’t want to be involved with Johnny’s disobedience.

Unfortunately for Simon, he choose the worst fucking moment to hold onto Johnny.

Unfortunately for Simon, it looks like he’s touching Johnny, giving him a handjob.

Unfortunately for Simon, you walk in at this very moment.

You almost drop the tray of breakfast you were holding, setting it down on the nightstand as you calmly walk towards your boys.

Your expression has immediately turned sour - from happy and kind to cold and mean. Johnny whimpers, but he can’t help his smirk - his eyes are betraying his excitement as he notices your disapproving glance at Simon’s hand wrapped around his cock. Simon has frozen in place, big brown eyes wide and glistening as he swallows, speechless for a second.

You sit down on the bed and look at your watch.

“You have a minute to explain yourselves.”

“I-I didn’t t-touch Johnny. ‘was only shoving him off, he was trying to hump me and I-,” Simon stutters, “I wasn’t bad, master, I wasn’t, I swear, please-“

Johnny interrupts his boyfriend’s babbling and - with a surprising gentleness - takes Simon’s hand off of his cock. Simon whines as he only realises just now that he was still holding onto his dick, which he knows looks bad. Very bad.

“Simon was touchin’ on me, master, he got my dick out n’ everything, ” Johnny lies, voice confident, “he’s a fuckin‘ brat.“

“‘m not, ‘m not, he’s lying, he’s lying-“ the panicked tone in Simon’s voice is heartbreaking, he looks like he’s about to cry. “Please master, don’t believ’ ‘im, he’s lying, I only wanted to shov’ ‘im off of me, I promise, master, p-please…”

You clap your hands, indicating that the minute is over.

“Alright. I’ve heard enough.”

Simon whines and slumps his shoulders, hiding beneath the blankets.

“I’ll punish you later,” you say, “my boys need some breakfast now.”

+🎃+

Johnny squeezes his boyfriend's hand as they huddle closer - he’s desperate to hide his whimpers and whines. Once again, you’ve used his sensitivity against him. There’s a vibrating ring nosing his dick, and it’s hell.

The vibrations keep him even more horny than he’s usually is, and the ring keeps him from cumming. Johnny’s walking slowly. If he moved too quickly, he’d rub the fabric of his boxers right against his leaky tip, and he’s already noisy enough.

The park you’re taking a stroll through is calm and empty, the cold october night illuminated by the street lamps, the (barely visible, light pollution and all that) stars and almost full moon. Under normal circumstances, Johnny would appreciate the scenery, but with a constant stimulus vibrating away at his cock - not a chance.

Then again, as he glances over at Simon, he wonders if he got the lesser of the punishment.

Simon is wearing the black surgical mask that he usually wears when going outside, and his hood is up, but the tears in his brown eyes tell of his distress.

The hoodie that he’s wearing, as well as the jacket, is some of the baggiest clothing that he owns, and Johnny well knows why.

Beneath all of his clothes, - of course, without intercepting his arms and legs - Simon is bound in tight rope. A beautiful pink, thin rope is artfully woven across his skin, teasing his sensitive nipples and his aching cock.

His hands are in his hoodie pocket, and they’re also tied together, albeit with a different rope.

Simon has always been susceptible to rope, the tight, woven restraints always signalling comfort, and to his dismay, arousal.

Johnny can imagine what it’s like - each step, no matter how slowly he’s walking - is tightly interlaced with the sensation of rope tugging on him, a constant reminder of the rope that’s both a thing to hold him together, and a thing that keeps him restrained.

Johnny knows that the rope alone is enough to turn Simon’s brain to mush. Too bad for him, because there’s not only rope on Si - you’ve used rough metal clamps on his nipples, a delicate weight hanging on both. Everytime he moves, the ropes running across his pecs tease the sensitive flesh, and Johnny knows that he’d long have started crying if he was the one in Simon’s shoes.

Luckily, he isn’t, because he knows that he would scream as you place a hand on Simon’s neck and tug at the ropes, rubbing against the clamps.

“Please, please, ahhh- master-“

Simon shudders and sobs, his body trembling as a few tears escape.

“Aww, baby, what's the matter?”

Simon hiccups and nuzzles against your shoulder as soon as you let go. Squeezing yourself between both boys, you place your hands on their necks.

“Let’s get you two home.”

thank you for reading!! here’s part one ❤️

here’s my masterlist!!

[ameliora-j]

the carnal need i feel for Sonny Carisi to pump me so full of his cum that it still drips out of me hours later mhmm

you choke over another breath as sonny pushes your legs up. he groans as he stands on his feet on the bed. the tops of his thighs press to the backs of your’s as he folds your body further in half—pressing you into the mating position.

a whine releases from your throat as you feel the tip of his cock tickling your cervix. his previous three orgasms from the day leak pool around his cock as he fucks you roughly. “need you to be fucking pregnant” he growls, nipping and biting at your neck.

for every time sonny had cum, he made you cum twice. your cunt now overstimulated as he had used you this morning when you woke up, just before he left for the day, and in his office when you brought him lunch.

now he’s plunging deep into your pussy for the fourth time today. his seed had been spilling from you since 6 o’clock this morning, causing your head to become fuzzier and fuzzier with each time he abused your poor pussy without so much as warning your first.

sonny was like an alpha in rut when it came to your ovulation week, fucking and cumming in you multiple times a day for seven days straight. your back arches high as his thick cock stretches your sensitive little pussy as wide as it can go, pressing his palm into your raw and hardened clit to feel you spasm around him.

“‘m gonna give you my baby, princess… you just lay there and take it, okay?” somny coos in a condescendingly sweet tone. sweat drips down his brow and his usually bright baby blue eyes have become a dark ocean blue—heavy with his lust. “just let daddy breed this cunt” he hums simply, gripping your hips tighter to gain better leverage to fuck you harder.

“just take my fucking cock like the good whore i know you can be. take daddy’s babies from him princess… use your little pussy to milk my cock” he mumbles, spanking your clit a few times as your legs shake. “‘m not gonna stop fucking you like this till you’re nice and round with my kid” he warns, smirking darkly at you.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

hey so i saw the despicable me 4 trailer and i have a very specific beef with it that's making me insane

so, like, disclaimer, i havent watched any of the minion cinematic universe movies since despicable me 2 came out... holy fuck eleven years ago, jesus christ. but anyway i'm probably gonna get minute details wrong but like hold with me a second

so idr when despicable me 2 takes place in regards to the first film. from what i remember, agnes was having issues with not having a conventional nuclear family for mother's day so this implies it's the first mother's day that the girls have had in gru's household. i'm pretty sure that the first movie took place during the summer-ish, and iirc the second movie is also summer (fitting with my "roughly may" estimate) so we'll say like eight-ish months have passed since the first film. no big deal, right?

so then at the end of the film gru and kristen wiig get married but the timecard states that it's "147 dates later." i doubt they went on a date every single day leading up to the wedding but if we're assuming the date list also covers the engagement and wedding prep period, that's at the VERY VERY least one-hundred and forty-seven days after the events of the film. so with the timeskip at the beginning, that puts us at well over a year since the first film, thirteen months minimum

okay so the third film from my research doesn't state how long it takes after the wedding. so again, let's be generous and say that it's not too long after. i'm pretty sure the film itself takes place over a couple of days so we'll ignore its place in the continuity for now. that brings us to movie number four, which just got a trailer and just revealed a new player in the game

so gru and kristen wiig have a new biological child. this kid is old enough to move and emote, which puts him at 7-12 months old if he's able to crawl. let's again be generous and say it's seven months. assuming that human reproduction works the same as it does in our universe, and again being generous as hell and assuming that lucy may have been pregnant through the third film or right after the wedding, we have to add nine months to all this. so from the first film, we have ~8 month timeskip, then a 147-day minimum timeskip, then let's say 16 months to get to the baby being able to crawl. again, this is absolute bare minimum, and we still get to a conclusion of it's been roughly 29 months since the first film, or 2.5 years.

so okay. two-and-a-half years since the first film.

so then why the everloving fuck are the girls the same. fucking. AGE??

how have these motherfuckers not aged a fucking day??? they haven't grown a goddamn inch. it should have been, again, 2.5 years minimum, more likely 3-4 years if we're being realistic.

and to double check my work, i went on the despicable me wiki and found that they also put movie 4 at a three-year timeskip from the first movie, specifically putting margo at 10 in the first movie and 13 in the fourth, edith at 8-11, and agnes at 5-8; their main source is margo being stated to be 12 in the third movie, and her sisters' relative ages being provided by tweet, so even then this is, again, bare minimum on timeskip. and not only have these motherfuckers not changed style one fucking time, but they haven't changed height, weight, anything. agnes has hit eight years old and is the same height as the tiny-ass fucking minions. edith's hat still fits. margo should be in high school and she looks the same as she did three goddamn years ago

what kind of motherfucking witchcraft is the gru family using to keep themselves young??? they said gru stopped being evil but are we sure there isn't some vampire blood rituals happening in the minion basement

make them a new character model. please god

[bones4thecats]

MC! Reader Returns and Reunites with Sebek

Type of Writing: Request (Added Part) Characters: Sebek Zigvolt Name: MC! Reader Returns and Reunites with Sebek Original Poll Link: Here Other Parts: Part One Tagged Requester: @twistedcece and @blues824

A/N: This part two to the original request made by the second tagged person above. This features a hint at the original piece, so I recommend, before you read this, go check out the first part that I linked above! Anyways, enjoy!

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⚡ When you walked through that mirror all those years ago, Sebek went through so many emotions, emotions that he never thought he'd ever go through

⚡ Lilia eventually retired from being a member of the Briar Valley army and watched as Malleus was crowned King of Briar Valley and he applauded as Silver and Sebek graduated and became the personal guards of their new King

⚡ Even though he knew his grandfather, the person he looked up to the most, was happy for him, Sebek couldn't help but feel a large pang in his chest

⚡ You weren't there to celebrate with him...

⚡ Sweet Seven, why was he still thinking about you? It's been over three years, why were you the only thing that was on his mind during his rare breaks?

⚡ Sebek was walking alongside Silver as they stood right behind Malleus, as he was on his way to sit on his throne and discuss matters of borders with the new established leaders of the Queendom of Roses and the Shaftlands

⚡ Silver noticed his friend and co-workers un-easy behavior, and he gave him a light pat on the back

⚡ Even Malleus was kinda off that day for some mysterious reason

⚡ That morning, he had mentioned to Lilia and the two other knights that he felt a spurge of magical energy racing around the atmosphere for some reason, one that he couldn't answer

⚡ It was enough of a warning that prompted the guards to double on staff, leaving Silver and Sebek far more tired and busy than usual, but, they signed up for this

⚡ When the meeting finally ended, Malleus bid farewell to his fellow rulers as Silver and Sebek returned to their posts beside his throne

⚡ Malleus sat down and began to read a book that you had gifted him years ago, and he froze when the sound of a magical burst entered the room, prompting Sebek and Silver to hold their swords up, facing the portal with murderous glints in their eyes

" Child of man? " " Hey, you guys... long time no see, huh? "

⚡ Sebek froze in place as you stepped out, the portal closing behind you as Malleus hugged you, Lilia laughing as Silver smiled, patting your head in a welcome

⚡ You looked around and saw the familiar hair-cut of your long-time love, and when your eyes met across the room, Sebek began to tear up

⚡ You were here... standing right in front of him... now was his chance!

⚡ Walking up to your old friend, you smiled and rubbed your neck as tears threaten to spill from his eyes

" Hey Sebek... how have you be- "

⚡ Cutting you off mid-sentence, Sebek grabbed you by the waist and laid his lips against your's roughly, prompting Malleus to chuckle as the father-son duo took photos of the cute event

⚡ Allowing you both to take a breath, Sebek pulled away from your lips to lay his forehead against yours, his chartreuse eyes staring into yours

" I love you... I always have, Y/N. So please, please don't leave me again... "

⚡ Chuckling as you laid his head in your hands, you pressed a small peck to the half-fae's nose, your answer made every hateful thought of himself go flying out the window

" I will never, ever, leave you alone again, my dear. I love you, Sebek Zigvolt. " " And I you, my one and only. "

[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER EIGHT

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur @thelightknight21 wc: 9.5k notes: would it be funny if instead of linking the masterlist i linked something really weird instead. im just kidding though. or am i. call me the uconn womens basketball team the way i had a terrible first half performance but locked in for the second half of this chapter. um jk. no im not someone tell geno to figure his shit out. between geno and luigi, this has been a really sad month to be an italian. please keep us in your thoughts during this time. also idk why this is so long, the first half of this chapter truly chewed me up and spit me out so i have nothing to say. next chapter is the last for this series and if anyone has any suggestions on how im supposed to feel about that, please let me know cause idk what's happening. im probably not going to proofread this so take this as you will. as always, let me know how we're feeling about this and happy holidays 🫶

‘A Family Affair, A House Divided’

In February, the South Carolina Gamecocks hosted the University of Connecticut Huskies for the regular season. After a thrilling, competitive game, the Gamecocks ultimately secured the win in a convincing 83-65 victory over the Huskies. Te-Hina Paopao led the Gamecocks with a dominant 21 points, shooting 5/7 from three. Connecticut’s dual-threats, Paige Bueckers and Aaliyah Edwards, scored 20 points each but were unable to clear the deficit.

However, despite the rousing game, many viewers were interested in the storyline between South Carolina’s Tess Kennedy and Connecticut’s Paige Bueckers. In the last issue, we mentioned that many felt as though this match-up was a house divided as Bueckers and Kennedy made their relationship official in June of last year. Critics were concerned whether or not they would be able to take the game seriously as a couple, although Bueckers proved many wrong with her performance. Bueckers was very focused on her game, and while Kennedy was still on the bench with only a few more weeks of ACL recovery, South Carolina did not waver. One commenter noted that Bueckers and Kennedy have been playing basketball for a very long time. They are both invested and focused on their game, and many supporters believe that they would not let off-court distractions and pressures stop them from playing their games to the highest of their ability.

In fact, Bueckers and Kennedy were spotted at the Tin Roof, a bar nearby the University of South Carolina, roughly an hour after the game ended. Insiders noted that Kennedy ordered – and take a deep breath, everyone – a soda, and that she appeared to be having a lengthy conversation with Bueckers. Out of respect, our source has elected to not share the contents of their conversation (nor would we share it!), but did tell us that Bueckers and Kennedy are “stronger than ever” despite the on-court tensions and critical narratives.

Basketball fans can rest easy knowing that Bueckers and Kennedy are committed to each other and committed to playing some electrifying basketball in the NCAA tournament. As the SEC and Big East tournaments quickly approach, viewers are excited to see where the two teams will land and we are eagerly awaiting the clash of the titans.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MARCH 8, 2024

“Slow” ends up working a lot better than either of them had been expecting.

Honestly, part of Tess was worried that they’d give up on it after a day or two. She knew that she and Paige had terrible restraint around each other. It would have been far too easy to give up on trying to be mature about their situation, although they were both committed to giving it an honest shot. Things are great. Truthfully, she hasn’t felt this secure with Paige in a long time, not since Christmas and New Year’s, but even they couldn’t come close. She and Paige were locked in – for real this time – and knowing that was just so comforting.

They don’t change very much. They communicate a lot more and they’re more open about their feelings and insecurities, the two main things they had to hide from each other while they were fake dating. Paige is still affectionate, charmingly (or insufferably) flirtatious, and gets on each and every last one of Tess’s nerves. It’s not far off from how she behaved when they were “faking,” which kind of makes Tess mad – Paige’s was so fucking obvious and she just never realized, never allowed herself to entertain the thought that there was a little bit of truth to their lie. If Tess was being real, she’d have to admit that she didn’t really change, either, and she realizes she was being pretty obvious, too – she and Paige might just be a little oblivious.

February and the first week of March passes in a blur of traveling, games, and practice. The two of them make a more concerted effort to stay in touch, especially while they’re on the road, which is probably why Bree forcibly implements a “no phones after 10pm” rule when they have to room together. It’s not like they talk about anything weird – they mostly talk about Grey’s or Paige yaps about the NBA, but Bree says that Tess is “pussy-whipped” and “down bad” and that she can’t sleep through her giggling. That doesn’t happen, by the way, and Tess certainly does not giggle. Reluctantly, she adheres to Bree’s tyranny.

By the time the SEC tournament rolls around, Tess is fully cleared for play, although she’s under a minute restriction. The trust that Coach Staley has in her is honestly commendable – Tess herself would be hesitant to play her so soon after her injury and especially in a game as important as an SEC tournament one, but she’s not going to fuck up this opportunity. Both she and Coach Staley are cognizant of the five game maximum Tess needs to abide by to keep eligibility for next year. Tennessee and LSU are tough opponents and she understands that Coach would prefer to have her in these games instead of betting on making it to the NCAA tournament so Tess can play her five games there.

For the Texas A&M game, Tess is the first on the court for warmups. Tip off is an hour and a half away, so she locks in, dividing her time between shooting drills and stretching her legs while her teammates filter in. She feels good, but she’s still a little stiff. She knows there’s some lingering worry in the back of her mind – she’s healed, she’ll be fine, and she’s practiced with full contact, but playing against her teammates and the practice boys is nowhere near the same as playing against an actual opponent whose season is on the line. It will take her a couple of reps on the court before she gets hot and starts letting the ball fly, but she knows she’s not going to have a crazy game. Her main goal is to just have a good impact, whether it’s through scoring, defensive stops, or forcing contested shots.

Paige had wished her good luck and promised she would be watching. She said she would have flown out but she had her game against Providence in Rhode Island the very next day, so Tess forced her to keep her ass in Connecticut, much to Paige’s chagrin and disappointment. She swore she’d be able to make it in time. Tess was more concerned about Paige’s teammates having to deal with their sleep deprived captain and at this point in the season, the last thing the Huskies needed was Paige falling asleep during warm ups.

Warmups fly by and when tip off finally rolls around, Tess is on the bench for the first seven minutes of the quarter. When she’s subbed in for Bree, they’re up 12-9, and the resounding cheer that she receives is the loudest the arena has heard thus far. She grins as she jogs onto the court, high-fiving Bree as she passes. Texas A&M inbounds and misses, though the rebound is scooped up by Sania, who chucks it up court into Tess’s awaiting hands. She hardly thinks as she shoots. It circles the rim once before falling into Ashlyn’s grasp, whose putback is solid and puts them up 14-9, although Texas A&M is fouled in the scuffle.

She was hardly an inch off. After months off, she’s okay with that, but she knows her work is going to show. She won’t miss the second time.

Texas A&M only makes one of their two free throws. Te-Hina gets the ball and she shoots, although her shot is blocked by Janiah Barker and the ball rolls out of bounds. Te-Hina inbounds it, lobbing it to Tessa Johnson, who launches it right back to Te-Hina, who passes it to Tess, unguarded at the top of the key, and she lets it fly. The ball swishes in without much preamble and the crowd roars – Tess Kennedy’s first points back after her ACL injury. She musters a grin as she switches to defense.

Tess ends the quarter with an efficient 5 points and a steal – not bad considering her last game was last year’s Final Four. She starts the second where she’s particularly explosive – notching an additional 4 points, another steal, and an assist in the seven minutes she’s in. By halftime, she’s tallied 9 points, 2 steals, and her lone assist, but her teammates jostle and cheer and she can’t help but feel so, so good about herself – Tess Kennedy is so fucking back.

Coach Staley benches her for the first half of the third quarter, but she’s not mad. Coach already told her she wasn’t playing any more than twenty minutes and even that was pushing the limit. When she subs back in, they have a comfortable lead and she feels like she’s on fire. Kamilla and Ashlyn land three back to back layups (including an and one) in the first minute Tess is on court, and honestly, she just feeds off of that energy. On their next offensive possession, Ashlyn draws a crowd under the basket and kicks the ball out to Tess, who hardly thinks as she shoots it. It swishes in cleanly and she switches back to defense, where she forces a shot clock violation.

Texas A&M holds them scoreless until the last twenty or so seconds of the third. They’d begun to hound Tess at the perimeter, but she wasn’t going to let their suffocating defense allow them to close the lead too much. Texas A&M shoots a late three, though the ball clangs off the rim and is scooped up by Te-Hina. They have five seconds left on the clock and Te-Hina passes to Tess at the line. She dribbles, gearing up for a three, but she’s hounded on defense immediately. Tess spins out of the coverage, driving down the open lane, stepping back and letting it fly from midrange as the shot clock expires. It goes in. Tess exhales as the crowd erupts, hyped after an electrifying buzzer beater.

She sits for the entirety of the fourth, but the Gamecocks hold a comfortable lead and they secure the win 79-68. Tess closes out her first game back with a solid 14 points and 2 steals, and 3 assists. She couldn’t ask for much more. 

This was the moment she’d been working towards since May. Now that it’s here, it’s almost as surreal as her first college game ever, her first SEC win, her first NCAA championship game. Those hold a special place in her heart but coming off of an ACL injury and all of the shit she put herself through and performing at a high level just means more. If you’d asked her back in April, after she tore her ACL and was drowning in her own thoughts, she would have laughed at you and told her that it wasn’t possible. She would have said she would never play basketball again. But here she is, celebrating the first of three SEC wins that will punch their ticket directly to the NCAA tournament. It’s taken so much work to get back here, but she did it. She had some help and she’ll never forget that, but she dragged herself out of this mess as well as she dragged herself into it. That’s enough for her to be proud of.

Coach Staley makes her do the presser, which she’s less excited about, although the reporters seem to be on their best behavior today as they congratulate her on her first game back and her recovery. The reporters ask the typical questions: What adjustments did you make to stop Texas A&M’s comeback efforts? How have you adapted in practice to integrate Tess back into the plays? Will Tess play tomorrow for the Tennessee game? For once in their lives, they don’t ask anything particularly invasive, but Tess is just ready to get back to her apartment and relax after the day’s excitement.

When she does, Bree and Kamilla congratulate her one last time, wrapping her up in warm hugs as she grins at them. She makes it back to her room – finally – and turns on her phone to find several messages from Paige, ranging over the course of a few hours.

Good luck today You’re going to kill it 🫶

[Delivered 11:45am]

You look so pretty on the bench I’m getting my manager to reach out to the NCAA so they can start broadcasting bench cams I can’t focus on the game

[Delivered 12:07pm]

Tess Kennedy minutes!!! I’m so excited Lock their shit up baby

[Delivered 12:09pm]

Good shot I saw the hoop move Not your fault

[Delivered 12:11pm]

Kennedy for threeeeee Kennedy with the STEAL??? LAYUP Okay I’m On my Way! Autocorrect

[Delivered 12:13pm]

Tess reads through all of her messages, a beaming smile on her face at Paige’s goofiness. If she had this to look forward to after each game, then she’s going to show up and give everyone a show while she’s at it.

[Tess disliked “I’m getting my manager to…”]

is this tess kennedy’s biggest fan?! you should be careful i heard she has a gf

Does she?

she does they’re very locked in i dont think you have a chance

Bummer I think I could convince Tess Kennedy to give me a shot though

can you?

In lieu of a response, the FaceTime call comes through immediately and Tess accepts it with a grin. Paige’s face fills her screen, wearing a warm smile. “Hey, ma,” Paige says, her features softening. Tess can’t help her lovestruck expression. “Good game. You did amazing.”

Tess flushing, her grin growing at Paige’s words. “Thanks,” she says, her voice a near whisper. “I was just…honestly, I was just stoked to be playing again. I could have dropped a donut and turned the ball over and I still would have been happy. I get to play basketball again.”

“You do,” Paige hums, shifting slightly. “You worked so hard to get back here. Don’t forget it.”

Tess laughs gently. “I couldn’t if I tried.” Then, her face softens, her gaze so unashamedly full of adoration that Paige can see it clear as day through the phone. “My ACL led me to you. So…there were some good things that came out of it.”

Paige beams, her cheeks twinging with pink. “Yeah?” she asks bashfully. “You think that when I’m pissing you off?”

“You piss me off all the time,” Tess states. “So yes.”

Paige clutches her chest like she’s swooning, pretending to cry. “My girl says the sweetest things,” she proclaims, wiping an imaginary tear as Tess rolls her eyes affectionately. 

“Are you done?” Tess asks, amused.

“Nah. But you just dropped 14 points in a conference tournament so I’ll cut you a break.”

Tess huffs. “Thanks, Paige. I appreciate that one.”

Paige gives her a cheeky wink, her face all too smug. Tess can’t believe this is who she’s in love with, but as she watches the slow smile spread across Paige’s face as she rambles about the game, she can believe that this is who she fell in love with. Paige rounds out her sharp edges, grounds her, always challenges her, and makes her feel like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. She believes in her unconditionally, supports her through it all, and understands her better than she understands herself. Her falling in love with Paige was always going to happen, but Paige falling in love with her, too, was something that she’d never take for granted.

APRIL 5, 2024

The last two games of the SEC tournament were incredibly tense. On March 9th, the Gamecocks battled the Tennessee Volunteers in the SEC semifinal, which was a nailbiter until the very end. At the end of the fourth, the Volunteers were up 73-71 with a little over a second left on the clock. Tess was tasked with inbounding the game ball after a foul by Tennessee – she passed to a wide open Kamilla, who, on her first three-point attempt of the season, banked it in and Tess and her teammates immediately swarmed her.

On the 10th, they were matched against LSU, which was…interesting. They won 79-72, but late in the fourth quarter, there was an intentional foul on Flau’jae Johnson that stopped the play and led to several ejections. Tess was more worried about getting her ass in position to score after MiLaysia tapped the ball out of Flau’jae’s hands, but the altercation occurred quick enough that Tess didn’t even know they were fighting until Kamilla knocked Flau’jae flat on her ass. Tess knew that this wasn’t her fight for multiple reasons. First of all, she’s 5’10 and she thought the weight room was optional until sophomore year. She is too pretty and too young to get laid out like that. Second of all, she’s not retearing her ACL by trying to throw down on the court. And third of all, she is reformed, thank you very much – she spent enough time trying to fix her image and she doesn’t think the media will be as lenient the second time around.

That’s probably why she gets turned into a meme after the game. One user on Twitter uploaded a screenshot of her standing alone in the middle of the court, hands raised in the air while everyone was fighting, and captioned it, “If I sent you this, it means that shit is not my business.” If Tess was being honest, that was pretty funny. Paige told her she made that picture her new lock screen and, well, that’s determinedly less funny since Paige’s old lock screen was allegedly a cute mirror selfie of the two of them.

As the SEC champions, they were guaranteed a place in the NCAA tournament, which Tess was stoked for. This would be her fourth year in a row back – in 2021, they fell short to Stanford by 1 point in the Final Four (goddamn Cameron Brink and Lexie Hull); they won in 2022; and Tess doesn’t even want to talk about the 2023 Final Four loss. All she knows is that they will put Iowa on a t-shirt this year (respectfully). Tess is back with a vengeance. That was her motto going into the NCAA tournament.

The first four games were cakewalks, excluding Indiana, although they pulled out a close win. Tess was on the bench until the Final Four game against NC State. She was looking forward to it for a myriad of reasons. NC State would be a challenge, but she was confident they were going to win. Combined with the fact that she and Paige would be in the same place since February, she was excited to get to spend some extra time with her girlfriend (provided they were able to sneak away). Their game wasn’t set to start until 7pm, which Tess was less than excited for. The silver lining was that she would be able to see Paige and the Huskies go head-to-head with Iowa. Tess will admit that she’s sad she won’t be the one kicking Iowa’s ass, but she and Paige share so much anyways; she can have the honor, even if Tess will lay awake at night thinking about all of the points she could have scored on her lick back game.

She and Paige managed to find the time to sneak away and spend a good few hours with each other that morning. Paige treated her to a nice brunch, much to Tess’s chagrin – Paige pays for entirely too much.

“You can get it next time,” Paige tells her, though the grin on her face was not convincing as she slid her card into the booklet and handed it off to their waitress. The smile she gave the waitress was polite and chaste, her full attention on Tess, and Tess couldn’t help but preen a little.

“I feel like you’re lying to me,” Tess grumbles good-naturedly.

“Oh, for sure,” Paige admits shamelessly, breaking out into quiet laughter when Tess rolls her eyes. Paige taps her ankle lightly with her foot, drawing Tess’s attention back up to her. “Gimme 20 tonight and I’ll let you get it. Promise.”

Tess huffs, amused as she narrows her eyes. “Let me?”

Paige shrugs. “We can do 15 if you feel like 20’s too much,” she goads, spinning the ice in her water nonchalantly with her straw. Tess’s eye twitches. Damn it.

“20’s fine,” she bites out. Paige smirks at her and she sighs, knowing she’s been baited. Paige extends her hand across the table and Tess half-heartedly shakes it.

They spend another hour together after they eat, although Tess’s coaches summon her and her teammates for some last minute film and practice. She knows that she and Paige will get to spend vastly more time together once the season ends, but leaving Paige alone in her hotel room to finish watching Grey’s feels more like leaving for war. She’d sighed when she read the text message, not really wanting to get up, but she was not in the mood to test Coach Staley.

Paige watches her get ready to go, her head propped up by a fist, her expression contemplative, soft, and sickeningly in love. If it were anyone else, Tess would have gagged, but there’s just something different about being sickeningly in love with someone and knowing that they’re sickeningly in love with you, too. Paige stares at her like she’s not dressed in sweatpants and a South Carolina hoodie, her hair in a loose bun, but the way her gaze lingers makes her feel like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world – knowing Paige, she’d undoubtedly agree, and that makes a small smile appear on her face as she slides into her shoes.

Paige catches her around the waist before she can leave fully, dragging her back down on the bed and kissing her one last time. It’s gentle, unhurried, and warm – Paige’s hand maps the flush on her cheek and she grins as they break away. “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” Paige whispers to her. She says it so confidently, so assured like it’s more fact than reassurance, and all Tess can honestly do is believe it. She tore her ACL during the last Final Four she played in, but she knows this one is different. This is the true test of her recovery, skills, and abilities; Tess Kennedy is back and everyone in the college basketball sphere will know it.

“You will too,” Tess says, kissing Paige again, only breaking away when Paige’s subsequent smile grows too large. She presses her lips to her cheek instead, squeezing her hand as she pulls away to tease, “Just don’t get too upset when we play in the championship again and I have to break your ankles.”

“Not happening,” Paige says smugly, which just makes Tess shake her head. “Gonna try to tune in for you but Coach is doing film and practice before our game. He hates me.”

“He wants you guys to win,” Tess corrects. “Maybe you should tell CD to reschedule so you can watch your girlfriend.”

Paige frowns at her. “You’d have a better chance scorin’ on me than I would convincin’ CD to do anything.”

Tess pulls away from her, an indignant look on her face. Paige laughs as Tess rolls her eyes. “Rude!” she exclaims, walking towards the door.

“Hey,” Paige calls, her laughter easing up and a more serious expression on her face. Tess turns, leaning against the wall, her smile fond as she locks eyes with Paige. “I’m serious. You got this, you know? Whatever happens, I’m proud of you. You worked so hard for this. Don’t overthink it, don’t get in your head, jus’ play your game. I love you.”

Tess feels something flip in her gut, a sort of weightlessness in her chest that makes her grin widen. She can’t help how stupid she probably looks, cheesing just because Paige told her that she loves her, but that confession is quickly becoming one of the things she never grows tired of hearing. She wouldn’t mind hearing it for the rest of their lives; Tess doesn’t care how soon it is. She’s sure that Paige is it for her. That thought doesn’t scare her at all. “Thanks, Paige,” she says, a little bashful, but Paige’s expression is understanding. “I love you, too.”

Paige blows her a cheeky kiss, which, ugh, Tess pretends to catch, but she can’t bring herself to care. And if Tess doesn’t even defend herself when Bree makes fun of her as soon as she gets to the conference room (extremely late), then that’s nobody’s business but her own.

Later that night, the NC State game goes about as well as expected.

Tess starts the first quarter, along with Kamilla, Te-Hina, Raven, and Chloe. They start the game off with an explosive five points notched within the first minute – a two pointer from Te-Hina and a three from Raven. Tess didn’t get very many touches in the first two possessions, but she played good defense and secured the steal that led to Raven’s three pointer. NC State holds them scoreless for two and a half minutes, increasing the lead to 7-5 in favor of NC State, although Kamilla ends their run early with a jumper that ties the game with just under six minutes left. A well-timed block from Kamilla sends the ball in Chloe’s direction and she scoops up the rebound, passing it to Tess on the wing, who knocks down her first three of the night. NC State ties it up again 10-10, then NC State scores off of a steal, then Ashlyn shoots, though the ball doesn’t fall and she picks up the offensive rebound. She kicks it out to Tess again, who takes a long two and it falls in. They’re tied 12-12 with about three minutes left, but Coach Staley motions for subs and Bree replaces Tess so she can get a quick breather. In the efficient seven minutes Tess was on the court, she notched five points on 100% shooting, one steal, and one assist, which was good enough for her as the Gamecocks close out the first quarter with a game-tying 3 point shot and the and 1 from Milaysia.

The second quarter starts with all of the starters back on the court, looking to retake the lead at 16-16. Kamilla and Tess are the only ones who score during the entire second quarter, which is frustrating as NC State forces four turnovers. At the end of the half, Tess has scored an additional 7 points with a few extra assists and a steal, tallying her statline at 12 points, two steals, and four assists. Kamilla accounts for an additional 16 of the Gamecocks’ 32 points.

The energy in the locker room is intense as Coach Staley fires them up, going over plays and adjustments. The shift is immediate when they return for the second half. They hold NC State to only six points in the third quarter while they score 29, increasing the score and their lead to 61-37. NC State could have an explosive fourth quarter, but Tess doesn’t plan to let that happen. While she was out with her ACL, one of the things about her game that she improved on immensely was her defense, which shows in the fourth as she ends the game with two more steals, a block, and other plays that won’t show on her stat sheet like forcing shot clock violations or contested shots. At the end of the game, confetti rains down as the Gamecocks are the Final Four winners, 78-59. Tess notched 20 of those points, only trailing behind Kamilla, who had 22. She celebrates with her team, excitement coursing through her body – she’d won the game and her bet with Paige. All in a day’s work.

She showers quickly and sits through the presser. A reporter asked her what it was like being back in the Final Four – and taking home the Final Four win – after last year’s disappointment, and all Tess could really say about it was, “It’s a blessing.” Her teammates led her here through an undefeated regular season and they trusted her enough to welcome her back on court during some of the most important games of their season – the SEC games, the Final Four. She’s overwhelmed with gratitude, appreciation, and love for the game, although her joy quickly fades when a reporter asks, “The championship match up will be between South Carolina and Iowa or South Carolina and UConn. How do you plan on facing personal conflicts of interest in either of those matches?”

Tess knows she’s trending before she even feels her face contort, although Kamilla pinches her thigh under the table and she schools her expression. She figures that the UConn conflict of interest – whatever the fuck that means – is more than likely referring to her and Paige, although she’s more confused about the Iowa one. Was it because Iowa defeated them last year and people are still trying to make it seem like Tess holds a grudge for her ACL?

Coach Staley hasn’t interrupted to say next question yet, so Tess answers it to the best of her ability. “Um, I can promise that there will be no personal conflicts of interest. I’m here to play ball. Nothing else to it. All of us, South Carolina, Iowa, UConn, whoever, we’re mature players and any off-court friendships are just that – off-court. We’re here to win. I don’t hold anything against Iowa for last year’s loss or my knee.” She leaves it at that, although the reporter was clearly expecting more, but she doesn’t care.

The rest of the conference keeps on moving until Coach Staley ends the questioning. Coach gives her a covert nod, appreciative of the way she answered the question, and Tess doesn’t wait around for any further instructions. She makes her way back out to the court, finding a seat in the stands as Iowa and UConn warms up. Paige glances up, her eyes scanning the crowd absentmindedly as she dribbles, before she finally locates Tess. There’s thousands of people in the arena already, but Tess feels like she and Paige are the only ones in the room when she smiles at her. Tess gives her a thumbs up.

Once the game finally starts, Tess is on the edge of her seat for the entirety of it. She doesn’t think she’s ever been more invested in a game she wasn’t personally playing in. Even when she was on the bench spectating her teammates while her knee was healing, part of her just couldn’t get into it fully. She was thinking about the plays, visualizing the X’s and the O’s, pondering what she would have done differently, how she would have taken that shot. Watching Paige play feels like Tess is playing, too. Whether or not Paige wins or loses this match feels personal. Tess wants this so badly for her. They’ve both been dealt a shitty hand of cards, with Paige tearing her ACL the year before Tess and missing her junior season; then Tess tore her ACL and missed 95% of her senior season.

UConn is up 19-14 at the end of the first, but it’s a hard fought 5 point lead. By the end of the half, UConn maintains a steady 6 point deficit, leading 32-26 as they go into the locker room for a much needed break and some review. The third quarter rolls around quickly and the team takes their place on court once more. It’s a tense ten minutes. Iowa finally clears the deficit and they’re tied 51-51 going into the fourth. The fourth is where Iowa truly begins to break away, leading by as much as nine points before UConn clears the gap. With a three from Nika, they’ve cut the lead down to 1 with 40 seconds on the clock. With less than ten seconds remaining, KK pokes the ball out of Hannah Stuelke’s hands, and Tess rises to her feet, all of the blood rushing to her head as she watches on with an odd combination of hope and fear.

Nika brings the ball up, passing to Paige who hands it right back, circling around to draw her defender while Aaliyah sets a screen. Tess almost blacks out when she hears the whistle. Offensive foul on Edwards. The UConn fans surrounding her clamor in disbelief, booing loudly, and all she can do is watch, her hands over her head. Tess can’t believe it’s ending like this.

71-69, Iowa. Tess still hasn’t processed it, even after watching Paige and her teammates make their way to the locker room in defeat. She doesn’t process it when the team group chat lights up, discussing how Iowa is their official natty match. She doesn’t process it when Kamilla texts her personally, extending her condolences towards Paige, but what she does process is the second message from Kamilla reading, “Get them back.” She plans on it.

Tess’s thumbs hover over her keyboard ten minutes later, trying to figure out what to say to Paige. Tess has known Paige – personally – for almost a year, but she doesn’t know how to approach her. There’s nothing she can say or do that will take back the officiating, but as a competitor, too, she knows the game shouldn’t have come down to a call or free throws. She doesn’t know if Paige wants time alone right now or if she wants someone to lean on. Tess knows she has to at least try, although Paige beats her to it before she can put her jumbled thoughts into words.

I can see you typing It’s okay

Paige’s own text bubbles blur in and out for a moment, but Tess doesn’t send anything.

Can you come to my room? After press Please I’ll kick Ice out

i’ll be there

Thank you

Tess sends a single heart emoji back, not expecting a response, and she doesn’t get one. Her heart hurts for Paige. She just went through the toughest season of her life, and it ends like this. Tess wouldn’t be satisfied. She knows Paige isn’t. But right now, she needs a moment to rest, to decompress, to feel the loss instead of sitting and giving media-approved answers for 20 minutes.

Before Tess heads out to Paige’s hotel room, she swings by the nearest gas station first, stocking up on a bunch of candies, a drink for each of them, and a pint of ice cream. She’s unsure if Paige will have an appetite after the game, but it wouldn’t hurt. Once she’s paid and all of her groceries are in their bags, Tess makes her way to the hotel to wait.

Paige doesn’t keep her waiting for too long. Tess is lounging on the bed, eating Sour Patch Kids when the door unlocks with a click. Paige shuffles in, her bag slung over her shoulder, and the look on her face is all Tess needs to see. Wordlessly, Paige drops her bag on the ground and doesn’t even kick off her shoes before she’s crawling into the bed next to Tess, wrapping her arms around her waist and laying on top of her. Her hair is still a little damp when Tess undoes the hair tie, brushing her fingers through the blonde waves, dragging her fingertips against her scalp. Paige is tense against her but she relaxes as Tess stretches out, creating a little pocket for Paige to slot her legs against.

Paige is the first to break the silence. “D’you get those gummy cluster things?” she asks forlornly. Of all of the things Tess was expecting her to say, that was not one. She can’t help her surprised laughter.

“Of course I did,” she says, pressing her lips to Paige’s forehead. “They’re your favorite.” Paige doesn’t move, but she cranes her head, her ear directly over Tess’s heart. Her arms tighten around her. “I’m sorry,” Tess says after a while.

“It’s okay,” Paige says quietly. Her voice cracks. “Shoulda never come down to that. Calls, free throws, whatever.” Tess can’t help but smile a little bit, knowing that’s exactly what Paige would say. “Gonna be sore for a while but we’re gonna be there next year.”

“You will,” Tess promises. Paige shifts her head, looking up at Tess. The expression on her face is defeated, but Tess knows Paige well enough by now that she recognizes that fire, the spark of determination in her eyes. This is just a set-back. They did the impossible, damn it. Paige led them to the Final Four after coming back off of an injury, after losing most of the team to other injuries. Countless people said they wouldn’t be able to do it and Paige proved them wrong. “You’ll lead your team to the Final Four again next year. Tell Geno to recruit someone crazy from the portal. You’ll get some pretty good freshmen next year. You’ll win the Final Four, and you’re gonna come see me in the natty tournament ‘cause I’m not making that win easy for you. But you’re gonna lead them to that win and you’re gonna kick our ass. You, one of your crazy ass freshmen, and one of your sharpshooters – Ashlynn or Azzi. Maybe both. Then they’re gonna talk about us. Romeo & Juliet, Bueckers & Kennedy, cringy shit like that.”

At that, Paige can’t help her watery laughter, her eyes shining just a little brighter. “You think that’s happening?” Paige asks, amused. “I’on know if you can put your ego aside and lose like that.”

Tess raises her finger, grinning softly at Paige. “See, I’ve thought about it. Walk with me here.” Paige hums, rolling her eyes, but her expression is unbelievably fond as she gazes at Tess. “So, here’s us. February 8th, 2021. Our first game together. You kick my ass. Then every game we played since then, I kicked your ass. Now, it’s only full circle if you win the first and the last games we play against each other collegiately. It’s, like, written in the stars. But you’re not winning just ‘cause it’s fate, you win because you drop a nuke and you have that transfer portal weapon, your scary ass freshman, and your sharpshooters, like I said. For my other point – I know I always say ‘Tess Kennedy doesn’t lose twice!’ but hear me out. If I lose to you, I’m technically winning, because I have two natty rings, then my girlfriend has a natty ring, and then in like a couple years, my girlfriend’s gonna get me an actual ring because her natty win increases her draft stock, which means she goes to a professional team and makes the big bucks. Are you following?”

Paige shakes her head. “Not at all,” she murmurs, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to Tess’s lips. Tess can’t help but smile, reciprocating, their kiss deep and unhurried until Tess remembers where they are.

She draws back, her brows furrowed. “Wait, are you for real?” she asks indignantly. “I just mapped out the next five years of our lives and you weren’t even listening?”

Paige huffs in amusement. “Little hard to focus ‘cause you basically said you wanna marry me.”

Tess clamps her mouth shut, flushing. She did say that, didn’t she? “Well,” Tess says slowly. “That’s not my main point. Unless you want it to be. But even if you do, it’s not–”

“Tess,” Paige laughs, getting serious. “You wanna?” Her voice is softer now, her eyes firmly on Tess’s.

Her blush deepens and she tilts her head back, sighing. “It’s early, I know,” she concedes. “So I know that probably freaked you out. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Not what I asked,” Paige reminds her, grinning mischievously at her. “Do you wanna?”

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” is what Tess says instead, and Paige’s smile grows a little more adoring. “I know it’s technically only been two months officially, which makes me sound like a loser when I say it out loud. It feels like so much longer than that, though. I’ve been into you since June but honestly, I was probably into you from the start. So, I guess, yeah. I would. But like super far from now. You need to worry about kicking my ass in the championship. Then you gotta get drafted. Then you can see if I even like you in like five years from now.”

“Five years is good enough for me,” Paige says softly, leaning up to kiss Tess again. It’s gentle, tooth-achingly sweet, and feels more like a promise than anything else. When she draws back, she’s smiling at Tess. “So, you and me next year? Don’t throw the game or I’ll be mad at you forever.”

Tess scoffs. “I would never do that shit. That’s an insult to you and me. But we’re gonna be there and you’re just gonna kick our ass. And I won’t even be mad because I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah?” Paige murmurs. “What’s that?”

“I’ve got my rings,” she says. “I mean, I’ll have my rings plural on Sunday because now I gotta get revenge on Iowa for last year and revenge on behalf of you. We’re a package deal now.”

Paige snorts affectionately. “Are we?”

Tess hums in confirmation, trying not to think too much about the lovestruck expression on Paige’s face. “So, I have my rings. I’ll cement my name in the Gamecock record books. I’ll get drafted – probably at number two, but that just means my team will suck just a little less than yours.” Paige laughs again as Tess throws up her finger in an ‘L’ shape. “But, I have you, too, now. You weren’t part of the plan. I was just supposed to ball, break some records, get drafted, do my thing.” Tess glances down, fully looking at Paige now, whose eyes are full of amusement, wonder, and warmth. “I’m glad you happened, though. I get to ball and be your girl, which I guess is a much better plan.”

“You guess?” Paige croons. Tess shakes her head, horrendously in love as Paige plants a chaste kiss on her lips, grinning against her. “‘M glad I get to ball and be yours, too. None of that I guess bullshit because I’m not ashamed of bein’ in love like you are.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, asshole. You know I love you.”

Paige’s expression turns tender, unashamedly in love as she’d said. Tess can’t help the sudden cartwheels that her heart does at the sight. “I do,” she murmurs, kissing Tess again, slow, soft, lingering. “I love you, too. So much. Thank you for bein’ here.”

“Of course,” Tess whispers, smiling at her. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

And she wouldn’t. Her teammates are out celebrating their Final Four win before their next game on Sunday. She could be with them, watching film, doing more scouting, knowing that she has something to prove. But she knows she’s capable. Her teammates and coaches know she’s capable. Paige knows she’s capable, so for now, she doesn’t care about what game they’re playing on Sunday, who they’re playing, why they’re playing. She’s with Paige right now. As far as she’s concerned, nothing else matters but her. It can all wait for tomorrow.

APRIL 7, 2024

Tess is certain she’s never been more focused in her entire life. She was first on court for warmups, airpods in as she worked on her handles, footwork, and shooting. Paige even showed up shortly after she did with many of her teammates in tow – Aaliyah, Nika, KK, Ice, Ashlynn, to name a few, but Tess locked back in on her warm ups after sharing a private smile with Paige. They had plenty of time to stare at each other once Tess finished wiping the floor with Iowa.

With her warmup playlist blasting in her ears, Tess zones back in on the ball, working her way through her drills. She only pauses to stretch when her teammates start flowing in along with the coaching staff and trainers. As much as she’d prefer to be shooting right now, she takes the stretching seriously, knowing she needs to be loose for the upcoming match. There’s only an hour left before tipoff, but each and every second is spent crossing up the poor practice boys who honestly weren’t expecting Tess to be so ruthless, shooting from increasingly further distances behind the line, and working on her drives. She remembers what Paige had told her so long ago – the fake drives, the tendency to shoot purely from behind the line. She was confident Iowa would have one of their better defenders on her to shut down her three-point shooting, which is why she was going to make a conscious effort to take more drives into the paint.

Before player introductions and the starting line-ups are announced, Coach Staley grabs her by her bicep after she pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her jersey. “I know this game means a lot to you,” Coach Staley says, unwavering in her firm eye contact. “Don’t let it consume you. Play smart, or your ass is gonna spend the game on the bench.”

Tess nods, refocusing. “Got it,” she promises. Her coach searches her eyes before nodding, releasing her. Then, starting lineups are finally introduced with Tess gaining a round of applause that nearly rivals Caitlin’s. The two teams line up for tip-off, and soon, the game is underway. Kamilla wins the opening tip, sending it back to Chloe who passes to Raven who directs traffic to her liking. The ball is sent back to Chloe, who can’t finish at the rim, and Kate Martin scoops up the rebound. At their end of the court, Iowa passes the ball with quickness until it lands back in Kate’s hands and she knocks down the three.

Raven brings the ball up court and it bounces between Chloe, Tess, Kamilla, and then Tess once more as she steps back behind Kamilla, shooting the ball cleanly over her head for a three, tying the game. Iowa brings the ball down with Hannah trying a lay-up, although she misses, and the ball goes the other direction as quickly as it had left. Raven brings it up, but Te-Hina is a little too strong on her jumper. At the other end of the court, Kate’s two-point shot is good, totaling 5 points for Iowa to South Carolina’s 3. Kamilla’s layup is off, but Iowa’s isn’t, pushing the lead to 7-3.

It was cute at first, although Tess isn’t impressed. She didn’t rehab her knee just to trail Iowa 7-3 in the first two minutes of the national championship match. She’ll apologize to Coach Staley later, but if her teammates want to play the “run up and down the court” game, then she’ll play the “shoot the ball and score” game. She’s never this irritated at the beginning – you have to let it develop, but there’s too much riding on it to lose so early. She told Caitlin she was coming for her back in May. She basically promised Paige she’d win today, and Kamilla told her to get them back. She promised herself she’d get them back. The only way this game is ending is with Tess wearing that stupid hat for the second time.

Raven brings the ball up again, passing to Kamilla, but she’s instantly swarmed and she kicks the ball back out to Tess, waiting patiently at the wing. Caitlin’s guarding her. She watches film as much as Tess does, which is why Tess presses for the drive, faking a hesitancy that Caitlin immediately picks up on, but she commits to it at the last moment when Caitlin missteps. Tess takes it to the basket, laying it in easily, but she doesn’t spare it a second glance as she gets back on defense. Judging by the explosion of the crowd, she knows it’s gone in. At 7-5, Tess is on Caitlin like glue, getting a hand in her face and causing her two-point attempt to sail out of bounds. She hardly reacts as they inbound it. Caitlin tries to shake her off before she gets her hands back on the ball, but Tess is planted firmly. Eventually, the ball is passed to Caitlin, but Tess anticipates the step-back and swats the ball away, landing in the hands of one of her teammates. They bring it up, passing to Tess who passes immediately to Kamilla and she banks in the layup, tying the game.

While Caitlin’s bringing it up, Tess honestly expects her to pass, so she’s slow on trying to block Caitlin’s three-point attempt, which results in Tess fouling her and Caitlin being awarded three free throw attempts. A mistake on Tess’s part – Coach would get her for that later, but she extends her hands out to Caitlin to help her up. “That was for the knee,” she jokes. Caitlin huffs in amusement, though Tess taps her chest as she returns to the huddle. Caitlin makes all three shots, taking back the lead with 10-7.

The first quarter continues in a steady back and forth. Te-Hina lands a three, Caitlin responds with a layup, Kamilla misses a two-pointer. On Iowa’s next possession, Tess gets a hand in there and steals the ball from her, sprinting down to their end of the court and laying the ball in on the fastbreak. Tied 12-12, Caitlin’s bringing the ball back up and Tess is on her until Chloe calls for her to switch. With Tess now on Kate and Chloe guarding Caitlin, Chloe knocks the ball out of her hands, though one of Caitlin’s teammates secures it, lobbing it back to Caitlin, who shoots for the three and is fouled by Chloe. Tess hopes there’s not a camera honed in on her expression because there would be think pieces published about how Tess has beef with Chloe Kitts, and honestly, she might start because what the fuck was that? Tess can’t complain too much since she fouled Caitlin the same way. Everyone just needs to get in the weight room and grow a pair – all of this falling down is getting pretty embarrassing. Caitlin makes two of her three shots, and Tess is subbed out after both Chloe and Kate miss their layups.

Tess doesn’t enter the game until there’s a minute and a half left of the first quarter and the scores have evened out. Tess’s two point jumper is good when she subs back in, tallying the total 22-20 in favor of Iowa. Caitlin makes a layup, Tess responds with a three-pointer, and one last three-point shot from Iowa seals the first quarter after Tessa Johnson misses her own three.

Tess returns to the bench to prepare for the second quarter. That honestly felt like the longest ten minutes of basketball that she’s ever played before. So far, Tess has tallied 12 points, one assist, one block, and one steal. Iowa has a slim four point lead at 27-23, though Coach Staley is already drawing up some second quarter adjustments. She moves Raven to defend Caitlin and the really specific instruction of, “Pass Tess the ball” is incredibly helpful and motivating.

From then out, it’s an entirely new game. Raven’s defense is suffocating and she holds Caitlin to only three points in the second quarter. Their offense shifts with most of the point production coming from Kate, Hannah, and one single three-pointer from Sydney. South Carolina outscores them 26-19 in the second quarter, and going into halftime, South Carolina holds a slim 3-point lead at 49-46.

The third quarter passes similarly. Raven holds Caitlin to four points, South Carolina outscores Iowa 19-13, and they’ve increased the deficit to 9, leading the game with 68-59. Tess has slowed down after the first quarter. Her job is to remain consistent, and so far, she has. Her first foul on Caitlin was a mistake – Coach Staley warned her about letting it consume her, but she was too worried about trying to destroy the point gap after Iowa outscored them in the first. With 12 points in the first, 7 in the second, and a calm 6 in the third, Tess heads into the last quarter of the game with 25 points.

In the fourth, Tess gets her 30, scoring only five points in the three minutes she plays but doing a lot more defensively. Coach Staley subs her in for Bree once more and she returns to the bench, receiving a convincing round of applause. She can’t help but smile as she sits, feeling accomplished – if you’d asked her in May, she never would have thought she’d be back here after tearing her ACL. She would have wondered if you were the one high off anesthesia if you told her she had to fake date Paige Bueckers, and she honestly wouldn’t have believed you either if you told her that she’d fall in love with Paige Bueckers, either – but life has a incredibly strange way of working. She trusts her teammates to secure the win and her confidence grows as they keep increasing the gap.

They know they’ve won once all of the starters return to the bench with applause. The final buzzer is only formality and Tess quickly gets lost in the celebration, cheering with her teammates, accepting the corny ass hats, and taking picture after picture with the glimmering trophy. But she grows tired of it quickly – at this point, winning had simply felt like a job she needed to do, as terrible as it sounds. She cared more about proving herself after her injury. As much as she wants to joke about it being a revenge game, it never was – not for herself, not for Paige. Neither of them are keen on revenge, more focused on getting better and taking the win for themselves, for the teammates, for all of the hard work they poured into training to get here. Part of her really wants to celebrate for Paige. Tess wouldn’t be here without here, but Paige would tell her that’s not true. She knows this moment is for her and her team, for the players leaving, for the younger players with the hope of a repeat next year. So she soaks it all in, trying to relish in the win.

Once it all dies down, she ducks back into the tunnel, looking forward to a hot shower so she can get through the subsequent presser. The quicker she’s in bed, the better, but her plan derails again when she finds Paige, alone, leaning against the wall across from the locker room. The blonde’s smile grows when she spots Tess. She lengthens her strides, falling into Paige’s open arms with a startling swiftness. Tess knows she’s gross and sweaty, but Paige doesn’t seem to care, the scent of her cologne making her head spin. “Congrats, Tess,” she whispers, her voice reverent and soft. She leans back to look at her with a mischievous expression. “30 points? Who you showin’ out for?”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Please shut up,” she says, not letting Paige say anything else as she pulls her down a few inches, capturing her lips in her own. Tess knows that this win should mean more to her….but it doesn’t. It’s a national championship win, her second of her collegiate career, and she just dropped 30 points on a tough opponent. She worked her ass off to get here. She spent several months in rehab, several weeks trying to get over the alcohol dependence, and an uncomfortably long time trying to figure out how to love herself and others when she was at her lowest. And she knows it’s corny, that she sounds horrendously down bad, but she feels more like a winner in Paige’s arms than she did holding up that fucking trophy.

Paige draws her in by her waist, eliminating the space between them completely, tilting her head for better access and Tess can’t help but give in to her. This is what she worked so incredibly hard for. She worked hard to be able to play basketball again – and she did. She worked hard to be the kind of person that Paige Bueckers deserves – and, well, the jury’s still out on that one, but Paige loves her, so maybe she’s doing something right. Paige smiles against her, one hand reaching up to cup Tess’s cheek, deliberately slowing them down. Their kiss turns more tender, unhurried, and Tess can feel the remnants of it down to her toes when Paige pulls back, squeezing her gently. “You and me, same time next year?” Paige murmurs.

At that, Tess can’t help but laugh. She presses one last kiss to Paige’s lips, feeling her smile grow as she promises, “Same time next year.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

Is It Over Now?

Someone requested this a WHILE back and I wasn't in the mental space, but now I am so I present....Is It Over Now (Jegulus's Version).

It had been three weeks, four days, five hours, and two minutes.

Three weeks, four days, five hours, and two minutes since Regulus had left James. Said it wasn't going to work, refused to hear James's begging or reason. Insisted that it was for the best, even as tears streamed down his own face. Said that he had to become the Black Heir and James had to be the Golden Boy and they just couldn't be together. That they were a fling, and incompatible.

Three weeks, four days, five hours, and two minutes of seeing Regulus with other people.

Because as soon as Regulus had walked out of the door of the little flat that was supposed to be theirs (had he not left before moving in), he'd walked into the arms of someone else.

Well, multiple someone else-s.

James had seen them. All of the dark-haired, tan-skinned men that Regulus picked up in bars. Because he went to the bars, too. Watched.

But tonight, he had enough.

Regulus was on the dance floor, a tall man with black hair and fucking glasses leering at Regulus from behind, grasping at him roughly, making James almost growl with anger. Because Regulus deserved to be worshipped, not manhandled.

"Get the fuck off of him," he said loudly over the music, walking over and shoving the man backwards.

"What the fuck, James?" Regulus yelled, turning to look at him. "You've no right, it's over, I-"

"Over?!" James yelled, bass pounding around them, flashing lights making him squint. "You think so?"

"Yes!" Regulus yelled, but he grabbed James's wrist and hauled him out of the club to a back alley. "Yes," he repeated, only slightly quieter but twice as mad once they were in silence. "Enough. You have no say over who I'm with."

"Oh? But speaking about who you're with," James repeated furiously, just as loud, "All these men you're with- they look pretty damn familiar, don't you think?"

Regulus turned pink. "I-"

"So, 'It's over'? When was it over, Reg?" James asked, half-hysterical. "When you left me alone with no explanation? When you fucked the first bloke that looked like me on your couch? Because I know you did! Or how about when you looked at him while you fucked him and wanted to see me? Or maybe when you kept going out and looking for something better than us and found nothing?"

Regulus just stared, mouth open.

"Y'know," James continued, on a roll, tears falling down his cheeks "sometimes- sometimes I wish something would happen to me so you finally get your shit together and come back to me and finally tell me the reason you left is because you fucking love me and you were too afraid to SAY IT!" is voice cracked on the last few words, his heartbreak bleeding through the anger. Because he knew Regulus hadn't left him because he didn't love him.

It had been because he was scared. Scared of them. Scared of himself. Scared of being so vulnerable.

Regulus was still staring. He looked thoroughly shocked. Like he'd been electrocuted or something.

"It's not over," James whispered, taking a deep breath, hoping so much he was right. "Because you don't want it to be. Do you, Reggie?"

And it was like his words broke something in Regulus because all of a sudden, he was in James's arms, crying, his sobs only broken by apologies. "Was-trying-to-protect....was-scared....need-you..." he whimpered into James's chest, body shaking.

And James cried, too, but it was with relief. Relief that it was not over. "Come here, baby," he whispered, brining Regulus closer. "I love you," he said firmly, even as tears fell. "And you don't need to protect me or...or run from us. You're safe. I'm not going to leave you, Reg. I've got you."

Regulus only mumbled in his shirt, but James swore he heard an 'I love you' in there.

It was the one thing he'd been wanting to hear for three weeks, four days, five hours, and two minutes.

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ “Opposites Attract?!”— Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: the famous rich boy of the campus and the Dean’s daughter? Scandalous—especially when they’re both jealous as hell.

— A/n: Roughly based on something from my real life lmao— except that we didn’t get together because hehe. Also, this is the first part of a kinkmas fic that I have planned, it’s been broken since the fic was getting too long <3 (both can be read stand-alone!) Tagging @romiyaro @draecys @maeby-cursed because yes; nsfw version <3

— Word count: 5.7k

— warnings: Fem! Reader x Satoru Gojo; slightly suggestive Suguru and Mei Mei (they deserve to be warnings here); undertones if jealousy; a kiss (or three) at the end, I know—scandalous right; Reader wears spects in one scene; this has a LOT of bickering. Just banter for that matter, reader says smn about sex work BUT I assure you it’s not supposed to be in a negative light <333

4.5 g.p.a—a perfect reputation that you held, a decent social life—an amazing father to back you up, you weren’t ever part of the fraction of people who got in through with scholarships, why would you when your father stood as the dean? —but you’d worked for it.

3.7 g.p.a—it could’ve been far better, easily, if he only put himself in—far too loud a social life with a following of 4k+ on his Instagram while he only followed back his best friend and pretty little things (for a day or so)—part of the fraction who got paid in, who never struggled for it.

Sure, you hadn’t really struggled either—but hypocrisy was only allowed to one and you chose to take your chance.

You didn’t…despise him, the man that Gojo Satoru stood out to be, but lords, you hated the concept around it.

The loud cackle at the back of each lecture—the proxies and his fan girls, you hated it all.

More so, you hated just how enamored your dad was—after all, it was Gojo Satoru that had won the trophies and the plaques—Satoru Gojo that was a Power Player.

But the credit wasn’t to be forgotten for you too—dabbling in all that was academic, if the second half of your dad’s office as the dean were filled with Satoru’s achievements, the first half was yours.

Two sides of the same coin.

Your eyes never left your dad for a second, “you can’t possibly expect that out of Me dad,” the whine wasn’t subtle, nor the snicker that gojo let out at your words and outlet—earning a hard glare.

And to all the pampering and spoiling your father had to offer, it all failed when it came down to the pride and prestige of the university.

“It’s non-negotiable y/n,” the sleek brown in his room shone that afternoon, polished—every groove, every rounded corner—almost a story to behold.

“Yeah! Tell her Mr.Dean,” another snicker- another glare, your father sighed in his dismay.

“You,” your father glared at him, “need to find a way to shove it in your schedule as well—you’re both the elected representatives.”

To end with all whines and groans.

“I have no idea how but I need you two to find a presence of mind and perform your best in curating an experience at the fest. Dismissed.”

A sharp inhale, yours and the roll of Satoru’s eyes, your dad was aware how interesting an evening and a fest in general he would be witnessing.

You’d known Gojo Satoru for 3 years now, spending the last together at the University, standing as the President of Student Council—all against Gojo’s constant “nepotism” comments while he stood as the Captain of the Football Team—against your criticism as well.

A certain peak in the way you two governed your particular fields independently but, together?

Well.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always that you both disliked each other but, you couldn’t exactly deny the certain distaste the day you’d set eyes on him…

-

~First Year~

“Dad, please, make sure that no one knows that you and I are, at all related,” a chuckle your father let out, “of course darling, but don’t get prissy when I don’t let you out with attendance matters and all,”

Another chuckle shared, nothing too serious.

“I’ve heard Gojo Satoru will be joining this year too?”

An innocent question, curious is all you were—anyone would be, one of the best the country had seen in years.

Your father nodded slowly, “just so happens to be true, stay in check though, don’t want messing with people like that,”

It was evident, the wary tone that your father had acquired over the years, dealing with all that was the ego of such students, who stood tall with the heap of money that belonged to their daddies.

A slow nod you passed too—your father smiled, you were a smart girl after all.

But fate was decided and what had to happen would happen for sure.

Because you swore to maintain the secret, you weren’t to be even found to have the slightest relation of blood with the Dean — but then whatever could you do when you step out blindly, bumping right into the guy you wanted not to.

A hiss and a curse—“the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” he mumbled-eyes boring into yours, and then simultaneously, at the car.

Anger that flashed down right—“watch your damn language,” unironically, you muttered—something he’d never let you live down.

“Woah there princess, what are you on? Some patrol duty round here-?” The smirk was infuriating, his disheveled hair all the more—especially when he continued messing it up all the more.

A scoff, yours—“Mind your own business,” a shove passed and an attempt to move away—“Y/n L/n?” He held your campus manual.

The certain way your name rolled off his tongue, it caught your attention—“ya dropped this,”

A smirk adored his face as he handed back to you the campus manual, of course it wasn’t anything you required but to solace your father, there you held it.

A cramped “Whatever,” you let out, snatching the booklet from his hands quick—wanting nothing more to do with the stranger that you’d bumped into.

Just as you walked away though, “L/n huh?” The words, his, that you knew would cause you issues.

-

“He’s Satoru Gojo?” Your surprise lay hidden under the music that boomed all too loud—watching closely the white haired boy you’d bumped into a couple days ago.

“Yeah? You didn’t know?” The grin on your now best friend, and then just-roommates-friend offered little help.

Of course you hadn’t, and now you wish you didn’t still.

It was true you’d spotted him all so much over the past few days, and the people that followed him and the rumors still—unaware to why and how.

But now, with all the pieces in your hand you wanted to hide away—especially when those blue eyes stared right back—with a grin he trampled over.

“Oi! L/n right? We met at the first day?”

You cringed at how loud he spoke—so very sure that absolutely everyone could hear him, all over the booming music.

A subtle nod you passed, trying to get away from the spotlight he’d casually thrown round you.

“Your dad’s the Dean right?”

Silence- literally, just as he said that, the music system paused too—you wanted to curse your luck.

Widened eyes—star-struck stares from all those adored Gojo, amused ones at you from everyone who bothered to think.

You’d have considered lying—unless Satoru Gojo hadn’t chosen to be a dick about it, “You guys have the same last names so I thought- and then, the other when we bumped into each other- remember?” He chuckled as a couple of girls let out audible gasps, envious that you had already touched him so.

Before opportunity even lay still, he continued, “so I thought, because frankly either you’re his daughter or…you know, mistress—but that I doubt,” you wanted to punch away the grin he held, the snicker and the secrets he dropped out like flies.

So while you stood there, waiting for the ostracism—Gojo only giggled, “Don’t worry though, you’re fine, got more of your mom’s genes right?”

Fuming, you stood there—red that masked your vision—“excuse you?” A brow remained cocked, Gojo’s facial expression never once changed—it was about to.

“You’re one to talk about dads huh? Your daddy donated in just about how much into your esteemed football team huh? To get you selected?”

Satoru wasn’t new to comments such, in fact that’s what he’d built his career over but just the way you said it—just the way your angry face stared back at him—he found you annoying, adorably so.

That night, Satoru’s fan following increased by a decent thousand or so, people became aware of you and maybe, you realized, being the Dean’s daughter wouldn’t be that bad a fact.

But all the more, Gojo and you formed a sudden bond still, dislike and nothing less masking the two of you whenever the other was mentioned.

A farce? Maybe—but you were easily, in too deep to stop now.

Often nights you spent, thinking how the two of you could be friends—but huge egos that clashed in, something told you it wouldn’t happen all so easily.

-

The following week and there on were interesting—you joked all week that you’d blocked Gojo, you never did.

Gojo swore he’d have you black-listed for being so audacious—he never did.

When the huge messaging group—meant to be dead in a day—was formed, you both ended up saving each other’s number discreetly, never to approach it again, at least for a while.

And that was just how it went on “he annoys me so much,” and “she annoys me so much,” but little by little, small steps in the dark—you both were each other’s biggest cheerleaders still- applauding each other louder than anybody else.

Hands clutching onto your notepad you continued jotting down the points—fingers working fast so as not to let a single bright thought escape you.

The event was huge—the University’s 150th Anniversary—perfect, grand, extravagant—to be organized partially, by you.

There was time, plenty—absolutely 1 months before the panic would settle in, 2 before it would be over.

But seconds were quick—hasty in the way they changed into minutes, hours to come and days passed by, never realized.

A finger raised to push your spects up the bridge of your nose—you sighed, eyes landing on the form in front of you—mouth ajar and his sunglasses fixated in his hair, another piece of candy tossed up high before he caught it in his mouth.

A frustrated sigh you let out—“can you please sit straight and help?”

His eyes bore into yours- cerulean, they were pretty, almost prettier than the whole of him, you hated it.

“Isn’t it your job?” A grin he passed, a clench of your jaw was all you could—“we’re in this together, don’t give me that bullshit,”

Another grin, “talk to me when you need booze,”

“You don’t even drink,” the words fell out your mouth all so quick, hesitant you looked at him—“how do you know?” It was an amused smirk that he held, it annoyed you how the man in front seemingly only talked in three supposed emotions.

A small break, “well, I uh- noticed through the parties,” it was true, you did notice through the parties—it was hard not to, since you didn’t drink—you couldn’t be all so sure about the rest.

“You notice me at parties? You notice me at all?” Urges inside you that had to be controlled, such a perfectly punchable face Satoru Gojo held—“help me work on this damn idea,” you mumbled, ignoring all of what he wanted to discuss.

A roll of his eye and yours—“not gonna do it so easily,”

A huff you let out.

Frustration at peak.

“Actually,” your voice was quieter than you expected it to be, “wouldn’t it be better if you were there to advise us? Me? You’ve been organizing parties for so long and,” your face turned towards him—smile never faltering at his disgusted expression—he knew what you were doing, he wasn’t new to sugar coating after all, “I would love learning from the best.”

Jaw clenched, hands sauntered over to the back of your chair—most would consider it an action of endearment, you knew better.

“I would beg to differ Ms. Daddy’s princess,” Your blood boiled at his ignorance—sure, he was Satoru Gojo—but nothing gave him the right to act superior when he stood at his father’s money itself.

Hell, all he was meant to be was just a batchmate, captain of a stupid team that barely mattered—you?

Sure, a well suited empire would never land on your back, nor a fortune as his until you’d worked half your life into it— but you were better, you knew it. Denial onto his privilege to negate the Authorities could’ve never been acceptable by you.

your eyes remained stuck onto the ground —defiant—“well, i suppose it would only be for the best,” stubborn you sat and so did he—stuck in between the thickening tension.

“The best,” his voice exasperated, “would be for someone like you to sit back down and do as you’re told.”

Mouth hanging just in the slightest, you dared not to meet his face—focusing on the little stains and creases you’d administered on your sneakers—eyes sneaking onto his pair, perfect, as expected.

“That’s a little rich, coming from you—”

“—and this is the best they’ve found? You? To help me huh?”

Bigoted. Nose flared, curses at the tip of your tongue and you could do nothing as he further scoffed, “getting a privileged bitch to do my job, now they know my worth huh?”

“Excuse you?” Shaky, you sat—words spilling out before you could stop it—“your worth? Absolutely as nothing, but a spoiled man-baby who cannot deal with things maturely?”

Confusion marked his face—of course he would be, all so blind to the simple generosity that gets offered to him—all so he can kick a ball.

“The event is in 2 months sir,” address regained to the topic, you spoke flatly, “I would well appreciate that you helped us in the organization of said fest—if not, well, it would be a sheer pity that the entire football team would have to suffer,”

And there lay your ultimatum, naked and threatening—and he knew it was all but empty.

“L/n,” Gojo coughed—not quite sure, uneasy evidently, with the tension that hung lose in the atmosphere—“You maybe influential in your own ways on the campus but-”

“-but I’m just a student here, as you are,” you looked directly at Gojo now, “And to adhere to rules is the basic of most authoritative environments. So I suppose, you’ll be all the more pliant in helping us plan the fest and encouraging our juniors to help us out.”

Defiant—squinted eyes of Gojo simply stared blankly—“Alright,” he muttered.

“If help is what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”

And the deal was settled—to your compromise and his.

-

A week had passed since—the discomfort only grew.

“What the fuck? You’re speeding rumours now?” Rough were the words that greeted you first the moment the two of you entered the study you currently sat in—a half shrug you passed him, “I would need help and rather than begging you for it, why not just keep you as my assistant?”

“Excuse you?” His tone, bewildered as he shut the door behind the two of you—“Your assistant?” He barked out a laugh—“They really are making sheer idiots now huh?”

“Says daddy’s little prince who couldn’t use his academics to get in like everyone else,”

A scoff he passed—“How very original, at least my daddy has the power and how is yours, at all better?” he let his words trail off, a smirk on his lips as he pulled a chair to lounge in, and well, all cases be true, his dad probably had more money than you could imagine.

The certain charm of Gojos, after all.

“Don’t gotta flex your daddy’s sex work like that buddy,” you muttered, pulling a chair across him—peculiar you found it that he didn’t do so much as throw a fit in objection to the forced responsibility.

“Just giving inspiration baby,” he drew out—he winked, phone pulled out fast as he typed, you sat by forgotten.

A roll of your eyes—“Help me at least,”

Silence- you sighed.

“You’re supposed to help,” again, the very same cold air met you—“Gojo,”

“Nope.”

A sharp intake of breath and you stared at him, had it not been for the pretty face he had you’d have punched him long ago—a second too long you stared however, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,”

Another eye roll—“Just fucking help me,”

“Ain’t gotta princess,” he finally looked up, “I’m here to advise you right?”

An inhale, exhale—biting down on your teeth you nodded, “Of course,” you muttered—which was what had led you to the current situation, tired, exasperated and annoyed.

An hour and a half, slow—very, spent staring a few times at the blank paper and then the ceiling, often Satoru Gojo and then his phone; a couple ideas popped by here and there, all useless—you knew that.

“You know,” you spoke carefully, “As someone who’s helping you bunk without losing attendance, you should really really be thankful,”

“A bouquet will be present in your dorm tonight doll,” not a single glance spared still—it was frustrating simply to sit such.

A sharp exhale you let out, head hung back—this was a stupid idea.

“You know what?” Chair pushed back, you stood up—“I’ll manage,” fingers clutched hard onto your notepad—it hurt when he didn’t do so much as even shrug as you moved towards the door.

Silence, as you turned the handle of the door to leave—not even a look from him.

You despised him.

#6942619412: Yo [11:54 p.m.]

Your eyes narrowed at the sudden text that popped up—ignorance enveloped you still, eyes focused onto the book of applied physics in front of you—regret boring into you as you tried your best to drill the concepts into you, preparing yourself for the soon-to-end semester exams.

#6942619412: busy? [11:56 p.m.]

You ignored still, creeped a little at the protrusion—not enough to let your book down—

#6942619412: idc [11:58 p.mp]

#6942619412: show me your plans [11:58 p.m.]

Face scrunched in annoyance, you stared at your screen—the periodic chimes of notification and the switch from the dull background to immediate light up—Satoru Gojo was somehow a master at infuriating you.

However, as stubborn as lay, you were no better—‘ignorance is bliss’ they said, and you were all too prepared to test it out.

#6942619412: bro wtf. Reply. [12:03 a.m.]

You noted mentally, the time gap between his texts—a sly smile adorning your face. Something in you screamed to not do it—to not go against Satoru Gojo such—the certain something fell to deaf ears as a shit-eating grin you beheld, typing your words in.

You: it’s pathetic of you to message like this [12:03 a.m.]

You: desperate? [12:03 a.m.]

A minute went by, then another—you sighed.

It was perhaps, a bad idea— chime!!

#6942619412: it’s needy of you to message back [12:04 a.m.]

#6942619412: you desperate? [12:04 a.m.]

A smirk—yours, a smirk—his.

You: you realize the first text of your day is to me? [12:04 a.m.]

#6942619412: you realize you’re taking note of how my day goes? [12:05 a.m.]

You: because you decided to bother me in mine—get to whatever you were saying [12:05 a.m.]

#6942619412: there there princess—I demand respect and send me your ideas- or better still I’ll come over to your dorm [12:06 a.m.]

Your eyes remained fixed at the screen; ‘come at your dorm’? Was he stupid?

You: there’s no need to come here gojo. I’ll send you everything right now.

You waited, patiently, however, ever so cruel—time was always slow, especially when waiting onto someone. 5 minutes grudged slow- you were afraid that he would actually show up. Would he?

No, of course not— even for him this was absurd, given the security and the time at night—he was probably asleep—

Knock.

A twist of your window pane’s handle- a thud of your heart and widened set of eyes.

Another knock and you were at your feet, stupidly, opening the window—widening it to welcome Satoru Gojo is your room—scandalous.

A smirk he held, form towering yours by a decent couple inches, “Neat room,” he whistled as he stood awkward, unsure onto whether to place himself until he found your study—making himself comfortable on the spot you just sat.

“Applied physics?” Curiosity laced his voice and a shrug you responded with — “So what?” You muttered, reaching in to close the book—he certainly took note of the tiredness your voice held.

“So you’re an idiot—it’s a tough field.”

Another shrug—“Gets me going and nothing could’ve sucked more than chemistry so,”

A snort he lay bare—only then did you realize how quiet it was, soft breaths, the new morning dancing about the timelines—your gaze on his, and his on yours. How so eccentric—not.

“You couldn’t deal with chemistry? Gotta be dumb or some shit,”

You scoffed—knowing where he was leading it, “do we really need me to redo the whole ‘got in because of your dad’ shit here?”

He grinned wide—and just then you noticed the perfect set of teeth—the ones you’d hoped to punch and break some day, “I think I’d wanna skip it tonight baby,”

“Don’t call me that,”

“Prissy, eh?”

A scrunch of your face, a wink his.

“Why, and dare I ask, how, did you get here?” Brows raised, expression amused as he paced about your room—taking it in, familiarizing himself.

“Don’t worry onto that doll, just show me your ideas,”

Your eye twitched, it was simply alien to you—the feeling of being treated normal by him. By Satoru Gojo- reality set in straight Every Time you realized that something in you, even if small, craved his attention, his validation.

Maybe that was why you were hurt—when he’d ignored you initially, when he’d shove you in the hall without a thought spared—when his gaze was all so disrespectful Everytime you approached Him.

Maybe it was just the social construct of it all.

Maybe it was something else.

So surprise was bound to grip you hard— he wanted your ideas?

“Well?” Fidgety, you noted his actions to be—nervous? You wouldn’t be sure.

“Why?”

A shrug, half hearted, “I heard stuff on you,” and now your interest sat piqued, “They say you’re as good as me when it comes down to getting shit done,” a wink—you gagged internally at his words- his charm?

Not quite so.

“You’ve been snooping around since the past week? Got you that hooked?” A smirk you channeled, unsure still- suspicious more so.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered—his eyes were quicker, quicker that yours, cerulean, I suppose something to do with the color of them—all too pretty to have one care about anything besides themselves.

“I’ve heard of your accomplishments beforehand, you know it—you just weren’t so important and most of the time I was trying to stay off your radar,” his face panned towards the shelf you kept full of books—“but you did interest me,”

A scoff let’s your lips, “Anything with a vagina and boobs will interest you,”

“Hey now-” and for a second he seemed offended, not that you cared, “don’t forget about the ass—and please, I sincerely accept dicks too.” And just at that you chuckled slightly—a small win he deemed it, “man-whore,” you muttered past him- closing your books and grabbing onto the notepad from before.

“Here,” you handed it over— a sudden feeling of embarrassment washing over—after all, as much of a jerk he was, Satoru Gojo sincerely was experienced and amazing at what he did.

Lips pursed, you stared as he read through the stuff- “I know it’s all too-” a hand raised to quieten you, he continued reading—quick at that too.

It took him a minute or so, to go through each of the 4 pages you’d jotted down—“Not bad,” you nodded, “not the best,” you bit your tongue.

“I uh- i know it’s a little extravagant?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “or more so, it’s not very realistic? You have steps planned out and …you know, it’s supposed to be done by humans not machines,”

Your eyes raised in understanding, you weren’t too sure, but just enough.

“Put yourself into it—you’re cool you know that?,” eyes squinted, you watched him carefully- not a word let out.

“Just a little…uptight, learn to let go,”

“how do I…?”

He grinned, “have fun figuring that out—the ideas were cool, gotta go now doll,” you blinked once, twice, and without a word he was gone—you let him. However could you even ever stop him?

And you knew well, the rumbling in your room was sure to get your father awake.

A click on the lock—you closed the window behind him—swift was the way he came about, annoying, the way he left. And yet you still stood alone in the room, pacing about with a dorkish smile.

And only five minutes after he’d left, after the daze was gone—you noticed the bouquet of jasmines on your bedside—huh.

Certainly understood the charm now—especially when your eyes focused onto your phone right before closing.

#6942619412: you’re actually cute when you’re not frowning yk? [1:05 a.m.]

You went to sleep.

~Three weeks before the Fest~

“I’d say it’s coming along amazing,” another fruit roll up popped into his mouth—the fifth packet in last three hours, you were only surprised how he wasn’t sick of them yet.

A nod you passed—“but they’re slow-”

“-because they’re people, they are bound to be slow,”

Another nod.

There was something that Satoru Gojo did help you with, and there was something you’d helped him with as well—his eyes panned onto the elaborate list of numbers he’d gathered, oh how you’d spun the man, Satoru ‘never gonna help nobody’ Gojo into your actual assistant.

“Tell me though, when will you order the booze?”

“It’s an official thing- how can you expect booze to be there?” A ridiculed laugh met you—“ever heard of sneaking shit in princess?”

Of course you had, given that Satoru Gojo snuck himself into your room almost every night, uninvited—so far as to snickering when you squeaked out lies to your father about talking to your friends.

“Shut up, there will be no beverage,” he chuckled at your formal tone, beverage, “you and I, or anyone can get expelled for that—it happened last year,”

“You’re your daddy’s only princess though,”

“And you’re not,” a deadpan from you shut him up quick—“dad’s gonna be mad if he finds it, I won’t be expelled but you might, especially given your record and everything—and yes that means your captaincy and everything too,”

A month ago, the nervousness on his face would’ve made you chuckle—giddy maybe but now it only troubled you for him—hours spent on the floor of your bedroom had opened up conversations after all.

“But you’ll save me right?”

He stared at you; you stared back, you noted the closeness.

There was no reply to be offered—but it did ruin the small moment to hear the causal, “Satoru~” from the lips of her, Mei Mei, long time family friend of his and an equatable annoyance to Satoru Gojo.

Both of your faces whipped to meet hers, yours scorned while his broke into a grin—“Oi!” He chuckled—arms spreading out to greet her, hug her.

“Y/n,” she greeted you too, a smile you passed back—part of your council members after all—“how’s the planning going?”

“Fantastic,” tight lipped you muttered—“fabulous,” she grinned, “mind if I steal Toru’ for a second?”

You mentally gagged at her—‘steal Toru for a second’—except those seconds never really were seconds, rather hours and to your utter annoyance, Gojo never add moves to counter it.

“Of course!” And just like that, gone, daily.

A sigh you let out, staring at the preparations—“why’d you let them walk over you all the time?” A deep voice met you, “Suguru?”

A short smile, a short breath of cigarettes met you—in the best way, “Good day to you too,” he grinned, patting the seat beside him, eyes stuck on his best friend and his rendezvous partner.

“You as , and what exactly do you suppose I do? Stop them?”

“He’s your assistant, ain’t he?”

“Yes but-”

“Am I seeing you finally turn into a push-over, like all the other girls when it comes to him?” All in good humor he spoke, but mostly because it was true.

You were bending your walls for a certain someone—it didn’t feel right.

“You think I shouldn’t?”

“I think you should only if this lasts after the rest as well,”

“Will it?”

A pause, a shrug, “I don’t know, ask him.”

You stared at him—“why are you two the legitimate same at advices? And equally bad?” A laugh met you—“go on, ask him—because as of now, Mei Mei seems to have done what she wanted,”

“Huh?”

A look at him and then at them, your heart sank—he was kissing her, your heart sank more, why were you so bothered by it?

A nervous chuckle you passed to Suguru, an empathetic one he did, “it’s fine,”

“Yeah.”

———

It wasn’t fine, hell it was far from fine—especially when you saw them together there on, all the time.

3 weeks, dates here and there—she was around you all the time, and him, it was infuriating in all aspects of the word.

“Who’re you going with?” Almost everyday he questioned, and you never had an answer because somehow, just something in you had made you reject every proposal—something in you supposed that you two would go together.

You were the organizers—but then, it was no rule.

And even if it was, Satoru Gojo wasn’t big on rules.

-

“Ready?” Suguru grinned, last minute date that you’d found—all so grateful that you stood.

A small nod with a smile you passed—“how do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” another smile, wider—eyes however, they remained stuck onto Gojo.

“It’s not about him tonight doll,”

“It’s never about him,” you mumbled—melancholy—ironic onto how the entire fest that you’d built was based off of youth and what not.

But it was about him, everything was about him- especially in the way your dress, bought just for the occasion was the same cerulean, your hair was braided just how he once mentioned liking, you were wearing the perfume he bought you for you.

Everything.

And you despised all of this everything while having nothing.

“Yo! Y/n,” you paused, Suguru did too—his smirk widening, as did Mei Mei’s, Satoru walked- sauntered over.

“Don’t you look hot?” The grin was wide, your nose scrunched in disgust, “you’re reeking of alcohol,”

He was—of course he was, right after you’d advised him not to.

“Chill, nobody’s gonna know-”

“-we have to meet my dad in 15 minutes.”

“…oh.”

“Well anyways, I see you came with Suguru? You’ve been getting close?”

Your eye twitched—so he did see it—“yeah he’s cool, and helpful, unlike you,”

A giggle, “I have a life outside of you, remember?” Your blood boiled—“of course you do, enjoy it.”

A sharp turn you made, lips bitten, unsure, uncertain—“Honestly though, if I weren’t with Mei tonight I’d actually fuck ya “

Your jaw clenched at the audacity—the other two, Suguru and Mei Mei long disappeared as you flared daggers into Satoru’s soul.

“Can you take one thing seriously? You- you bloody idiot I can’t even-” you whipped around to face him again—eyes boring into his.

Satoru, even in his drunken state knew it would last long, the lecture, a hand pulled you in very quick, a corner, secluded.

“Stop fucking shouting,” slurred his words, they lay bare.

“What do you want me to do then? You- you- I- ugh.” You paused, hard breaths let out—“you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Annoying? You’re the one screaming woman,” the small smirk that he adored annoyed you all the more so.

“Excuse you? I’m annoying?” And at that moment, you let go, “I’m annoying after you spent three weeks fucking with Mei Mei? I’m annoying after you’re the one acting irresponsible? I’m annoying after you ended up treating me like all your others girls? I’m annoying after- after you just chose to walk all over me- I’m annoy- mmph!”

Words lay interrupted quick, a rough hand reeled you in while the other held your head, the kiss was soft, passionate of one would call it, sloppy in the way his lips attached to yours, hungry.

And amusingly, unlike all things Gojo, this did not feel wrong.

But it wouldn’t help your emotions being all over the place—“what the fuck?” You asked, the moment he pulled away—“was it that bad?” An amused chuckle rolled off his lips.

“No? You can’t do this- we can’t just kiss- I-”

“-okay, then take it back,” and just like that, he pulled you in again, lips attaching once more, hands exploring each other easy, slow gasps of breath as you pushed him away this time.

“N-no you- I don’t- what? You take it back,” and almost as if his alcohol was on your mind too, you pulled him in this time—a small peck, harsh, Satoru loved it all the same.

Frustrated you pulled away, grinning his hand held your wrist—“don’t go,” he mumbled, your face contorted into the expression which screamed your annoyance.

“Don’t go? Fuck you Gojo. Fuck you and your damn ego and the audacity you have,” your breaths were shallow, the two stood so close.

“Don’t kiss me when you’re with someone else—you might be a whore but-”

“It was for you,” another mumble, quieter, “to get you jealous and I think it worked?”

A pause.

“And The alcohol?” You whispered—he loved it though, the way you prioritised the reputation above him—somehow you humanised him, “only I’ve drunk it, no one else—to…get your attention,”

“But you never drink…”

“And I never fucked Mei either, or kissed her…or anyone since you,”

“That’s supposed to make me feel special?” It did, but you were done for the day.

“I think so…?”

You blink, once, twice and instead of the third that Satoru expected a sharp slap landed on his face.

“You’re very fucking dumb,” while one hand clutched the cheek he’d been hit at, the other still held your hand, pulling you closer when he heard your choked words—eyes widening at the wetness in your eyes.

“L/n…” a sigh, “fuck I’m- fuck.” He held you close, unnatural to your relation, you let yourself be held.

————

“Sorry?”

You glared at him, the Music blared behind you loud— the both of you stood outside your father’s office, “we’ll deal with that later.”

A slight nod, Satoru was glad you even agreed to talk to him, Satoru was glad you even looked at him—Satoru was simply glad you were standing beside him.

A knock, two more, you walked inside—Satoru, as advised by you stood outside—your father would know of course, instantly.

The room seemed a breath of freshness as you walked, away from the stench that Satoru held, “where’s Gojo?” You were prepared for the question.

“Do you like the fest?” You father was prepared for the dodge—he hummed, “you both did good together, as I supposed,” you hummed.

“He won’t be coming?”

“He’s busy,” you lied through your teeth, “some kids snuck in alcohol, he’s dealing with it,” you were sure you caught your father’s smirk—“that would be highly…inappropriate,”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “of course, we’ll see to it that they’re punished well,”

Your father hummed again, “having a good time?”

“Wonderful,” your father grinned, “well, you can go then but…maybe not today but I do hope meet your assistant soon after, kind of tired of seeing him sneak in through the windows,”

“Dad?!”

“What? You’re grown up and I’ve seen the potential and I kind of think opposites do attract, and you proved me right so,”

Idiots, all around you.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[ponyosmom35]

don't ever talk to her like that again

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter ten!

synopsis: Ghost forgets to come by and get his wound checked and the reader confronts him in front of 141, who make fun of him. he goes to her and catches a soldier yelling at her.

warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, cursing, angsty ghost

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

The next day was busy, she worked at least 16 hours, hopping between the soldiers, tending to their wounds. All of them were kind except for one. James was the young man whom she saved with Ghost the day prior. For whatever reason he seemed to dislike her. He made comments the entire day that had been slowly upsetting her. She tried not to think about it, and even asked to switch with another medic. She didn’t want him going around to others and telling them that she was an awful caretaker. 

Things settled down around 5 pm, most of the soldiers were fast asleep. She sits dwon for the first time that day after 12 hours of work and runs her hand over her hair. Her legs were on fire, as was her neck and her back. Yet you could never tell just but looking at her. She looks down at her files and goes over them all. She updated the treatment they’d received that day. She picks up the last file, noticing that it was the partially filled-out page she had for Ghost. She was unable to find his file without knowing his name. She huffs as she remembers that she’d told him to come visit her today. She leaves the files on her desk and walks through the dining hall, she spots him sitting at a crowded table with 141 and many others. Deciding to take a break she grabs a plate and sits down next to Soap and across from Ghost. 

“ankle biter! My god it's great to see you” Soap exclaims 

“Good to see you too suds” she says pushing his shoulder, the table chuckles at her cute nickname for him.

“How you been today? Haven’t seen you take a break once” Price comments “Yeah its been busy, everyone seems to be settled now” she nods

“You’ve done such a great job here, Ghost briefed me last night. You’re a real asset kid, thanks for the hard work, hope you know its appreciated” 

“Thank you, captain, that means a lot” she nods happily, as her cheeks turn pink

“Any of em giving you a hard time?” Gaz asks “sometimes we can be stubborn after gettin hurt”

“Just one, he’s fine though, doesn’t bother me”

“Who is it?” Ghost asks roughly, his intense gaze on her. Everyone turns to him in surprise, as he hasn’t said a word the whole time. 

“Doesn’t matter, but I am curious why you haven’t stopped by today, I need to check your stitches” she says crossing her arms, eyebrows raised as she waits for his explanation. The boys exchange glances, smirks on their faces as they await his response. 

“I’m good, don’t need anything else” 

“You are on the brink of an infection, I need to clean it out again”

“It’s fine-”

“If I don’t see you in my office before lights out I’ll drag you in there myself” she warns, pointing her fork at him. 

“Better not test her mate, I hear gingers are crazy” Soap murmurs 

“Shut up Johnny” Ghost snaps 

“You have three hours Ghost, don’t push me” she half-jokes “alright boys, I better get back to it, enjoy your dinner”

“You barely ate!” Price comments 

“No time, I’ll grab something later” she smiles before leaving the table.

After she’s out of earshot the men erupt into laughter, slamming their hands on the table as they cackle. Ghost sits there with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed at Soap.

“she got your ass LT” 

“I’ve never seen a bird talk to you that way, my god I love that woman” Gaz exclaims as he wipes his tears 

“She’s got you good doesn’t she eh Ghost?” Price asks slamming his hand on Ghost’s back. 

“What makes you say that?” he questions angrily, causing them to laugh loudly once more.

“You’re killing me LT, I can’t stand it” Soap says wiping the tears in his eyes

“Let me put it to you this way mate, I’ve never seen anyone speak to you like that and walk away unharmed. You didn’t even say a word! Never would’ve thought a bird would hold you by the balls like that, I’m glad to see it though” Gaz says sincerely, Ghost shakes his head and stands up holding his empty plate. Soap and Gaz continue to giggle and he glares at them intensely, both shut up and cover their mouths to hide their laughs.

“Fucking idiots” he comments

Ghost walks over to the food and makes a plate of food, he grabs a napkin and silverware before walking to the medical bay. He could hear a loud voice yelling and frowns. He walks closer to the source and sets the food down. 

“You fucking bitch! You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, get me a new doctor!” a voice yells

“James, I know it hurts but I have to clean it out, you don’t want an infection trust me” he hears her voice explaining calmly. Ghost stays outside, knowing that she could handle herself. He knew she’d be upset if he came in and defended her. Though every part of him was itching to rip that kid’s throat out. 

“No I don’t fucking trust you! You’d rather bounce on Ghost’s dick than actually do your job!” he yells

His eyes widen at that comment and he can’t control the rage that fills his body. Ghost storms into the room, his heavy footsteps causing them to turn and look at him. 

“Ghost-” James starts, in the blink of an eye he’s standing above the wounded soldier gripping his collar and holding him up. His heart rate spikes on the machine and he ignores it. 

“You fucking insignificant bastard, how dare you speak to a woman like that?!” he demands 

“Ghost it’s fine-” she starts 

“If I hear you speak to her like that ever again I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me? I don’t give a fuck if you’re in a hospital bed, only makes it easier” he threatens 

“okay man!” James says with tears in his eyes

“This woman saved your life! You’d be rotting six feet under if it weren’t for her. Show her some goddamn respect!”

“I’m sorry!” he cries out

“You will be once I’m done with you” Ghost drops him on his back forcefully. She places a hand on his forearm, instantly catching his attention at the touch. 

“Come on, lets clean you up” she says pulling him out of the room “someone will help you soon James, hang tight” 

She leads Ghost into a spare room and closes the door behind her. He doesn’t say a word as he breathes heavily, his hands clenched as he tried to keep himself from going back and finishing the kid off. 

“Can you take off your jacket?” she asks, her voice gentle. He looks up at her, her eyes were red and she was visibly exhausted. He does as told and unzips the thick fleece provided by the force. He reveals the tight black tee shirt he’d worn underneath and she inhales a sharp breath quietly as she stares at the way his muscles pop from the shirt. This was the second time she’d seen his bare arm, and she was still in shock. Fuck he was so sexy.

“besides what just happened, Have you been keeping yourself on light duty?” she asks, seemingly trying to move past the incident that just took place. 

“Yes”

“Oh at least you followed one of my instructions” she comments sarcastically 

“Are you okay?” he asks as she begins to slowly unwrap his wounds 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“James-”

“James is a dick but you could’ve really hurt him” she says disapprovingly. 

“He can’t talk to you like that”

“Unfortunately that’s a part of the job Ghost, angry soldiers need someone to blame, often times the person in front of them trying to help”

“Still gives him no right” he grunts, she begins to clean out his wounds gently as she sighs. He says inherently apologizing for the way he treated her when she tried to help him months back.

“Then he would’ve blamed me for that too, made the rumors worse” 

“If you want me to apoligize its not going to happen” he responds 

“I don’t expect you to apoligize, I actually think it was really sweet what you did for me. Nobody’s ever defended me like that before” she muses 

“Never?” 

“No”

“You let me know if he opens his mouth again, I’ll make sure those are the last words that rat bastard ever speaks” he says, watching as her face lightens and she laughs. The sound is like music to his ears, the tense feeling in his stomach dissipating. 

“I think you’ve scarred him straight” 

“Fucker” he murmurs under his breath. 

“I’m a big girl ghost, I can handle my own” she says 

“I know you can, but I didn’t ask you to” he responds causing her to snort. “What would you have said to him?” 

“I probably would’ve warned him not to threaten the person trying to help him, sound familiar?” she asks, he laughs and nods his head. 

“very” 

“Okay you’re all set” she says, fixing his sleeve “do you want anything for the pain?”

“No” he says, standing to his feet, his large stature once more towering over her. 

He moves to the door and opens it, gesturing for her to walk in front of him. She smiles and walks into the common room, noticing a plate of food on the table. She frowns and walks over to it. “I wonder whose this is” 

“I brought it for you” he comments, watching as she looks up at him in surprise “probably cold now”

“That was really sweet, thank you” she says taking a seat as she picks at it. 

“Thank you for…” he trails off gesturing to his arm

“Anytime” she nods, watching as he turns to walk away, her eyes widen and she stands calling after him. Ghost turns, staring down at her in confusion. 

“So I know you go by Ghost but I need your real name so I can update your file” she says, his body tenses and he glares down at her, she notices and shifts uncomfortably “Its protocol, legally I can’t keep using a blank form” 

His mind races as he thinks of a way to get out of this situation. She seems to notice his distress and shakes her head. 

“You know what, I’ll talk to Price and figure it out, no problem” she says, watching as he sighs in relief. 

“Have a good night Ghost” she smiles before walking away.

-

Later that night she walks into her room, fresh out of the shower. She opens her door and notices it catching on something. She frowns and opens it all the way, noticing a file on the ground. She picks it up and opens it. At the top it read ‘Lieutenant Simon Riley’. Her heart swells as she nearly drops the file on the ground. A large smile spreads across her face as her cheeks turn pink. Simon, his name was Simon. He trusted her enough to reveal his name. 

She spends an hour filling out his medical report, unable to keep the smile off of her face. As she finishes she sets the file on her bedside table and crawls under her covers. She lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a smile. Her heart racing at the thought of him. Simon Riley had her wrapped around his big ass fingers. 

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet rn! I am losing my mind at this, ugh how sweet.

[yeeterthek33per]

Sparklers (Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader)

A/n Requested. Honestly this one isn't my best work but I just wanted it to be done, so it's not as substantial but I promise I did my best to save it from the clutches of undone WIPs.

Content/Warning(s): Fluff, Kyra being a pest.

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

When Kyra had first left for Sweden, she'd been adamant that she couldn't leave you behind.

But after many tears, hugs, kisses and persuasion in the form of future travel plans, she left for Hammarby IF, while you stayed with the Melbourne Victory.

Thus, nearly two years later, just a month before the World Cup and one week before the start of camp, a very tired and whiny girlfriend of yours sits on facetime with you, begging you to let her come over to Australia early to spend time with you.

"Babe, c'mon, I'd only be missing one match anyway."

And thus, you subsequently scolding the twenty-one year old.

"Kyra, no. No way. Seriously, play your last match, if I remember rightly, Hammarby haven't offered you a new contract right?"

She huffs, silently fidgeting with her fingers and not making eye contact with you through the camera.

"You need to play the last match, Ky. Be professional about it, please, if not for the club, for me? I want you to be able to get opportunities over there. Take it seriously and you can come see me the moment your last match is over."

She groans, letting her head hit the bed from where she'd been laying stomach down with her phone in front of her.

"Promise me, Ky. Play out the rest of the season. Even if you don't get the league, you've still got a trophy under your belt there, baby."

"Alright."

The look in her eyes as she turns her head away from the camera makes you sigh softly.

"Kyra, promise me you'll stay. I miss you more than anything, but your career comes first. Promise me."

She mumbles back, finally.

"I promise, baby, I promise I'll stay."

You nod in satisfaction, giving the girl a small smile and pressing a kiss to the tips of your fingers before holding them up to your phone as she does the same.

"Goodnight, baby."

"G'night, Ky."

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

So she does stay.

She plays her heart out in her last match, taking the draw with Piteå before finally getting on her flight to Australia.

She's exhausted from the match, and nearly forgoes showering and changing to switch tickets to an earlier flight.

Instead, she heeds your warnings of not kissing her should she decide to show up at the training centre without at least taking care of herself first.

She's already got her bags packed and ready in her rental to fly to Australia, and just about drags them to the match with her but forgoes it.

The poor aussie just needs to see her girlfriend. To collapse into a warm, fluffy pile of cuddles and-

"Flight 157 to Sydney, Australia, Now boarding."

She sighs and hopes the flight boards quickly, eager to see you.

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

Everyone was told similar times to be at the centre by, giving them a roughly six hour window to arrive in, given any delays in flights, although that doesn't seem enough knowing international boarding mid year can be dicey.

So you've taken the initiative to be in Brisbane early to avoid the traffic of the day.

It's ripe time at six-thirty in the morning, meaning you're far earlier than all of your teammates, even the one's closer to Brisbane than you are, and thus you have plenty of time to kill and nap in the lobby waiting for your teammates to start arriving at around ten.

Of course, you're startled awake by a slap to the stomach.

Taking a precursory glance at the clock on the wall above the receptionists desk, it's about three and a half hours later.

It's Steph and Caitlin, both of them sporting tired smirks at you.

"Well hello miss."

You just about jump into the arms of your vice-captain, having missed seeing the woman at the last camp due to injury, thus you haven't seen the woman since the games in April against Scotland and England.

"Steph!"

She chuckles, giving you a tight squeeze.

She had taken you under her wing the moment you'd stepped into your first national team camp just four years ago, not long after the World Cup but right before the Covid Pandemic.

She'd been the one to stick with you over facetime while you navigated the league in Australia, and of course, once a sense of normalcy returned and after the Olympic games in Tokyo.

You were often found in her room with her even though you'd all been given the privileges of single rooms.

Now, you tended to spend more time with Kyra, but, if your teammates needed you, it was always one of the two of them that you'd be found with.

"What, and I'm chopped liver, am I?"

You poke your tongue out at the striker, burying yourself back into Steph's arms.

"No, I'm just the favourite."

"Please, you and I both know you're no longer the favourite."

"Shhhh, let me have this, she isn't here yet."

Giggling, you nudge the defender and separate from her.

"I'm in love with the girl, but you're more tolerable, some days."

"Ayy, that's my girl."

She ruffles your sleep mussed hair.

"Hey! Hands off the goods, Catley."

You swat at the older woman, who dodges the tired attempt.

"Yeah, stop bullying my girlfriend, Catley."

Your head shoots up from it's laid back position on the back of the couch to look at the newly appeared brunette, standing across the lobby from you.

"Ky, get that cute butt over here, right now."

At your demand, she drops her stuff and runs over in two seconds flat, nearly tackling you back onto the seating, arms wrapped tightly around your form, nose buried in your neck.

Staying for a moment to just breathe each other in, your hands rub circles into the woman's back, your face buried in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, wincing at the smell of airplane on her.

She pouts when you pull away with a terribly hidden grimace.

"Baby, I love you, but you need a shower."

A soft whine from the midfielder makes you raise a brow at her.

"I just got in, can you blame me?"

There's a teasing smile on your lips as you wrap your arms around her waist.

"Obviously, you were supposed to shower before coming here."

Kyra huffs at that, crossing her arms.

"Love you."

She grumbles in response.

You nudge her, pouting.

"Love you."

Still no response.

You grab her face, turning her head back towards you with a small frown.

"I love you."

When she doesn't respond again, you start peppering her face with kisses and she gives in, grinning at you.

"Alright! Alright! Love you, too."

Satisfied, you give her a small peck, to which she chases you up for a second, a third and then someone clearing their throat beside you interrupts her from a fourth.

"Alright, you two, stop being gross."

It's a grunt from the striker on your left, which earns her a slap to the shoulder.

"Leave them be, Caitlin."

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

It's your final day off before the full commitment to the World Cup preparations takes precedence over your time in Australia, thus you want to do as much as you can with your girlfriend before your time together, alone, gets limited.

You'd had a few days off to explore the city, but nothing really concrete as you and Kyra had just wandered around the area where the hotel is.

This time, you wanted to plan something for the midfielder, something to last you both the couple weeks of the World Cup, hoping it would tide you both over, knowing it'd be torture not spending time together.

At least when she was in Sweden, you had space to yourselves over facetime.

World Cups are chaotic, and allow little to no time to yourselves, as you've so discovered and been told by the older girls on the team.

So, here you are, calling various different restaurants for reservations tonight, with, unfortunately, no luck.

Instead, managing to sneak away from the girl for an hour or so, you run down to the grocery store, pick up several of her favourite snacks, drinks, and a small surprise that you think she'll love and then rush back to the hotel, getting ready for a night out in one of the cities parks.

She looks at you suspicious when you drag her down, scraggily dressed in hoodies and sweats, to a taxi rather insistently, dragging a completely full duffle bag behind you.

Not that you blame her.

You would be sussed out, too, if she decided to randomly drag you out to a taxi at six on a Saturday night, carrying a nearly ripping at the seams, black duffle bag.

"Sooooo... Where are we goin', babe?"

"You'll see."

You let out a little laugh at the small pout she has on her face, pecking her sweetly on the lips in exchange for the small smile she relents at the sound of your giggle.

When you finally pull up at the park, you're all but dragging the woman across the green grass and to the edge of the waterline where you drop the blanket you'd been carrying down onto the somewhat flat grassed area.

It's lit well enough that when the sun starts to set, it's not ridiculously dark, so you take a little comfort knowing it's not entirely dangerous out, plus the added comfort of the occasional family or couple wandering by on the path just to the left of you by ten feet or so.

You nudge her to sit down next to you, hand settling in hers.

"I wanted us to have a nice little sit down together to just relax and talk and eat and just be stress free for a little while. Just to breathe for the night. Together. It's about to be even more hectic and I've missed you."

You pout softly, leaning into her a little.

She leans over, kissing you fully, hand on your face tugging you in closer.

You're both a little breathless when she let's your face go again.

"I love you, so fucking much."

Giggling, you kiss her once more.

"I love you, too."

Finally, you open up the bag and dump out the contents onto her lap, knowing you're about to have a very excited sugar hyped puppy on your hands after this.

Her eyes sparkle up at you, the grin on her face causing her eyes to crease at the corners.

"Just wait 'til you see what else is in there."

Eyes darting around the small pile, she digs through it to find a pair of packets of sparklers and a small lighter.

She feels giddy, and looks the part, too, her immediate giggle and hug crushing you making your heart just about melt through your body entirely.

It's adorable.

It's cute.

It's oh so Kyra and you feel your heart bursting at the thought that you get to call her yours.

You're dragged out of your train of thought by said woman dragging you to your feet, lighting a sparkler and handing it to you, running around you, both of your giggles and the small handheld fireworks lighting up the night sky and the river before you.

No matter where you are, how far apart they keep you, Kyra will always be your one, you realise.

It's a small, heartbeat skipping thought, but it makes you smile harder and enjoy the moment all the more while you can.

The sparkler she's holding blasts out tiny stars of combusting magnesium, being spread out harmlessly in the air and onto the grass as she runs circles around you.

It goes out within a minute or so, and she's looking over at you with puppy dog eyes.

"Babe, can you get another one out, pretty please? I wanna attack those cheezels soon."

You chuckle, obliging with her demands, a small kiss to your lips as thanks.

She may be a child at heart still, but she's yours.

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