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the-darklings · 2 days ago

Note

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think.

He can’t.

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds.

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now.

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake.

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway.

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was.

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her.

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were.

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again.

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest.

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack.

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room.

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl.

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.”

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating.

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been.

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her.

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her.

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality.

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands.

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well.

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely.

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair.

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly.

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing.

You’re the order to my chaos, hero.

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it?

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal.

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home.

There’s no sleep that night.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move.

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose.

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be.

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right?

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her.

Still her.

Always her.

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt.

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away.

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat.

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition.

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet.

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled.

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step.

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against.

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving.

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull.

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink.

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath.

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room.

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him.

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her.

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually.

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again.

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him.

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says.

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been.

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement.

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so.

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone.

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets.

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way.

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them.

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom.

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere.

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche.

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had.

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth.

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness.

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair.

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all.

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away.

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes.

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close.

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread.

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body.

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

#arcane #ekko x jinx #timebomb #ekkojinx #arcane fic #asks #thank you for asking anon!! just a tiny 'sort of fix-it'

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covenofagatha · 2 days ago

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Saw you're taking requests and decided to toss one your way!

Agatha x reader, reader has had a really tough day and Agatha helps put her into subspace to relax. Some soft!dom Agatha with a splash of praise, degradation, mommy and maybe some size kink? And of course some fluffy aftercare after reader has been thoroughly fucked out of her mind❤

Hope you enjoy! (Disclaimer: I've never written subspace before so hopefully I did it justice, along with everything else you wanted)

Bad day

When Agatha comes home to find that you had a bad day, she takes it upon herself to make you feel better

Word count: 2600

Warnings: praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, size kink, mommy kink, oral, strap-on, aftercare, smut, and fluff (I may have missed one)

You’re on your last nerve when you get to your afternoon class on Wednesday.

Your car didn’t start in the morning so your girlfriend, Agatha, had to drop you off at work, which you’d never complain about, except she had still been asleep when this happened so you were almost late because she had to get ready.

And then work was awful. You had a shift at the popular retail store in town and it seemed like every customer who came in was on a mission to personally ruin your day.

From dissatisfaction with the prices to vomit all over the restroom floor, it seemed like nothing could go right.

Agatha had been at work herself so you had to call one of your college friends to give you a ride after.

And now you had to sit in a class on Personality Theory for the next three hours and listen to your professor drone off on tangents. You would be getting your tests back from last week though, and you were hoping you had done well.

“Alright, before we get started, I’ll go ahead and pass out your exams. Once I call your name, you can come up and look at it,” your professor says and you anxiously tap your fingers on the desk while you wait for your turn.

Finally, he says your name. Butterflies in your stomach, you walk to the front to look and it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut.

There must be something wrong, you don’t understand how you missed this many.

Red ink stains the page and you have to clench your jaw together to keep your composure. Tears prick at your eyes as you hand the exam back to your professor and head back to your seat, burning with shame.

It seems like it’s just one thing after another.

You barely pay attention for the rest of class, head spinning with thoughts of how bad you did, how everything sucks, how you just want to go home.

Agatha texts you a few times during the three hour time span, just checking in on you, but you don’t even respond. She always says that you get too wrapped up in your own brain and you know she’s right. You do let her know that you won’t need a ride home, not sure you could take the older woman’s softness right now.

You just want to take a shower and lie in bed.

Class finally ends and you order an Uber instead of asking a friend to take you home. When you get in these moods, you don’t want to talk to anyone.

You grunt in response to the driver’s question of asking how you are and then the rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not often you get in such a foul mood, but when it does, it’s tough.

When you make it through the front door of Agatha’s home, you immediately collapse on the couch and breathe in the blanket that still has her scent. She’ll be home soon and now you just want her to give you a big hug and tell you that everything will be alright.

You hear keys jingle in the front door maybe ten minutes later and you sit up on the couch expectantly, heartbeat picking up. You’ve been with Agatha for six months now and she still managed to have the same effect on you that she had at the beginning.

“Hey, baby,” she calls out, seeing the lights on, and she makes her way to the living room to find you swaddled in her favorite blanket on the couch. She frowns, instantly able to tell something is wrong. Usually you get up to give her a kiss. “You okay?”

And then it’s like a dam breaks. You start sobbing and telling her all the things that have gone wrong that day and she instantly sits down next to you, engulfing you into a hug and whispering that everything will be okay.

She lets you cry for a bit, hand stroking your hair, making soothing sounds. Eventually, you calm down enough to take slow, shaky breaths.

“I’m sorry, doll. Sounds like you had a rough day,” she says, pressing a kiss to your head and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You nod in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You shrug while you think about it. And then you lean in and chastely kiss her lips.

When you pull back, she’s smirking.

“You want mommy to help you?” She coos and instantly, a fire awakens in your belly at the use of your favorite name for her. Your head bobs up and down eagerly but she tuts and grabs your jaw to hold it still. “Words, baby.”

“Yes please, mommy,” you whisper. No one can make you feel as good as Agatha can.

“Good girl,” Agatha hums and the fire gets worse. “What do you want?”

You squirm on the couch, just looking at her, begging with wide eyes.

“Why don’t you show me what you want?” You whine and grab her hand and bring it down to your shorts. “Oh, do you want me to touch you?”

“Please,” you force out again. “Touch me, mommy.”

Her grin is wicked as she lays you back down on the couch, positioning herself so she’s holding her weight above you. Your noses are almost close enough to touch.

“Does my little baby want me to reward her like the perfect little angel that she is?” Agatha purrs and you gasp, feeling your head start to get fuzzy. She plays with the waistband of your shorts and your hips buck up involuntarily. You make a sort of strangled noise from your throat – all you can do, really – and she shushes you. “Just relax, doll. Let mommy take care of you.” You whimper as she kisses your nose and moves down your body to undress you.

You feel like you’re on a different planet when Agatha pats your waist so you can lift yourself up for her to take your shorts and underwear off.

“There we go, so good for me,” she says, leaving kisses against your thighs. You moan, senses heightened. You babble something incoherently and you can hear her chuckling at you. “Baby, you’re absolutely dripping for me.”

Her fingers move up and down your slit, collecting wetness, and sounds are pulled out of your mouth by her administration.

“Does that feel good, hon?”

Your head lulls back on the couch and you try to say something to affirm her question.

“Aw, is my little baby in subspace right now?” Something in the back of your mind tells you that you must be, but you’re too blissed out to answer.

And then her tongue is on your pussy and you couldn’t say a word even if you tried. If you didn’t already feel like you were floating then, you sure do now. Your back arches off the couch as she sucks on your clit but her hands come up to hold you down.

“Be a good girl for me and let mommy do all the work.”

Your moans get louder as she keeps eating you out and you’ve never felt this good before. It’s like all your worries and stress and frustration that built up over the day are melting away to leave you in a puddle of pleasure.

“Mommy, so close,” you slur, hands digging into the couch beneath you. Her teeth scrape against your clit and she moans into you and it sends you into an explosive orgasm.

You’re not sure you’ve ever cum that hard.

She licks you through it and you have to pull her away after a while because you become sensitive.

Agatha comes up to kiss you, long and hard, and you can taste yourself on her tongue.

“Do you want to try something new tonight, baby?” She asks once she pulls away and you nod eagerly before even asking what it is. You trust her more than anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gives you one last parting kiss and quickly runs upstairs.

She’s up there for a few minutes while you lay on the couch, still in a trance-like haze.

And then she comes back down and your mouth falls open.

Attached to her hips is the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen. She must have just bought it. You had gotten to where you could take the toys you had pretty easily, but you are certain that this will stretch you out so much more than them.

“Mommy,” you whisper, eyes widening as she comes back over to the couch. You can see that she’s holding lube in one hand.

“Mommy wants to see if your tiny, little pussy can fit her big cock,” she says and a thrill runs through you despite yourself. “Might have to work you up to it.”

Your legs part without thinking and she laughs.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you? My perfect, little slut.” You gasp at the words, feeling yourself get even more wet.

While you loved the praise from her, degradation almost turned you on more.

“You have to relax, baby,” she reminds you, moving to kneel on the couch between your legs and pushing them even more open. She rubs your clit and slides two fingers in easily. You grind up on her fingers, trying to pull them in more. “Look at how well you take my fingers. So good for mommy. You can’t get enough of them, can you?”

You shake your head and groan when she curls them just right.

“Such a good whore for mommy,” she sighs. “Can you take another?”

“Please,” you gasp out, walls clenching around the two already inside you. She pulls them and you feel empty, but that feeling is quickly gone when she pushes three in you. The stretch feels so good and your hips meet her every thrust, the pleasure in you already growing.

And then it’s gone. Your head flies up to look at her wrapping the hand wet with you around her strap and coating it. And then she opens the bottle of lube and pours a hefty amount in her other hand to also stroke the toy with.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Go slow, mommy,” you tell her, even though you know that she will. “You’re so big.”

“You’re going to look so pretty, sweetheart, stretched around my big cock,” she says and positions the tip at your entrance. “Like a little, perfect slut.

The first push steals all the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” you groan. You’ve never been so full in your life and you barely have any of it inside you. Agatha doesn’t move, just rubs small circles on your thighs and waits for you to tell her you’re okay.

It takes a few moments for you to adjust. It’s definitely easier in the headspace that you’re in right now.

“Okay,” you say and Agatha obeys, slowly moving forward inside you. She stops when your breathing gets strangled and doesn’t move again until you’re back to normal.

“God, your little pussy looks so good taking my big cock so well,” she grunts once she finally bottoms out. If your mind was clearer, you’d tease her about the size kink she so clearly has. “How are you doing, baby? Can I move?”

“Please, mommy,” you beg, still feeling euphoric. Every drag of her cock against your walls now feels like heaven. She smirks and starts to move.

She starts slow at first, just short, slow strokes to make sure that you’re still comfortable, and then she starts to really fuck you.

The pace Agatha sets is rough and bruising and you can hear the wet, squelching sounds that the toy makes as it pushes back inside you every thrust, a mix of your wetness and lube.

“Mommy,” is all you can pant as she fucks into you over and over again, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her.

“So fucking good, sweetheart, you’re taking my cock so well, such a perfect slut for mommy,” Agatha mutters, never slowing down once. If you were already in subspace before, you’re not sure you have a word for what state you’re in right now. There are not even semblances of thoughts in your head, there is only Agatha and the pleasure she is giving you. You can’t even remember what you were in such a bad mood about earlier.

She reaches down to rub your clit again and you hear someone moan obscenely loudly.

You think it might have been you.

All you know is that you’re getting so close again you can taste it. She seems like she can tell because she somehow speeds up, which you didn’t think was possible. Little gasps are forced out of your mouth with every push and your walls are tightening so much around her that it makes it hard for her to thrust.

“So good, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Agatha chants, a hand reaching up to play with your nipple under your shirt. “So perfect, such a perfect slut, my perfect good girl. Cum for mommy, cum all over mommy’s big cock.”

She angles her hips just right and rubs your clit hard and you spasm, back bowing off the couch. You’ve never felt pleasure this extreme; it feels like you’re having an out-of-body experience. All the tension in your body is gone and you pant heavily as Agatha pulls out of you.

“You okay, baby?” She asks and you wheeze a laugh.

“M’okay,” you say happily, a slow smile spreading onto your face. You can feel your head clearing with the loss of her touch.

“Let me get a washcloth, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.” She gives you a kiss on your head and she’s back in what seems like seconds with a warm towel. You wince at the feeling of it between her legs but it helps. “Do you want to move to bed?”

You nod, but you’re not actually sure if you can stand up based on the jelly feeling in your legs. Agatha seems to understand this without you saying anything and she scoops you off the couch bridal style and carries you up the stairs.

You giggle and burrow your head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in and feeling her against you.

“You did so good, baby,” she whispers.

“Thank you, Agatha. I really needed that.”

She pauses for a second in the hallway to peck your lips. “I know you did. I’m happy to help, sweetheart. Whatever you need.”

Once in the bedroom, Agatha helps you into some comfy pajamas and makes you take sips of water from the bottle on her nightstand. You lay down and she pulls the covers over you both, pulling you close to her so she can wrap an arm around you.

“You’re so perfect, baby, you know that?” She murmurs. “I love you so much.” She kisses you softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair.

“I love you too,” you mumble in-between kisses. No one has ever made you feel more loved than Agatha.

“I’m so proud of you,” she continues and you blush. “I know you had a hard day today, but tomorrow will be better. You’re so strong. You’re my perfect girl. I love you.”

And she keeps whispering the sweetest things into your ear, and you drift off to sleep in her arms, feeling like nothing was ever wrong.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along

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kismetlotts · 2 days ago

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Kinktober 🎃 day eleven! Pegging!

cw: dubcon? (not really), ‘I’m going to prove you wrong.’ Simon who ends up failing, submissive Simon, anal fingering, pegging, Simon breaking, cumming on himself, use of ‘good boy’, somewhat dominant reader, use of ‘mummy’, desperate Simon

Simon Riley who just stared deep into your eyes, your soul, with a blank, bored expression when he finally lets you take control. Slipping one lubed finger up and into his tight ass and gaining nothing but a small eye twitch in return.

Simon Riley who tries his best to keep up with the plain expression when you slowly begin to add another finger and another finger as you begin to fuck his ass. Fingering him with such delicacy and care. Aside from his face getting hotter-darkening in colour and the occasional heavy breath he let slip, he seemed to not be caring.

Eyelids slowly shutting before looking back at you with a cocky smirk, as to say ‘I told you so.’ before turning to look out the window. Watching the autumn leaves fall and fly in the October wind just to make a point of his boredom.

He was going to fucking prove you wrong. All the time you’d accused him of secretly being submissive was about to be slapped right back in your face.

He wasn’t a bottom. He didn’t want you to peg him and fuck his ass! The only reason he declined when you asked to fuck him, wasn’t because he was a pussy- it was because he just wasn’t into that kind of stuff.

The only reason he was stuck in it right now was because you wouldn’t give it up- and stop pestering him about it. You just couldn’t accept the fact that despite your attempts, you were going to get nothing out of him. You just couldn’t accept that fact that he wasn’t some kinky gruff military man with a hidden, deep, sexual desire to be controlled.

So fuck it- what did he have to hide? Let you have your playtime before you realise Simon was in the right all along. That he’d been open and honest to you all this time and that you just wouldn’t listen.

He winced slightly as you withdrew your fingers, spreading more of the cold lube onto them and onto the strap on before lining up getting between his legs.

The hard tip of the fake cock hitting his soft, tight entrance and he couldn’t help but bite the inside of his mouth. Breathing in heavy as you entered him trying to stifle the moan that slipped through his cold expression. Swallowing hard because holy fuck.

He wasn’t enjoying it- he swears he wasn’t enjoying it. It was just different and that was the reason he let out that little whine. It was just that it felt different; you had to believe him.

The more you pulled out and the more you fucked back in the louder he got. Moans almost spewing out of him before words took their place. Empty threats followed by furious groans of pleasure because he couldn’t let you hear his whimpering, he had to prove you wrong. He had to.

“You are so fucking dead after this..” As you slammed back inside of him, his body jolting up and back arching like a dirty slut. Eyes squeezing shut as he groaned, his knuckles growing white from the grip he had on the bed sheets.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard after this.” And all you could do was laugh down at the man. Watching in awe how his body trembled below you, to see someone so tall with mass of muscle and strength, so defiled and weak- so desperate and full of need.

His dick was twitching like crazy and it wasn’t long before you had him cumming, over and over again. Milking him of his semen so hard and for so long- he was shooting blanks. Tears stinging at the sides of his eyes. He couldn’t get enough, he didn’t want you to stop but he needed to stop. Oh fuck.

You’d slow down the speed at which you were fucking him, unsure from the lack of sound if he wanted or could continue. His mouth open and tongue partially stuck out but no sound came out.

None aside from a few broken sobs as he reached out and grabbed your arm. Throwing his head back and moaning the loudest you’d ever heart. A name falling from his lips between the cracks of his voice, a name you’d never heard as he whimpered completely fucked out and useless.

“Oh fuck mummy- don’t you dare stop- it feels so fucking good- you cant fucking stop now-“ So you sped up for him again. Grin on your lips because you knew you were right- even if he didn’t know you were right you just knew you could get him to break.

He was being such a good boy. Moaning and letting his guard down like that. You fucked him hard- so hard. His whole body wrecked with pleasure and you’d never seen Simon so fragile and fucked out. So overcome with pleasure that he was crying. You pulled out after a while watching as he took a few minutes to rest, his body still trembling and twitching with euphoria.

His brain too foggy and too overstimulated to think properly, letting you clean him up and tuck him into bed. Barely looking you in the eye as he limps his way past you the next morning, an irritated scowl on his face.

He was not submissive. Definitely not.

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wqlfstqr · 2 days ago

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◟𖥻 ♡⃕ secret santa: percy jackson

▰▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

y/n doesn't like percy, he's in love with her. the best answer percy finds for this situation? be her secret santa for the upcoming holidays.

warnings: none i think ?? cabin 10 reader just for the plot but it doesn't get mentioned that much.

day one

— 10th of december.

it wasn't even halfway through december and everything was already going bad. Apparently, there had been a storm and Chiron thought that it was safer for campers to stay safely in camp instead of going home since he didn’t know what was happening with Zeus for him to suddenly cause the biggest storm of the year.

frankly, y/n thought Zeus was throwing another one of his childish tantrums, but she couldn't say that out loud because knowing the god, he would probably make things worse. That didn’t mean she wasn't pissed about having to stay at camp though, she was.

that's why, after spending her afternoon hiding her discomfort about the situation, she walked into her cabin and went straight to her bed, wanting more than anything to hide away from the rest of the world. She had been so excited to go and spend her holidays with her father, it was the first time she would be having christmas away from her father.

Just as she was going to jump into her bed, she saw the suitcase with the clothes she had been excitedly packing in the morning. However, when she took the suitcase to put it away, something else catched her attention.

left in her bed was a box of chocolates, a ribbon placed neatly on top of it with a note stuck on it. She took it carefully in her hands, eyeing it with a mix of curiosity and surprise.

“i'm sorry you couldn't go home for the holidays, I do hope some chocolates can cheer you up — your secret santa.

P.S. don't worry, I took the white ones from the box since I know you don't like them”

y/n was left surprised, and when she opened the box and found that the person had, indeed, taken the white chocolates out of the box, she even smiled a tiny bit.

well, the circumstances were not ideal for her, but maybe the holidays were not going to be that bad.

day two

- 12th of december

it took two days for her to take it back. The holidays were going to be awful, especially if she was forced to spend another minute with Percy Jackson.

And if it was up to Chiron, she would have to spend most of her time with Percy. So it was going to be awful, no question. They had both been chosen to plan the christmas party, and it had only been a couple of minutes and y/n almost wanted to go and see if she could drown Percy in the lake. That wouldn't have worked, of course, since he could breathe underwater, but she still was inclined to try.

she still didn’t understand why Chiron had paired them together, she could understand if they needed her help for the party, but what exactly could Poseidon's son provide if not unhelpful ideas and stupid jokes?

"the pavillion could use some blue lights" he suggested unhelpfully, because that's what he did.

she, on the other hand, was set on her own vision of christmas "It’s supposed to be red and green! Like a traditional Christmas!"

they ended up doing nothing that day just because they couldn't agree on anything. y/n suspected he was disagreeing with her just to be annoying, which was something that he seemed to enjoy doing.

but when y/n was back at her cabin, her mood immediatly lifted up when she caught a glimpse of a blue sparkly ribbon in her bed. It had been two days since the first gift, and she had been sure it had been a one time thing. Now, she ignored her siblings and went straight to her bed, finding there a plate of cookies with ribbon and another note on top.

“thought you deserved a sweet treat after working so hard today — Secret Santa.

PS. some of them are a little burnt, but I know how much you like choco-chips cookies"

day three

— 14th of december

When Grover walked into cabin three, he wasn't expecting to find Percy trying to wrap a gift, the floor around him buried in wrapping paper.

“are you seriously trying to go on with this?" the satyr asked, though the answer was very obvious. “Chiron told me you were very interested on helping with the christmas party”

well, maybe Percy had begged Chiron to pair him with y/n since he had overheard her telling one of his siblings that she was chosen to plan the party.

However, Percy was not going to admit that to anyone. "I need help with this wrapping paper, it just isn't folding the way I want to."

Grover rolled his eyes as he walked through the discarded wrapping paper. "You adhd people can't do anything."

"sorry, I was too busy saving the world to attend to gift wrapping 101"

turns out, Grover wasn't any better at wrapping than Percy was. He was worse, actually, since he ate the paper when he got nervous. Thirty minutes later, they had half the wrapping paper they started with and a terrible wrapped present.

"so it's us adhd people huh?" percy asked as he raised his eyebrows.

"hey, I was busy saving the world with you." Grover defended himself as he placed the blue ribbon on top, as if that could cover the terrible work he did.

And since Percy couldn't do any better, the next present on y/n's bed looked like someone had wrapped it with their eyes closed. Still, she didn’t care much when she found it later, because she was busy being too excited over the book she had been reading for months.

“I noticed you kept talking about this book, so I figured it was time you got it. Sorry for the wrapping massacre but hey, don't judge a book by its cover, right? Hope this one keeps you entertained until Zeus chills out. — Secret Santa.”

day four

— 16th of december

Percy and y/n had finally made some progress with the decoration, after Percy annoyed her into allowing him to hang blue lights. She decided to go with it and simply have a blue and white decoration for the pavillion.

they didn’t talk most of the times they met, Percy tried to talk to her but she mostly glared at him or ignored him until he eventually grew tired of talking to himself. It was only sometimes that the silence was too much and y/n would make little comments.

"I'm freezing."

"Didn’t think a daughter of Aphrodite could get cold. Isn't that, like, a beauty hazard? You better warm up, or your hair will lose its shine" And y/n would go back to ignoring him again.

or sometimes they would simply argue.

"No Percy, we can't hang seashells on the tree, are you insane?"

"Why not? it adds nautical charm"

"It’s Christmas! we're not hosting a luau. stick to ornaments, Jackson"

Sometimes, she felt like maybe Percy could be only a little bit likeable, maybe he wasn't too unbearable after all, sometimes he was even funny. But only sometimes.

"How can you make the bows so perfect? mine look like tangled fishing nets" y/n herself was caught by surprise at the laugh that escaped her lips when he raised his bow.

"Maybe if you didn’t tie your bows as if you were anchoring a boat, you would have better luck. Seriously, did Poseidon skip teaching basic motor skills?" And he'd always laugh at her remarks, even when she wasn't being that nice.

By the end of the day, she was tired, but she couldn't deny that she was happy, but she was only happy because they had made progress and now the only thing left was to finish decorating the tree.

And her mood got even better once she stood in front of her bed, noticing the new teddy bear that rested against her pillow, a blue ribbon tied around its neck and a few - blue? - candy canes making a heart on its belly.

“Thought you could use a fuzzy friend to keep you company. — Secret Santa.

PS. I know you don't like candy canes, it was just some decoration. Don't worry, you can give them away."

Day five

— 18th of december.

she ended up giving the candy canes to Percy, and she choose to ignore the weird smile on his face when she gave them to him. Still, he explained that, apparently, he loved candy cane and since those were blue, he loved them even more. Weird.

"Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, reduced to untangling Christmas lights. Truly a humbling sight." she told him as she found him trying -and failing- to untangle the lights for the tree.

"Give me a little credit here, I think i'm almost done." he replied, a candy cane hanging from his mouth as he continued his work. He wasn't nowhere near done.

But y/n left him to it because she was busy sorting the ornaments. She didn’t know when had been the last time Chiron had gone out for christmas decorations, but the ones her and Percy had found on the big house were old.

She took one of the boxes with the blue ornaments she thought looked the best, and carefully carried it toward the tree, trying to avoid the patches of ice that had formed on the ground outside the Pavillion, she had been so concentrated that she didn’t notice what Percy was up to until a snowball hit her shoulder.

"what the hell, Jackson?" she looked at him, dumbfounded, but he only replied with a laugh.

he went to pick up another snowball, but just as he straightened, she hit him straight on the chest with a snowball of her own. "Okay, that was a lucky shot" he shook the snow out of his hair.

"Lucky? please, I'm a natural" she smiled, shrugging simply.

"Natural at being bossy, maybe." He finally threw the snowball in his hand but he missed his target.

that made y/n laugh, her body feeling lighter as she forgot about the decoration for a moment. "Wow Percy, with aim like that, it's no wonder you stick to swords."

Percy, once again, didn’t take her comment as an offense but simply laughed. She could see his eyes shining as he came close and took the box from her hands.

And he didn’t see it because he turned around to place the box near the tree, but she finally let herself smile as she followed him. When they went back to work, the atmosphere between them felt lighter, warmer, as though a layer of frost was beginning to melt.

When she went back to her cabin, there was a gift already waiting for her in her bed. Whoever this secret santa person was -and y/n really wanted to know who it was-, they had already given up on wrapping and instead used blue ribbon on every gift.

this time, it was a blue and green scarf. And she was confused about it until she looked at the note: “heard you have been cold, maybe you could use a little warmth. — Secret Santa”

day six

— 20th of december

"you're placing the lights wrong" she pointed out as Percy tried to wrap the lights around the tree.

Percy turned to look at her as if she had gome mad. "Are you kidding? there’s surely not a wrong way to place lights on a tree." he replied, his eyebrows raising. "Besides, this is creative expression, you should appreciate it."

"it's an assault on christmas trees everywhere." Percy gasped in mock offense, but he finally stopped whatever he was trying to do with the lights.

"Fine. You hang the lights, I'll stand here looking festive." y/n took the lights from his hands, her fingers grazing his for a second longer than they should.

"If by festive you mean that christmas sweater, it's ugly." this time, she couldn't help but smile a little when he gasped again.

"what's wrong with my sweater? it's festive!" he looked down at the red and blue christmas sweater that had little tridents all over it.

"horrifying, you mean." she mumbled as she put the lights around the tree.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine? I like your scarf, by the way." he replied, and even though he was always smiling, that moment his smile felt different, y/n didn’t want to find out why. "see how easy is to be nice?"

But the mention of her scarf, made her distracted for a moment as she looked down at the blue and green fluffy scarf around her neck. She still hadn't found out who was her secret santa, and since christmas was coming she wanted to know who was behind those gifts, but she had no clue yet.

She had already questioned her siblings, but no one admitted to being her secret santa and if they knew who it was, they didn’t give the name away even after she threatened them. She was sure of one thing, whoever it was, they had help because it wasn't easy to just sneak into her cabin without her seeing them at least one time.

"hey, Percy." she called absentmindedly, looking up from the scarf. "you pretty much know everyone around camp, don't you?"

"yes, why?" he asked, just as distracted as her because he was hanging some ornaments on the tree.

She hesitated, this was Percy. She didn’t like Percy, she shouldn't share anything about her life with Percy. "Nothing, just thinking about how many people will see you with that ridiculous sweater."

Percy snorted. "next time I'll get you one and we can match."

"I wouldn't wear one of those if my life depended on it, Jackson." and who could blame her if she laughed when Percy looked at her offended.

She also couldn't be blamed if, when the afternoon ended, she had an extra pep in her step. It was just because she was excited over her secret santa, it had nothing to do with Percy Jackson at all!

But it did have to do everything with the box with the blue ribbon placed neatly on top of her bed. It wasn't about the gift at all, no. For y/n, it was how thoughtful everything was. And when she opened the box, she knew she'd have to find who her secret santa was.

Because nobody had ever thought this much about her.

The beautiful bracelet full of small charms, as usual, came with a note. “Each charm has a story. I’ll let you figure them out. — Secret Santa”

day seven

— 22th of december

y/n had tried to make sense of the charms, figure the story behind them. She had been looking at the bracelet every moment she could for the past two days, she already knew the charms by memory: a wave, a heart, an apple, a sweater, a book and finally a star.

She thought that maybe, if she figured it out, she could at least get a hint of who his secret santa was. But she couldn't even guess who this person's godly parents was just because the many charms gave her misleading hints.

Shee was looking at it as she walked through camp, ready to meet Percy at the pavillion so they could finish their decoration for the party. She found him already there, waiting for her with a smile that only stretched on his face when he looked at her.

"Ready for today, boss?" she could've sworn his gaze flickered to the bracelet on her wrist just for a moment but then he was walking past her to pick up the box of decorations.

They ended up drinking some hot chocolate while they decorated just to shake off the cold from the day. These past days, y/n couldn't help but wonder if maybe she had judged Percy a bit too hard before, he wasn't as annoying as she made him out to be.

By the end of the afternoon, they were almost ready with their decorations, Percy was hanging some garlands, his back turned to y/n, who was balancing on her toes to hang a sprig of mistletoe above one of the archways.

She stretched as far as she could, grumbling under her breath. "Who even invented the mistletoe tradition? It’s just a parasite plant. And why is it always there at the worst times?"

Percy chuckled, his voice echoing from across the pavilion. "You’re the one who insisted on using it. Aphrodite's influence finally catching up to you?"

"Oh shut up, Jackson," she shot back, standing precariously on her toes. She was about to talk again when the tip of her shoe slipped slightly on the frosted wooden floor.

"Whoa careful!" Percy dropped the piece of garland he had on his hand and rushed to her.

She caught herself before she could fall, but Percy steadied her anyway, his hands instinctively landing on her waist. "Are you good?" he asked, his face closer than it probably needed to be.

She huffed, looking at the slippery floor before her gaze went back to him. "Can we sue Zeus for hazardous working conditions?"

Percy smirked, helping her regain her footing but keeping his hands on her waist just a second longer than necessary. "Good luck with that lawsuit. Let me know how it goes when you present your case to the olympians."

That’s when they both looked up.

The sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above them. It swayed slightly in the breeze, almost as if it was mocking them. She blinked at it, her mind racing as her cheeks turned pink. Percy, on the other hand, looked frozen in place.

"I- uh," she started, but her words faltered when his gaze flicked down to her lips for just a second too long.

And when y/n noticed, she couldn't control her eyes as they copied his actions, her gaze going to his lips before returning to his own eyes. It took her a second to realize what she was doing, and she immediatly stepped back.

What was she doing? this was percy jackson!

"I think we're done here, don't you?" Percy only nodded, and for the first time, he wasn’t smirking or cracking a joke. He just stood there, wide-eyed, staring at her.

When she got back to her cabin, she was shaken and it wasn't because of the snow at all. She was so distracted with thoughts of Percy that she almost missed the gift waiting for her as she sat on the edge of her bed.

This time, a neatly folded sweater was placed on her pillows. And for a second, it reminded her of Percy, until she shook off the thought and reached for the note placed over the blue ribbon.

"a little bird told me you liked sweaters, this one might add some extra holiday sparkle to your already dazzling style. I just hope you won't want to burn it. — Your fashionable Secret Santa."

day eight

— 24th of december

y/n had stayed in her cabin as much as possible for the past two days. Now that Percy and her had finished with the preparations for the party, she wasn't forced to spend time with him and she planned on keeping it that way, so she avoided him as much as she could.

Yet, she couldn't keep thinking about him. And that's why she decided it would be best to just stay away from him, at least until her infatuation - and she was sure that's what it was, nothing else - would wear out.

So in the morning of christmas eve, y/n didn’t even went to have breakfast with her siblings, instead she stayed late in bed. She had dreamed about percy, again! and now, she was grumpy as she wrapped herself on her blanket.

It was his fault, for making her feel comfortable with him, for making her forget about how annoying he was, for running to catch her without even thinking, for looking at her lips with those eyes! those stupid sea green eyes she had been seeing every night in her dreams for the past two days.

Now, she would stay on her room, away from everyone. It didn’t matter if it was christmas eve, and damn her secret santa! if they wanted to leave something, they would have to do it with her there. Because she wasn't going anywhere.

Well, at least that had been her plan. Until noon when Grover barged into her room, startling her. "y/n we need you at the stables.. is... uh-" he hesitated. "we just need you, can you come?"

She was about to tell the satyr that he should really learn to knock, but since he seemed shaken and she wasn't doing anything but looking at the ceiling, she stood up from her bed and followed him.

She was wearing her pijamas and the sweater that had been gifted to her. It was truly ugly, with christmas colors and little cupids all over it. But she liked it and it wasn't because it reminded her of percy's ugly trident sweater. No. Nothing to do with Percy. She just liked that her Secret Santa had put effort into it.

As it turns out, Grover didn’t have any emergency or reason to take y/n out of her cozy bed, because there was nothing happening at the stables. The Satyr was acting strange and he told her that the pegasi just needed her, but after they were served food, there was nothing else to do but he insisted on her staying there.

"Grover i'm freezing, can I at least go back to take some gloves and a scarf?" she rubbed her hands against her sweater, trying to keep them warm.

"No!" he exclaimed loud enough to make y/n jump away in surprise. Then, he looked over her shoulder and his face relaxed. "I mean, you can just go if you want to, I think the pegasi are fine."

She looked at him skeptically. He was acting strange. But ultimately, she decided it wasn't out of the ordinary for Grover. "okay... I'll see you later?" she replied before she went back to her cabin.

What she didn’t expect when she walked into her cabin, almost running to her bed because she was freezing, was that her secret santa had worked while she was away.

The past week, she had stood in front of her bed opening all kind of thoughtful presents that made her smile, but this time she was speechless at what waited for her.

Fairy lights were hanging from her bedposts, and fresh flowers were placed in a vase on the nightstand beside her bed, but that didn’t compare at all with the gift waiting for her. As she carefully pulled the blue ribbon off, her eyes wandered through the star map. It was pretty, but the note that came with it was beautiful.

"One night at the bonfire, I remember how you looked at the sky and said 'If I ever get lost, I hope the stars lead me home'. This is a map that shows the stars the first time you came home to camp half-blood. The night I met you. — Secret Santa

PS. I know Christmas is technically tomorrow, but this couldn't wait. So happy christmas!"

y/n sat for a long time in her bed, reading the note over and over again. It wasn't until half an hour later that she realized something: Grover had taken her out of her room so whoever her secret santa was could arrange everything. Grover knew who her secret santa was.

She finds out

— 25th of december.

"I already told you, I have no clue what you're talking to me about!" Grover replied, very obviously trying to run away from her.

This had been going on for the past twelve hours or so, Grover refused to tell her the identity of her secret santa, and she had already tried everything to get him to tell her. He just didn’t budge.

She gave Grover a suspicious look as he hurried off, practically tripping over his own hooves in his attempt to get away. For someone who claimed to know nothing, he sure was acting guilty.

But whatever. She had bigger problems right now, like how her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest every time she read the note. And the star map? It was so thoughtful, so personal. She couldn't stop staring at it, wondering how her Secret Santa could possibly know her so well.

It wasn’t until she was alone in the Aphrodite cabin, looking at her closet while thinking about what to wear to the party, that the pieces started falling into place. She fiddled absentmindedly with the bracelet on her wrist, the charms clinking softly. Her eyes fell on one charm specifically. The book.

She had been so focused on making sense of the charms that she hadn't thought to connect them to the other gifts. There was a book charm and she had been gifted the book she had been wanting. She remembered she had been book shopping with Annabeth when she mentioned that specific book. But it surely couldn't be Annabeth.

Her brows furrowed together, trying hard to remember something from that day. But the only thing she could remember was that Percy had tagged along with them and she had been so annoyed with him, because he kept knocking down books and asking dumb questions and-

A gasp left her lips as the realization kicked in and she had to sit down immediatly, her hand desperately looking for the apple charm. How had she missed it? it had been right in front of her the whole time, the apple and the first time she came to camp.

Her mind wandered back to the note. “The first time you came home to Camp Half-Blood. The night I met you.”

The night she met him. The night Percy and Grover had found her wounded in the woods. The next morning, where Percy had given her an apple and then he had tried to make some joke that only worked to put y/n in a bad mood. He'd brought her to Chiron, and she hadn't thought about it ever again.

But now... now she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or the bracelet. Or how every single gift felt like it was tailored just for her and connected to him somehow: the scarf after she had been complaining to him about the cold, the christmas sweater after she had teased him about his, the chocolates after that one time Annabeth tried to bring her some and she left the white ones to Percy, the blue candy cane after she had said so many times that she hated it, the chocolate chip cookies she loved because of couse Percy would burn them, the blue ribbon!

Her heart skipped a beat as she replayed every interaction they’d had over the past few days. The snowball fight, the way he’d caught her when she slipped on the ice, the way he’d looked at her under the mistletoe. How she’d sworn he’d almost kissed her.

It was him. All of this time, it had been him. And she had been avoiding him, so torn apart with her feelings that she hadn't realized what was in front of her.

Percy gets a gift back.

— 25th of december

y/n had to beg Leo to help her at the very last minute, but as she walked through the party with a little box in hand, she was glad that Valdez could literally turn trash into beautiful things, because now she had the perfect gift.

And the only thing that was left for her to do was find Percy. It shouldn't be hard, since the pavillion wasn't too big, but she was simply too distracted with her thoughts to find him at first glance. At the end, he was the one to find her when she bumped into someone and he catched her before she could fall. Again.

"Hey, you." he smiled, and now she could see the meaning behind the shine in his eyes. "I see you made it out of your cabin. I thought you were going for the ‘grumpy hermit’ vibe today."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness to them once she looked at him. He even looked surprised when she smiled. "Very funny, I actually wanted to talk to you."

He raised his eyebrows. "whats up?" y/n tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to slow down at how nervous she felt.

Instead, she extended the small box towards him. "I got you a gift."

Percy blinked, looking at her like she had grown a second head. "You did?"

She rocked back and forth on her heels as she looked down on the box, pushing it into his hands. "yes, consider it a... thank you gift."

His fingers brushed hers briefly as he finally took the box, eyeing it curiously. "Thank you? for what exactly?"

"for..." making me happy through the holidays. "oh you know, for helping me with the party and for not being completely unbearable."

She hated how her heart raced when he let out a chuckle. "just what any person wants to hear." he joked, but he was already distracted because he was opening the box.

She had made a point of placing a blue ribbon on top, but he didn’t seem to place the pieces together until he looked into the box. Inside was a bracelet, a simple leather cord with three small charms hanging from it, a star, a seashell and a heart.

He looked up at her, surprise evident in his eyes as he opened his mouth to talk, but she was faster. "I thought you'd maybe want to match." she said, raising her arm, the bracelet on her wrist jingling softly.

he was gaping at her, and for a moment he looked slighly panicked, his eyes darted nervously to Grover, who was standing nearby and immediately pretended to be interested in the food table. He had no choice but to look back at her. "You know?"

y/n opened her mouth to tease him, but the panic in his expression stopped her. Instead, she smiled softly. “Yeah, I figured it out. You weren’t exactly subtle, Percy.”

Percy laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, give me a little credit here, it took you long enough to figure it out." he paused, suddenly quiet. "did you like them?”

It was the first time y/n saw Percy acting shy instead of his usual confidence. “I loved them,” she admitted. “Even that horrifying sweater.”

"i'm just glad you didn’t burn it." he joked, his usual grin back on his face.

Percy looked like he was about to say something else when his eyes flicked upward, she followed his gaze and froze. There it was, for the second time in the week, the mistletoe she hung mocking hee yet again.

Even though it was freezing, her cheeks burned as she looked back at him. "Oh."

"Yeah" Percy said, his voice softer now. “Funny how these things just... appear.”

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the party fading into the background. Percy’s eyes locked on hers, his usual playfulness replaced with something deeper, something that made her chest tighten.

"Well" she said, trying to break the tension, "are you just going to stand there, or—"

He didn’t let her finish. Percy leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was sweet and hesitant but full of meaning. It wasn’t long or overly dramatic. Just a gentle, warm kiss that left her mind spinning. When he pulled back, he was smiling again.

"Well" he said, mocking her as he glanced at the mistletoe again "Maybe it wasn't so bad for you to put that thing there."

She blinked at him, momentarily stunned. Then she scowled, smacking his chest lightly. “don’t push your luck, Jackson.”

And he only laughed.

But as they walked back into the party, side by side, she couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe Percy Jackson wasn’t so bad after all.

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson oneshot #pjo #one shot

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pedropascallme · 2 days ago

Text

Set My Mind Free

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: “'Just wanted to…' You rolled your eyes, trying to explain yourself, 'After our conversation last week—you and me—I thought it was only fair. I mean, he waited by me, right? So what kind of Sergeant would I be if I didn’t look out for him? Just repaying his...kindness.'”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) oral (f receiving), p in v sex, intercrural sex, dirty talk, praise, very mild degradation, canon typical violence, detailed descriptions of wounds, allusions to PTSD, reader experiences a very detailed panic attack, discussion of panic attacks/anxiety, discussion of drug use and addiction (not reader), implied age gap (ages not mentioned), enemies to frenemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, I know little to nothing about how the military works, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Part 1 here!!

By 4:00 AM, you’d stopped crying and told yourself that you would go to sleep.

But by 5:00 AM you were still awake, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the faint rhythm of your heart.

There was nothing you could do.

There was one thing you could do—but it required a sense of decency, and a level of respect that you worried wouldn’t translate properly from your brain to your mouth.

You didn’t know what you would say, if there was anything to say at all, and yet you still felt the urge to find Simon.

But he was probably asleep, just like everybody else on base, and likely in no mood to see you if he was up.

And you were worried how you’d act, seeing him at his lowest.

After several minutes of going back and forth between your limited options, you slipped out of bed, donning a sweatshirt and making sure you remembered shoes this time around. You grabbed the shirt—maybe he’d take it back now that he knew what it was like.

You puttered inside your room for a moment longer, hesitating, before you found the nerve to open your door and walk down the hall to the infirmary.

It was dark out, but the floods outside forced streaks of light into the barracks. You could hear nothing but your own footsteps, and the fact that nobody else was awake to see you like this; hair stuck to your temples from the tears you’d shed, carrying a blood-soaked shirt to a man who probably didn’t want to see anybody—least of all you—was reassuring.

You braced yourself for the grating sound of the infirmary doors against the floor, pushing them open slowly to keep the unnecessary racket at bay.

He was asleep in the same cot you had been in, and he managed to make it look even more cramped than it had felt when you’d been in it: lying on his back, he’d propped his head up with the single pillow he’d been offered, clearly trying to keep his feet from dangling off the end of the mattress.

It didn’t work, and he still had to bend at the knee to fit in the cot properly.

He’d been stripped from the waist up, and the left side of his abdomen was covered in gauze and bandages that likely concealed stitches over an ugly wound. But he still looked beautiful, and you kicked yourself for even daring to allow the thought to run through your head.

He still had his mask on. Of course he did.

You situated yourself in the same seat Gaz had been sitting in when you’d woken up, setting the shirt to the side and just looking at him.

That’s all you could do. Look.

You wouldn’t wake him up. You had nothing to say. And even if you did wake him, it was unlikely he’d be able to say anything of substance with all the morphine they probably had him on

So you sat quietly, staring at him; his mask, his bandages. Your wounds were in the same place, which meant nothing, but it still filled you with a profound sense of awe, a subtle yanking in your abdomen.

“Figured you’d come by.” Ghost’s voice broke through the silence of the infirmary, and you flinched.

“Fucking—Christ, Simon,” you sighed, gripping your thighs as you collected yourself, “How long have you been awake?”

He stared up at you, ignoring your question. “Pick a new name yet?” When you looked at him quizzically, he elaborated, “Not Berserker anymore?”

“Oh—no,” you had forgotten about wanting to change your callsign—too many things had been plaguing your mind, pushing your concern about a name to the back. “Still Berserker. For now.”

The conversation fizzled out, but you didn’t want it to end. You blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I never thanked you.”

“For?” He seemed oddly relaxed for a man who’d just been shot.

“For?” You mocked him, almost playfully; what else would you possibly have to thank him for? “Saving me from, y’know…bleeding out.”

“My job.” Simon shifted, trying to stretch in the tight confines of the cot.

“No, but…it isn’t, is it?” You found yourself questioning his words aloud, “Your job is…lead, call the shots…”

There may have been nuances in his title that made it his responsibility to show compassion, but there was definitely nothing that said he had to kneel beside you while you bled; use his clothing in place of a bandage; care for you after you had done something so stupid and avoidable.

You bit your tongue, remembering how you’d screamed at him so intensely about how he didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the job description.

“Whatever, I’m…” you sighed, furrowing your brows and giving yourself another moment to back out of saying the next words. “I’m glad it’s you I call Lieutenant. Anybody else probably would’ve seen me as a lost cause—back there, and in…in a lot of the situations we end up in.” You couldn’t stop yourself from praising him, not after the events of the night and your self-reflection. “You’re a good Lieutenant.”

He didn’t respond. You were too uncomfortable to deal with any more silence, so you continued.

“You’re a good person, Simon.”

“Why me?” You’d hardly finished saying his name when he bombarded you with the question.

“What?” You didn’t understand what he was asking.

“Gaz is your mate, yeah?” In the low light of the room, you could see his eyes scanning your face, “‘Nd Soap. Both of 'em would’a helped.” He tilted his head back, and you realized what he was talking about.

You tried to push down the way your heart screamed for him.

“I trust you.” You answered with your brain instead.

“You trust them.” It was amazing to you that a man in his condition still had the energy to argue about such superfluous things.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “But it’s…different. I think.” You didn’t care to explain.

Slowly, he nodded, as if trying to deconstruct the meaning of your words.

“And, you know…” You finally found your confidence, “Figured if I was gonna die, I could at least find out what it was like to have your hands on me first.”

You didn’t know why that was the direction you went in, taking a lighthearted approach and praying that it would come off as a joke.

“Could’a jus’ asked,” Simon sighed, and to your relief, he sounded amused. “Always wanted you to give me the go 'head.”

You felt your heart stutter, but you rationalized that all the drugs he was on were probably making him loopy.

“Would’a been nicer wi'out all the blood—better story for the grandkids.” He closed his eyes.

You just hummed, smiling. He must have been drugged to the nines.

He went silent again, and you stayed seated beside him, listening to the way his breathing leveled out as he drifted off to sleep.

If what Gaz said was true, and if Simon really had kept vigil over you while you were out cold, then it was the least you could do now for him. It was funny, in a melodramatic sort of way, thinking about how the two of you had switched places.

When you were certain he was asleep, you dropped your voice to a whisper.

“I brought you your shirt back,” you picked it up from the spot you’d left it when you had first come in, crumpled on the chair next to you. “I know you don’t want it…but…I don’t think I do, either.” You smiled, adding, “Maybe a clean one.”

You paused, half expecting him to respond. When he didn’t, sound asleep, you continued.

“I’ve seen all the shirts you own. Not a lot on rotation.”

You stewed in your thoughts, realizing that having him trapped as an unconscious audience gave you the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth—at least to a degree.

“I just don’t want to have this reminder of my own fuck up. And of what you had to do to…”

To keep me from dying, you didn’t say—couldn’t say, despite the fact that he wouldn’t hear you.

“But if I give it to you now, as a—if we treat it like a gag, like it’s something funnier than it is…” You pulled at the fabric, “At least…let me care, Simon. Even if it’s just this once. Pretend you’re ok with being cared for.”

Let me show you how deeply I care.

You folded the shirt in your lap, putting it on the small table next to the bed and rising from your seat.

You let your gaze rake over him, once again taking note of how oversized he was in the cot. In a way, though, as he lay, contorted and bandaged, he looked so, so small. Like a child that couldn’t bear to separate from their first bed; desperate for comfort that he couldn’t find and wouldn’t admit to craving.

How the mighty fall.

But he’d be out of here in a day. He wouldn’t let himself waste away in the infirmary—he wouldn’t be like you.

You couldn’t help the way you reached out to graze your fingers over the hem of his balaclava. For how often you grumbled about wanting to tear it off his face, you had no intention of doing so now.

You knew better. You just wanted to feel that part of him.

It was soft. You smiled.

Of course it was.

You brushed your thumb over the fabric that covered his cheek, smiling softly. Maybe the emotions you’d experienced over the course of the night were still running high, but you felt like you might tear up.

And you felt like maybe you’d be ok showing him this kind of affection even if he was awake.

You did your best to remain unwavering in the face of yearning.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, LT,” you pulled your hand back from his face, “Won’t do it again.”

~~~

The sun was coming up when you left the infirmary, and the hall glowed with an eerie pre-dawn atmosphere that comforted you in the strangest of ways.

You had time; he would see another sunrise.

You found yourself knocking on Gaz’s door, eager to apologize for snapping at him hours prior during your rampage.

He opened the door, already dressed, and the smile on his face helped you remember that no matter what you did, he understood.

Kyle always understood.

“Up early.” He noted, taking in your disheveled appearance.

“So are you,” you pointed out, and he smirked. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” He swung the door open wider, walking back into his room and silently beckoning you inside.

“Screaming at you last night—this morning,” you kind of laughed, feeling awkward for the storm of feelings you’d lashed him with. “I don’t want you to…I’m not mad at you. Or anything. And I don’t want you to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

You walked into his room, closing the door behind you, and he laughed.

“I’m not mad,” he sat at his desk, “Why would I be mad?”

“Because I cursed you out after you saw our Lieutenant get bodied,” you sighed, trying to make the situation seem lighter with your phrasing. “Shitty of me to do.”

“You were upset.” Gaz looked at you in a way that made you feel more at ease; he could see through you, but you didn’t really mind it right now.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I was.”

“You still upset?”

“N—no…” You measured your feelings; you still felt a strange buzzing throughout your body, but you chalked it up to lack of sleep and the rush of adrenaline you'd been dealt. “I’m alright.”

You hesitated, looking around Gaz’s room to avoid having to meet his eyes.

“I went to see him.”

“Uh-huh.” Gaz raised an eyebrow at you.

“Just wanted to…” You rolled your eyes, trying to explain yourself, “After our conversation last week—you and me—I thought it was only fair. I mean, he waited by me, right? So what kind of Sergeant would I be if I didn’t look out for him? Just repaying his...kindness.”

Gaz didn’t say anything, but his lips morphed into a poorly concealed smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “Just happy to see you two getting along.”

“Yeah, well—now that we’ve both been brought back from the brink in the span of less than a month, it’s a little easier to empathize with him.”

“Is'at it?” Gaz looked up at you knowingly, and you rolled your eyes again.

“It is.” You lied.

“Right,” he nodded, trying not to come off too pleased. “Good.”

“I’m happy that you’re not mad.” You muttered.

“And I’m happy that you’re feeling better,” he replied, voice tender. “You sleep at all?”

You shrugged, shaking your head.

“Try.” Was all he said.

“I know,” you nodded, heaving a sigh, “I will.”

He stood, patting you on the back and leading you out of his room.

“I’m serious, by the way,” he shook your shoulder playfully, “Happy that you and him have found common ground.”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, turning to face him when you’d stepped over the threshold, “Me too.”

~~~

A full day had passed before there was a knock on your door. When you opened it, you weren’t as surprised as you thought you’d be to see Ghost standing opposite you.

“You’re up.” You stated, rather dumbly. He looked as though he had never been in the infirmary at all, clad in all black, gloves and balaclava on.

“Nothin' to do in ‘ere.” He grumbled, and you smiled.

“I think that’s the point, Simon.”

His eyes darted to the side before his gaze settled back on you, as if he was making only a halfhearted attempt at rolling them.

“Thought I told you to keep this.” Ghost held his hand out, and you recognized the shirt.

You sighed. “I kinda just figured—I dunno. Thought it would be…funny? You were so drugged up. You looked…” You tried to think of an excuse, coming up dry. You shrugged, “Thought you might finally want it back.”

“Wasn’t drugged.” His eyes narrowed a tad, having ignored everything you said to him after you mentioned him being drugged.

“What?” You furrowed your brow.

“Wasn’t drugged,” he huffed, “Don’t like 'at shit.”

“It’s morphine.” You smiled, amused by his discontent at the notion of taking painkillers.

Your delight at his distrust of anesthetics almost drowned out the loud thought at the front of your mind as you remembered the words he said to you as he lay in the medical cot.

Always wanted you to give me the go ahead.

You shook it off; you had been joking, and he had been joking back.

“They don’t give it to me. Don’t let ‘em.” His voice became a bit smaller, and you tried to reason with him.

“But it makes you feel better—great, even.” You offered an amused sigh, tilting your head.

“Brother was a druggy.” He stared daggers at you, and you were taken aback.

“Oh—I—”

“Don’t,” he shook his head before you could come up with an appropriate response. “'Eard it all before. Dead, either way.”

You nodded, resigned. Your gaze fell to the floor.

You knew a lot about Simon, but there were certain things he kept closer to his chest. He dropped lore at random moments—usually in an effort to shut people down, but this felt sincere. Vulnerable, even.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You could see his brow furrow, the familiar crease between his eyes appearing.

“Into your room?” He looked at you curiously before just barely nodding, “Sure.”

You stepped to the side, raising an arm to invite him in.

He walked slowly, taking in the look of the space; it was plain, barely decorated—like most of the rooms on base—but there were still pieces of you that lingered.

A blue hairbrush on your nightstand, pens with gnawed-on caps scattered about, half-finished reports on your desk.

He pulled the chair from your desk and sat. You couldn’t tear your eyes from him, as hard as you tried.

He was clearly still uncomfortable, tilting slightly to one side, but you couldn’t help but feel as though he looked right in your room.

You settled on the edge of your bed, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You doin’ a'right?” He cleared his throat, worried that he’d made the situation uncomfortable by mentioning his brother.

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking back up at him. “Better.”

“Look, uh…tired.” He was slow to say it.

“Thanks, Simon,” you laughed sardonically, but tried to show him you were only kidding. “Always know what to say.”

“Meant—'ave you not been sleeping?” He tried to save face.

“Not well.” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

He nodded, eyes flickering over your form before trailing back to your face.

“Something keepin' you up?”

“Wish it was that simple,” you swallowed, tightening your grip around your legs where they pressed against your chest. “I’m, um…the thought of sleeping is pretty…daunting? Lately.”

“You scared?”

“Putting it lightly.”

There was a long pause, during which he seemed to study you. You didn’t squirm under his gaze like you normally would—something about this was more comfortable.

“'Ad a panic attack my first night in the barracks.” Simon spoke suddenly, but maintained a casual tone.

“What?”

He nodded, rolling his shoulders back slightly.

“Thought I’d made a mistake. Thought I’d…” And here it was, more bits of his lore—but again being shared in a manner that made you feel like it was more than just Ghost offering insight into his brutality.

This was Simon offering insight into his ability to feel.

“Early two-thousands, lots of, uh…propaganda, 'at I fell for, y’know, jus’ like everybody else,” he spread his legs, resting his elbows on his thighs as he recounted his experience.

You searched his eyes, though he didn't bother to look at you. He'd been a soldier for nearly as long as you’d been alive; you wondered what it was like.

“Didn’t know if I’d see the next morning. Didn’t know if I’d made the wrong choice, or what.” He took a deep breath.

For a moment, even in the mask and in his brooding, you saw Simon clearer than ever, without so much as a hint of Ghost.

“It was like 'at for a long time.”

“I’m no rookie, Lieutenant,” you scoffed, but it lacked any real bite. “I know how it is.”

He looked at you, almost pleadingly, for a moment, before his gaze settled.

“Point is…” he hesitated, “Don’t know if I 'ave a point, really.” He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling before meeting your gaze once more. “Thought I was…valiant for pushin’ it down.” He looked at you pointedly, “I wasn’t.”

You nodded solemnly. He was right.

He wasn’t telling you directly that he thought you were burning yourself out; that he noticed you struggling; that he saw the way you were trying to ignore the mental toll, but he was right. And you both knew it.

“Sure you’ve 'eard it before from people you’d…” he shook his head, his sentence trailing off before he finished the thought. “But, if you need anything…”

“Yeah,” you swallowed, suddenly wishing you could reach out and pull him closer; allow yourself the comfort of falling into him and finding safety curled against his form. But you didn’t act on the urge, responding instead with a curt nod and a weak smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, eyes still focused on your face. He shifted in the seat he’d taken, standing up slowly—too slowly.

“Take an Advil, Simon.” You tried not to make your voice sound too pleading.

He waved you off. “Yeah.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he turned to look down at you. “I know.”

“Won’t kill you.”

“Don’t push it.”

You remained on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, as he walked himself out of your room.

He paused, hand hovering over the knob.

“I like your callsign,” he finally opened the door, throwing his final words back at you as an afterthought, “Glad you 'aven't changed it. Suits you.”

You didn't ask him to explain, didn’t have the energy to call after him. You were too focused on the fact that he'd left the shirt on your desk; once again leaving you with a piece of him that you didn't know how to handle.

~~~

You didn’t want to check the time, fully aware that it was an early hour nobody else would be awake to see.

Your heart was beating too fast, and it traveled to your ears to create an obnoxious, suspenseful thump.

Were you dying? Or did it just feel like you were?

You could feel the sweat on your body, dampening your sheets; making them cling to you in unruly patterns that would surely press into your skin, leaving faint lines to show for your lack of sleep. But even soaked in your own sweat, cold to the touch, you felt like you were burning—like you had been stuck to some kind of pyre and set alight.

You were back in that hazy state. Underwater and out of control.

Every time you slept, you would dream; every dream you had became a nightmare.

In every nightmare, you were back on the ground.

Your breathing had been labored when you woke up, and though you were still panting, the nausea that had lurched within you now subsided into an inconsistent waver that occasionally rolled over your stomach.

You sat up, shoving your head between your knees and counting your breaths.

Five in; hold for five; eight out; hold for two.

Your legs were shaking, and your skin was numb, but you could still feel the press of your knees to your temples as you sat there, counting.

And then as soon as it had begun, it was over.

Maybe not over entirely, but you’d overcome the peak and were now on a steady decline.

You felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and it made you feel weak; a special ops soldier who panicked and cried could hardly be called a soldier at all.

The conversation you’d had with Simon came back to you, remembering his random divulgence of the fear he’d faced when he first joined the military. But you weren’t a rookie, you weren’t new to this—the only part you were unfamiliar with was the genuine fear.

He’d said that trying to get over it on one’s own wasn’t the heroic option he’d thought it was.

And he’d implied that he’d be happy to help.

On shaky legs, feeling practically boneless, you walked to his room, tiptoeing as you tried to keep yourself small.

It wasn’t hard—you already felt meek, crushed by your nerves.

You lifted a hand to his door hesitantly, unsure if he’d even be awake; unsure of what exactly you wanted from him.

But you did knock, and he opened the door, looking at you expectantly.

You swallowed. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t say anything, moving to the side and gesturing vaguely into his room. You hurried in, and Simon closed the door, walking forward to stand in front of you as you puttered around his room.

“What—” He began, but you cut him off.

“I have been pushing it down.”

“Mm?” You saw his eyes contort in confusion.

“The other day. You said you thought you had been valiant to push it down—said I could come to you if I needed anything.” Your words were rushed, and maybe louder than they should’ve been.

“Said ‘if you need anything,’ and then—"

“Simon.”

He held up a hand in concession.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, and it isn’t working. I’m—” You felt a sudden onset of emotion, voice breaking. You tried to swallow the lump that formed in your throat to no avail. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” He asked, and his voice came out low, quiet—almost as if he was attempting to sound softer.

“I don’t know.” You admitted.

He nodded, still standing at a distance. His eyes stayed trained on your face.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t—I feel like, I dunno, maybe it’s just because of how…unexpected…it was. But lying out there, on the fucking ground, on the dirt, bleeding, I felt peace, LT,” you had given up on holding back the tears, and they flowed freely down your cheeks. “I could accept what was coming. And now I’m back, I’m here, I’m alive, and I—I’m sore. Like, in my—in my soul, I’m sore, and I’m so, so fucking tired.” You took a shuddered breath. “And I’m scared.”

Ghost was quiet, but he finally moved, situating himself on the edge of his bed and motioning for you to join him.

“Sit.”

You obliged, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you sat next to him.

He sighed, staring at the wall. “Not something you jus' move on from.”

“But I want to get better.” You argued, swallowing another sob.

“Y’will. In time.”

“When?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Need to know basis?” You rolled your eyes, still sour about being left out of the last mission.

“Yeah,” he turned his head to look at you, and for the first time, you recognized the exhaustion in his eyes. “But you’re the one who’ll know." He moved to rest his hand on your knee. "S'not an answer anybody else can give you.”

Ghost didn't do physical affection the way Soap and Gaz did, and a gesture as forward as placing a hand on your leg felt deeply intimate coming from him.

You liked it. Partnered with his words, the weight of his touch made you feel better.

“Some help you are…” You smiled softly, glancing at him in your peripheral as you sniffled.

“Talkin’ about it, aren’t you?” You could see the movement of his brow as he raised it beneath the balaclava.

You sighed, nodding an affirmative.

“Talked to Gaz about it?”

“No…not—not like this,” you turned to face him.

His hand slipped off your leg in a manner that seemed almost reluctant. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his palm.

When he looked down at you in his trademarked silence, you continued.

“I trust you.”

You thought his eyes might’ve creased, giving away a smile under the balaclava, but you didn’t dwell on it.

“Can I ask you something?” The question popped into your head, and you figured now was as good a time as any.

“Wha’s’at?” He shifted on the bed, giving himself more space to look at you without having to crane his neck.

“You weren’t drugged the other day.”

“S'not a question,” he pointed out. “No. I wasn't. Told you ‘at.”

“So, you were just…joking? When you made the, uh…that remark about…grandkids.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, "About me giving you the go ahead?"

This time, you were certain he was smiling.

“D’you think I was joking?”

“I—maybe…” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands.

“You’re tired, Simon.” Unable to get a straight answer from him, you changed the subject.

“Projecting a bit?” He straightened back up, folding his arms, and you frowned at him.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Rarely do.”

“Are you scared?”

“Not th’first time I’ve been shot at, love.” He was deflecting.

“Are you still hurting?”

He hesitated. With a huff, he answered.

“…I guess. Li'l bit, yeah.”

“Can I please just give you something for it?” You weren’t trying to beg, but it certainly came off as if you were, "Just some Advil?"

His gaze shifted around the room, and then back to you.

“Will it make y’feel better?” He tilted his head at you.

“It’ll make you feel better.” You countered.

He heaved a sigh, and you saw his shoulders sag a bit in defeat.

“A'right,” he nodded, “Yeah. Fine.”

You grinned at him through the tears that had dried on your face, rising from his bed and speeding down the hall to your own room. You grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen on your nightstand, then moved just as quickly back to his room.

“Take two.” You fished the pills from the bottle when you situated yourself on the bed again, holding them out to him.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Half of one.”

“Jesus Christ. Simon—”

“Fuckin' with you.” He took the pills from your hand.

You watched a bit too keenly when he pulled the balaclava up over his jaw to place the pills on his tongue. You could see the tip of the scar that brushed over his top lip.

He swallowed the pills dry, tugging his mask back down.

“Happy?”

“Thrilled.” You smiled, and it was genuine.

“Y’smiling at me, sweetheart,” he sighed, “Gone mental from exhaustion?”

“Maybe,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “Maybe I’m just…”

He stared at you, waiting for you to finish your thought.

“I’m glad you’re alive…” You sighed, staring at his chest rather than his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” He echoed your words, a bit more decisively.

You could tell he meant it.

There was a silence in the room, one that allowed the tension to really resonate. But it wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, maybe it was necessary.

“Think you’d rather stay ‘ere tonight?”

“Here?” Your brows furrowed, unsure if you’d heard him correctly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Could both benefit from some company.” He added, “Up to you.”

You absorbed the question, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. That would…that’d be nice.”

"Go on." He shifted on the mattress, motioning to the head of the bed.

Simon watched you maneuver yourself up the bed, kicking your legs under the covers and pulling them up to your chin. When you'd settled, he worked his way to a more comfortable spot. He lay next to you above the blankets; mask on, arms folded over his chest.

It wasn’t the way you’d imagined getting into bed with him—and you often felt ashamed for thinking about getting into bed with him at all—but it was comforting all the same.

“Let me ask you something.” He looked over at you when you’d made yourself comfortable.

“Okay.”

“You serious? ‘Bout wantin’ t’feel my hands on you?” His voice was low but carried a playful tone, as if he were baiting you into a confession.

“What?” You laughed.

“In the infirmary, ‘fore I said that stuff about givin’ me—”

“Simon?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think I was serious?”

You rolled over onto your side, pleased with yourself. If he wouldn’t give you a straight answer, you wouldn’t give him one, either.

~~~

Simon was still in the same position he’d gone to sleep in when you woke up; lying on his back with his mask on, arms folded over his chest.

You had managed to position yourself against him, face pushed into his bicep. You found yourself wishing he had moved; tried to get closer to you, given some indication that he had noticed your shift and embraced it.

But no matter.

You snuck out of Ghost’s room as the sun came up, eager to avoid any prying eyes—if only to save yourself from the embarrassment of having to explain that nothing had actually happened at all.

But it had been a sounder sleep than you’d anticipated; he was warm, solid next to you, and that alone made you feel more at ease than you had in a while.

You found yourself in front of his door for a second night in a row.

“You a'right?” He opened the door on your second knock.

“I—yeah…” you answered, “It’s…I don’t…”

“Don’t want to be alone?” He finished the sentence for you, and you nodded.

He stepped aside, wordlessly, giving you space to walk through the door.

You had been truthful—you didn’t want to be alone. You couldn’t handle the idea of being trapped with your thoughts again in the dark of your room when you knew what was looming just behind your eyelids.

But the whole truth was that you wanted to be with him.

He tugged haphazardly at the blankets in an attempt to make the bed more appealing. Not that he really had to; you were tired, and it didn’t matter whether the bed you crawled into was made or not, as long as he was in it with you.

When he’d made the bed to his liking, you undid his hard work in a split second as you got comfortable under the covers.

You looked up at him. He stood by the edge of the bed, looking back at you.

“Left without sayin' anything this morning.”

“You were asleep,” you pointed out. “Why? Were you gonna make me breakfast?”

“Not with ‘at attitude.” He scoffed, and you laughed quietly.

He situated himself next to you, once again lying above the covers.

“I won’t make this a habit,” you muttered, “I promise.”

“S’a’right,” he shook his head, “Not really a problem, far as I see it.”

“Oh?”

“You ‘eard me.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

He seemed so much more at ease in his own space, which begged the question:

“How come you wear the mask to sleep?” You couldn’t help yourself. “I mean—it’s your room, Simon. Nobody’s gonna see you.”

“You might.” His eyes reopened, and he tilted his head to the side to look at you.

“But I know what you look like,” you smirked, “I know who you are. And you’re not Ghost.”

“S’not true.” He mumbled.

“It is,” you doubled down, “Outside of this room, sure, but in here—in bed, at the very least—you’re all Simon.”

He was quiet for a minute.

“So ‘ow come you don’t wanna be Berserker?”

“Told you—just doesn’t feel like me.”

“But I’m still Ghost.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m also…not.”

You hesitated. “Well, when you make it sound so…complicated…”

“I like your callsign.”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious to know what he thought.

“Thought I said,” he sighed, “Suits you.”

“You never said why.” You pressed him for more.

“You flip on a dime,” he explained with a sigh, “Go into this, uh, wild state. Pretty thing, goin’ completely berserk on the field—always liked it.” He exhaled a quiet, one-breath laugh, “And you’re damn near impossible to kill.”

You digested his words, but only one point stuck with you, and it made your heart flutter.

“You think I’m pretty?” You spoke coyly, covering your excitement with a playful tone.

He tensed his shoulders before letting them drop with a sigh of faux exasperation.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I think you’re pretty.”

You smiled, staring up at him from your spot on the bed—his bed.

“‘Nd you think I am, too—beggin’ me to take my mask off.” There was a smirk in his voice.

“Simon,” you rolled your eyes, turning away from him, “You ruined it.”

~~~

After spending several nights in Simon’s bed, you’d become used to the process of falling asleep to banter that bordered flirtation; of sleeping soundly and without distress; of waking up earlier than you’d like to, and creeping out of his room.

On the morning of the fourth day, you had woken up with his arm draped over your side, his hand pressed lightly against your stomach. He had positioned himself so that his arm perched over your hips rather than your waist to avoid brushing the scar that lingered even after your stitches had dissolved.

Maybe it had been an accident, just a subconscious pull to the heat of your body as you lay next to him, but it felt too precise to be coincidental—and that made you feel a sort of smug adoration.

You had stayed a little longer that morning.

You weren’t keeping it a secret, per se, but it felt wrong to put this newfound arrangement on display. Even if it was only something between coworkers—friends?—that benefitted your sleep schedule and made you feel less jumpy, you didn’t like the notion that people in the barracks would suspect it was something more.

Maybe you didn’t care about what other people thought.

Maybe it was more about what Simon thought; what his intentions were; whether or not you’d be overstepping by making it known that you’d been sleeping—and only sleeping—with him.

You strolled into the mess hall feeling well rested and hungry. Your appetite had finally returned, and you were happy to sate it.

“You look better,” Gaz addressed you from across the table, “Sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Been managing to go the whole night.”

“Good,” he sipped his coffee through a smile, “That’s good.”

You hadn’t told him it was because you’d been finding comfort in the Lieutenant’s bed.

Ghost and Soap approached the table, taking their respective seats.

Soap threw his tray down next to Gaz, grumbling as he sat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gaz nudged Johnny with his shoulder.

“Slept nae a fuckin’ wink last night.” Soap mumbled into his coffee.

“Why?” You questioned.

Soap sighed, shrugging in defeat.

“Bet you could get something from the infirmary,” you suggested, “Something to knock you on your ass. If you keep getting no sleep, I mean.”

“That what you’ve been doing?” Gaz asked you, and your mind went blank.

“Hoping it doesn’t come t’that.” Johnny inadvertently saved you from having to answer Gaz’s question by responding to your initial prompt.

“Tried countin’ sheep, Johnny?” Simon finally piped up from his seat next to you.

“Bile yer heid,” Soap shot a deadpan look at him.

“English.” Ghost huffed.

“Fuck yerself—y’keep it up, I’ll crawl into bed with you, LT.” Soap turned to look at you, smiling as he quirked a brow “If there’s any room.”

“What?” You tried not to let the sudden wave of panic show on your face.

There’s no way he could know.

Was there?

“What?” Johnny laughed, brow furrowed, “Look’t ‘im—be a shock if he alone could fit into one o’the beds.”

You faked a quick laugh, looking over at Simon, who hadn’t reacted at all to Soap’s taunt. He remained completely unfazed, watching his coffee steam; seemingly unaware of your knee-jerk response.

It was like he had not a care in the world.

Suddenly, your appetite was gone.

“I have reports to finish.”

“Still?” Gaz looked at you incredulously.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Been putting them off too long.”

Picking up your tray, you wandered out of the mess hall and towards your room.

~~~

You forced yourself to stay in your own bed that night, and the night after that.

And it felt torturous, and not because of the nightmares or the creeping sense of dread—though that certainly didn’t help your quest to find independence. This discomfort was more about your lack of understanding.

You didn’t know why you were so concerned about other people on the base seeing you with him—nervous at the notion of your own friends knowing about this arrangement.

You didn’t understand why Ghost had become so attuned to your needs or what he meant by not seeing you in his bed as a problem.

He thought you were pretty. At least you knew that much.

Not that it did anything to help quell your doubts.

You had started sleeping in the same shirt that had caused you so much grief; after doing your best to lift the stains, you’d managed to make it seem like the shirt hadn’t been through hell and back.

Now if only you could make yourself feel the same.

You weren’t avoiding Simon on purpose—that’s what you told yourself, anyway. You just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that maybe he was being kind out of pity; that he saw how miserable and tired you were, and was simply relenting.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, get riled up over the nothing that was sharing a bed with him.

Johnny’s offhand remark had, for some reason, made you feel odd. It was the way you’d reacted that made you feel bad, though, and Simon’s lack of reaction that made you feel worse.

His lack of an outward response made you upset. It dredged up the resentment you’d projected onto him. His clear obsession with appearing so stoic and uncaring in front of everybody made you feel unwanted; the fact that he could never, ever, seem to give you a reaction, no matter what you did, made you feel pitiful.

Meanwhile, your immediate panic at the thought of Soap knowing what was going on made you feel pathetic, and served to put into perspective just how deep your feelings actually ran.

The juxtaposition in reactions from yourself and him made you feel dirty.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to find solace in your bed after a day of forcing yourself to finish reports. You hadn’t been lying when you’d walked out of breakfast the other day—they had been piling up, and you had really needed to get them sorted.

You were tired. It wasn’t your best work, but at least they were finally done.

Someone knocked on your door.

“What?” You called out, prepared to hear Gaz on the other side.

“Open the door, sweetheart.”

Simon.

You opened your door a crack, just to peek at him, before finding the courage to open it completely.

“A'right?” He didn’t seem to notice your hesitation—that, or he was just ignoring it.

He was so good at ignoring things.

“Yes.” You lied, immediately turning bitter towards him.

“'Aven’t been comin' to see me.” He wasn’t asking, just stating the obvious, and it made you even more upset.

“Two nights,” you turned your back on him, walking further into your room. “Three tonight.”

You hadn’t really meant your movement as an invitation for him to come in, but Simon took it as one anyway. He followed you inside, shutting the door behind himself.

“D’you want to—”

“Do I want to sleep in your room?” Your words came out snippy as you cut him off, and indignation dripped from your voice.

He stayed quiet for a moment.

“Do you?”

“Did you tell Soap?” You began interrogating him.

“Mm?”

“Did you,” you took a step closer to him, “Tell Soap? About—about this? About…whatever this is. Me sleeping in your bed.”

“No,” Simon tilted his head to the side, “Did y’want me to?”

“Did I—what? What, so you can make a show of how you finally got me to behave for you?” You snapped, “Make sure everybody knows how easy it was to soften me up and get me where you want me?”

His eyes went wide for a moment before he collected himself with a huff.

“What?”

“I said what I said. Is this about you getting a little power trip?”

You felt lightheaded. You’d spent so long building walls around yourself to avoid your want for him, and he’d managed to tear them down in a matter of weeks. And he didn’t even care; he was seemingly ignorant to all of your emotional turmoil, to all the what ifs, and the sinking feeling you always carried of never being good enough for him.

“Making sure everybody knows that you’ve gotten another thing that you deserve?” You continued, irate.

He stared at you, resigned to your verbal onslaught.

“You don’t care what they think.” He spoke as if it was only just dawning on him.

“But I care what you think!” You broke, slumping over yourself slightly. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry, finding a happy medium in giggling so hysterically that your eyes began to water. “I care way too much about what you think, Simon! And I have no idea what you’re thinking, ever! You wanna know why I’ve been so fucking—I don’t know, upset? With you? For god knows how long? Why I'm so confused by this random fucking attentiveness?”

You stormed over to your desk, hastily grabbing the reports and walking back over to Simon to slam them against his chest.

“Be fucking certain they’re in order this time, sweetheart!” You mocked his accent, angry enough that you considered mimicry fair game.

He let the papers drop to the ground by his feet.

“You went from so easy to so, so difficult in the span of twenty-four hours, and I have never for the life of me been able to figure out what set you off!” You wondered if he even remembered the series of events you were talking about, if it stuck out to him the way it did to you. “You’re so complicated! You’re so fucking—and now you’re mad that I’m not running off to bed with you? So—so that you can keep me safe from myself and prove to me that you’re some fucking superhero? Wanna be my personal savior? Make me eat my words about your arrogance?” You scoffed, “Jesus fuck, Simon!”

You swallowed every emotion besides ire. Still, you felt a pang of remorse when you remembered what you’d said to him as he lay sleeping in the infirmary.

Sorry I yelled at you; it won’t happen again.

Now you were making a liar out of yourself, and it wasn’t even his fault—this was you still trying to push it all down, even after everything. The fear of rejection tried to overpower your desire for help from him; comfort from him.

The terseness of your words hung between the two of you, and you remained frozen in place, standing across from him, panting.

“Wasn’t mad.” You could hear the irritation in his voice, finally getting a reaction.

“What?” You huffed.

“I wasn’t mad. Never been mad at you.”

“Then what—”

“You needed a push.”

“And that’s how you thought to do it?”

“'Ow else would I have done it?” He sounded like he did on missions, blunt and loud, and the severity of his tone made you flinch.

“Any other way! You—you refuse to acknowledge the work I put into all of this! Then, now, you’ve always acted like I’m not good enough to be here!”

“I push you because I respect you,” he was practically yelling now as he matched your urgency, raising a hand to point at you for emphasis. “You respond better to assertiveness. You thrive on clarity, always 'ave. Thought I was fuckin' ‘elpin' you.” With narrowed eyes, he searched your face. "And maybe I was rough on you, but ‘ow the fuck was I s'posed to react—you think I knew what to do? When you were showing me such bloody—this gentle fuckin' devotion since day one?"

You thought you'd like getting him to snap, but you didn't. You could feel your cheeks heating up, sinuses stinging slightly as your body readied tears.

You felt stupid, the situation lamentable. It had always been a misunderstanding; a lapse in communication between two people who understood each other but refused to relate. Someone who wanted to adore, and someone who had no idea how to be adored.

He had always been attuned to your needs. He was just godawful at showing it.

You shrunk into yourself a bit, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. You avoided his gaze as you chose your words.

“Are you proud of me?”

“What?” He looked down at you in disbelief.

You doubled down, trying to keep your voice even, “Are you proud of me, Simon?”

He took a long breath, debating his next move, before tugging his mask over his jaw.

In one swift motion, he pulled you into him, not bothering to weave his arms under your own and instead wrapping himself around you with your arms still slack at your sides.

“Fuck are you talking about?” He growled, one hand coming up to cup your face.

And then he was kissing you, passionately, but in an oddly chaste manner.

You gasped, shocked by how forward the action was and by how much you responded to it. You wiggled your arms out of his grasp, one hand finding purchase on his chest while the other flew to the nape of his neck.

He pulled away from you, and you found yourself chasing the slow movement of his lips against yours, already missing the vague taste of him you’d gotten from the gentle kiss.

“You’re fuckin' stubborn,” Simon spoke just above a whisper, deep voice ragged as he caught his breath, “You’re one of the most competent people I’ve ever worked with. You call me on shit people three ranks above you wouldn’t, and you’re right. You stepped on a landmine, and you lived.” His thumb brushed over your cheek as his hand kept up the responsibility of holding your face up, ensuring that your eyes met his. “Who cares ‘f I’m proud of you.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but you answered anyway.

“I do.” You breathed, and you finally felt as though the whole truth had been told.

“Well, I…” He swallowed, “I am.” There was a pause as he collected his thoughts, staring at you with a tender look of hesitation. “I am. And ’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wanted to hear it.

“Everything,” he seemed assured, “Not being—not being the right kind of support, not being clear about…”

When he trailed off, you wanted to push him forward into his feelings; make him say it, clarify how he hadn’t been clear about his true intentions or the nature of his emotions; make him put into perspective what Gaz had been trying to tell you in your room as you smoked through your skepticism.

But that would just make you feel cruel, and if he wasn’t ready to share that sort of vulnerability with you, then so be it.

Instead, you began a new line of questioning.

“Why’d you make that crack about us having grandkids?” You leaned against his palm where it rested on your face.

“Felt right. In th’moment,” he sighed, “Thought it was funny.”

“You were serious.”

“‘F you think I—”

“You were.” You delivered your claim with certainty.

He smiled, and you were thrilled to be able to see the rare presentation on his partially unmasked face.

“I was.”

“I’m not a problem.” You tried not to get distracted by how pretty his lips looked, curled so obviously at the edges.

“Not the way I see it.” He answered in a manner so typically Ghost, but it still served to prove your point.

“And you think I’m pretty.”

You watched his smile turn into something more akin to a smirk.

“'At's right. I do.”

“Gaz said…said you stayed with me. In the infirmary.”

“I did.”

“How come?” You wanted more extensive answers, unsatisfied by his brief responses.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simon countered your question with another.

“You were pissed that I woke up when you weren’t there.” You continued to run through the series of events that had irritated you so greatly.

“Can y’blame me?”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes for a moment upon hearing your reply, perhaps recognizing his own shortcomings in how he was dealing with this conversation; or recognizing that he had, in fact, been in the wrong to get so aggressive while you were still healing up.

He didn’t say anything, so you took it upon yourself to continue, trying to prompt him.

“You were mad.”

“I was upset.” He clarified with a hiss, not out of spite but frustration at his inability to express himself.

“Why?” You urged him on.

“Because—” He heaved a sigh, “Wanted you to know I...cared. Wanted it t’be something 'at registered…”

He was clearly struggling to describe his thought process, and you couldn’t blame him—he was a complicated man in every sense of the word, and you could only imagine what it was like inside his head.

But he was trying.

“'En you woke up while I was gone, 'nd I felt stupid, so I just…took it out on you, and everybody else,” he breathed, “And I shouldn’t ‘ave. And I’m sorry.”

You wondered if you were the first person to ever hear the words I’m sorry come out of his mouth, and you tried not to relish in the notion.

You tugged subconsciously at his shirt collar, and realizing that you both still hand your hands wound around one another made you blush.

“Why did you listen to me?”

“When?” He furrowed his brow enough that you could see his eyes crease.

“You let me lead—you treated me when I asked you to.” You explained.

“Think I’d jus’ let you bleed out?” His lips curled into a subtle smile again.

“Answer the question.” You tugged a bit more harshly on his shirt.

“I respect you,” he muttered, “You’re a good soldier.”

“That doesn’t answer my—”

“It does.” He cut you off, eyes boring holes into your own as if in an effort to telepathically send you the meaning of his words.

And you understood.

“So why did you use your shirt?” You swallowed, smiling softly.

“Y'ask a lot of fuckin’ questions, know 'at?” He huffed playfully.

“Yeah,” you shot back, not bending to his teasing, “Why’d you use your shirt.”

“No bandages.”

“So your first instinct was to just—strip down, middle of a warzone, wrap me up?”

“I need you,” he paused then, perhaps intentionally, as he tightened his grip around your waist, hauling you even closer against him, “Safe.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you parted your lips, but no words came out.

“I need you alive. And I’m glad I did it,” he was trying not to mumble, unsure of how his words would be received despite how you were clinging to him like some sort of life preserver. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, touched by his sincerity and wanting to grip his face, pull him down into another kiss that you could deepen even further.

“Could’ve used a sock…” You opted instead to poke fun at him, hoping it might lighten the mood and ease the tension. You didn’t want to run the risk of kissing him with tears trailing down your face.

“Fuck off.” He chuckled, and you felt instantly soothed.

Simon tilted his face down ever so slightly, eyes leaving your face to take in the way his shirt framed your body.

“Looks good on you.” He seemed pleased.

“Cleaned the blood.”

“I noticed.” He nodded, eyes still scanning the fabric that adorned you. “Suits you.”

“You keep saying that, and I don’t know what you mean.” You tilted your head at him, your bodies close enough that you could hear his heartbeat syncing with yours.

You belonged here.

“'Ow much clearer could I be, sweetheart?” He scoffed in jest.

“Simon.”

“Mm?” He looked back at you.

“Shut up,” you shook your head, amused, “I’m giving you the go ahead.”

You pulled him down by the nape of his neck where your hand still sat, reconnecting your lips to his.

This time, it was different—his movements were hungry, and there was little time wasted as he worked to deepen the kiss. You parted your lips, beckoning him in and whimpering softly when he began to lick into you. The room was silent with the exception of the soft sound of his mouth exploring yours and the quiet hiss of breath.

He finally moved his arm, wrapping it properly around your waist, and you could feel his fingers pressing against your skin as if in an attempt to map you out, to bruise you with his fingerprints and mark you as identifiably his own. His other palm rested heavy on your cheek, sliding back to allow his fingers to brush through your hair leisurely.

Your own hands had also begun to wander, stroking up his chest and his back, grabbing at his shoulders and his arms in a desperate attempt to feel the warmth of him seep into your palm anywhere you could get it through his shirt. You felt delirious with want—every emotion besides lust fizzled out, and you were left with the knowledge that this was all you’d ever really wanted.

And now that you had it, you couldn’t get enough.

You tugged on his shirt. He took the hint, allowing you to walk with him in an awkward dance of intwined limbs until the back of your knees hit the bed.

You finally separated, though he kept his hands on your sides. You stared up at him as you caught your breath.

“Take it off.” Your words came out whined.

“Take what off?” He heaved a breath.

He knew what you were talking about, but he prompted you all the same in an effort to encourage you to take what you wanted.

You reached up hesitantly. With one one hand, you cupped his jaw, while your other hand gripped the fabric that he’d tugged over his mouth, peeling it off of him until his face was fully exposed.

It had only been a month or two since you’d seen his face unobstructed, but he was prettier than you remembered, if that was possible.

The scars that crisscrossed over his left cheek were a flushed pink, rosy against his pale skin; his eyes seemed sharper, keener as you analyzed his features.

His hair had grown longer on top, despite the fact that he had clearly maintained the close cropping on the sides.

Seeing him like this always made him seem human, and the circumstances in which you were seeing him now made it innately more intimate.

You kept your hand on his face, absentmindedly trailing your thumb down his cheek as you considered what you could say in this moment.

“Hair’s not regulation…” You mumbled, swallowing.

“Gonna tell on me?” When he spoke, the faint stubble that dotted his jawline scraped gently against your palm.

“No…” You couldn’t think of anything witty to say, “I like it like this.”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes grew softer as he stared down at you. His hands, still on your waist, dipped beneath your shirt and the feeling of his calloused palms running so gently up your bare skin made you suck in a breath.

“Simon…” You suddenly felt that you couldn’t make eye contact with him, lest you embarrass yourself by begging him to fuck you where you stood.

He looked at you expectantly for a moment before his gaze flicked down to where his hands stroked up your body.

“I want—” You tried to find the words that would make you sound the least pathetic, but realized that you didn’t really care as you settled on your phrasing. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” His voice gave away his eagerness.

“Please.” You added.

That was all it took to get him to grab you by the hips and tug you into him, turning the both of you around so that he could sit on the bed. You scrambled to straddle his lap.

He snaked his hands back under your shirt—his shirt—helping you out of it with one hand while the other traced patterns down your spine. When you tossed it to the side, you gazed at him expectantly, searching his face for a reaction.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you got one quickly. “Wanna…”

He never finished his sentence, and you didn’t have time to prompt him; his hands traveled up to your shoulder blades, face dipping down to bury himself in the cavern between your breasts and trail open mouthed kisses over your skin.

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from your lips, a response to the action itself and the way he felt against you; hot, wet tongue smoothing over the spots his stubble scratched at.

When he moved to take one of your nipples between his lips, you rolled your hips, arching your back. The action earned you a growl from him, and the small vibrations from his mouth made goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“Christ, don’t—” He grunted against the supple flesh of your breast, clearly struggling to hold back from reciprocating your movements as he bucked his hips gently up into you. “Fuck, c’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs before he stood, flipping you onto your back. Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed, and he knelt between your thighs.

“Should we take these off?” His fingers just barely dipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, and you whined.

“Yes—yeah,” you raised your hips from the bed, “Go for it.”

Simon smirked, tugging your shorts down your legs and leaving you completely exposed to him. He trailed kisses up the inside of your leg, sucking hard on the skin of your thigh as he inched closer to your core.

“Knew you’d be a tease.” You huffed a laugh when he reached the top of your thigh only to move back and trail kisses up your other leg.

“Thought about it a lot?” He smiled against your skin, “Night’s young, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but gasped softly when he reached the top of your thigh again and slowly began to leave kisses over your pubic mound, taking his time, dipping lower until he reached your clit.

You let out a shaky breath. How long had it been since someone touched you like this; since you’d exposed yourself to a hand that wasn’t yours, a mouth that knew how to put in the effort?

How long had you been aching to feel Simon this way?

Your hand flew to his head, fully appreciating the way his hair had grown out to offer you the proper length to pull on.

Simon moaned softly, pressing chaste kisses to your clit, but when you tugged harder, desperate for more, he let out a quiet growl and stared up at you as he finally pressed his tongue to your folds.

You knew he had good aim—snipers tended to—but the way he so expertly circled his tongue over your entrance, pressing into you and lapping up your slick made your back arch. You raised your legs to rest them over his shoulders, aching for him.

You could feel his breath coming out in warm huffs against your slick. He ate you like a man starved, and you bucked your hips into his face when he licked a broad stripe over your slit that culminated in him teasing your clit with the tip of the muscle.

“Greedy thing,” he teased, nipping at your inner thigh, “Taste even better 'an I thought.”

“Thought—thought about it a lot?” You threw his words back at him with a shaky voice, nearing the edge, and he laughed.

“All the time,” he wrapped his arms around your legs, forcing you to still as he pressed another kiss to your dripping cunt. “Hand wrapped 'round my cock, thinking 'bout buryin' my face in you,” he teased your clit, licking another stripe over you before continuing his rambling. “How fuckin' pretty you’d look, starin’ down at me.”

His words made you feel feral, and the knowledge that he had touched himself to thoughts of you, just as you had to thoughts of him, forced a whimper from your throat. You looked down at him with parted lips and lust blown eyes.

“Yeah, ’at’s it,” he nodded, staring back at you from between your thighs, face coated in your slick, “Jus' like 'at, sweetheart. Watch me.”

He dropped his face again, hands moving up your legs to grip the flesh of your ass and pull you firm against him as he sucked on your clit mercilessly.

You found yourself writhing beneath his ministrations, pulling his hair harder as you reached the precipice. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop, to go easier on you; or if you wanted him to stay there, lapping at your cunt and overwhelming your senses forever.

Your thighs squeezed around his head, trembling, as your muscles tensed. Your vision went blurry from the pleasure.

“Cum.” He said it like it was an order, licking into you before quickly returning his attention to your clit, sucking down hard around the bud.

What was likely meant to be a scream came out a choked cry as you came, gasping his name and trying to curl into yourself as the stimulation became all too much for you to handle.

With a final kiss to your cunt, Simon removed his mouth from you, stroking his thumb over your hip and watching you shake.

“Good?” He whispered into your thigh, planting soft kisses over your skin as you whimpered through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Yeah—fuck, Simon, yeah. Good,” you panted, “Better than good...Christ.”

He hummed, satisfied by your answer.

You stayed sprawled out with him between your legs for a while longer, appreciating the soft touches of the man who projected such a harsh persona; reminding yourself how to breathe properly.

"Come." You stretched your arms out, staring at him as you encouraged him to crawl into bed with you.

He obliged, standing, and you bit your tongue to keep from taunting him about how easy it was now to get him to follow orders. He pulled you into him, and you pressed your hands to his chest, nuzzling beneath his chin.

“You gonna keep all your clothes on?” You mumbled, teasing.

Simon sat up, supporting himself on his elbow. He tilted his head down as he brought a hand to your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Ask me again.”

“Simon—”

“Nah, c’mon,” he practically cooed, voice saccharine as he teased you. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“You want me to beg for you?” You matched his tone.

“Bet you’d be good at it.” He quirked a brow, smirking.

You sighed, fully willing to give him what he wanted even if it was in jest. Grabbing his collar and pulling him down so that your nose brushed his, you spoke in a whisper.

“Will you please fuck me, Simon?”

He smiled, but the glint in his eyes read almost predatory.

“Good girl.”

He sat up, pulling off his shirt and exposing his chest to you. It wasn’t anything new; you'd seen him in states of undress like this, but when his lips were still wet with your cum, it felt different in the most magnificent of ways.

You watched him stand, sitting up to get a better view; his stitches had already dissolved, but a scar still marred his left side, joining the dozens of other marks he'd collected during his time in combat.

With a smirk, he looked down at you and unzipped his fly, bending down to take his pants off, and you laughed at the showmanship he displayed.

Cocky motherfucker.

But you rubbed your thighs together when he took off his boxers, all the previous teasing production value gone as he straightened up and kicked them to the side with a huff.

You’d long wondered—rather immaturely—whether his size and stature translated to all of him. You felt your cheeks flush when you saw that you had been correct in suspecting that his cock lived up to the rest of him; thick and long, it tilted slightly to the right, and one solid vein trailed up the underside. His tip was pink and leaking, already smeared with precum, and when you realized that it was likely because he had found pleasure in going down on you, you swallowed a moan.

He rolled his shoulders back, and you thought you might be drooling.

He stood at the edge of the bed, looming over you as he always did, but now with a level of hesitation. He bent down to brush his lips against yours, and you eagerly accepted the kiss.

“Tell me what you want.” His breath was hot against your mouth.

“Told you…” You whispered, bringing a hand up to trace the tattoos on his arm.

He shook his head. “Tell me how you want it.”

You were thrown off guard by his prompting; you had been excited to let him do whatever it was he wanted.

And so that’s what you voiced.

“Any…however,” you swallowed, “Just want it to be you.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but you couldn’t admire him for long as he quickly embraced you in another kiss, pushing you onto your back again and moving clumsily to kneel on the bed beside you.

Simon’s hands ran down the length of your body, thumbs hooking between your thighs to admire the soaking mess at your core. He situated himself between your legs, encouraging you to hook your knees over his hips.

You couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe, the once callous Lieutenant who you swallowed your feelings for, now touching you with such care and admiration—and he looked good doing it.

He moved one hand from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek and staring down at you. The iciness in his eyes was back, but it was in a sense of concern rather than ire.

“You tell me if it 'urts.” He traced your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Knew you could be arrogant, but Jesus, Simon,” you barked a laugh, “That’s just—”

“Meant your ribs, love,” he smirked down at you, and you grinned back at him. “But I 'preciate the vote o'confidence.”

“Freudian slip…” You mumbled, not even embarrassed at your mistake, finding the humor in it and relishing that he, too, was comfortable enough to laugh about it with you.

“Right.” He nodded, smug. He maneuvered himself so that his cock could rest against your stomach.

You tilted your head, looking down to admire the image. He was justified in his pride, despite the way he came off so pompous; seeing his cock against you like this made your breath hitch, the comparison it drew to your size versus his was unavoidable and absolutely delicious.

“You gonna fuck me, or just show off?” You wiggled your hips.

“Nice to know you’re still mouthy even on your back.” Simon huffed, amused, as he pulled back to line himself up with you.

When he notched his tip to your entrance, you bucked your hips gently, unable to conceal your excitement. He pressed a hand to your stomach.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” he grunted, “Patient.”

You whined, frustrated and needy, but you didn’t have to put up too much of a fuss before he sunk into you. He watched intently as your cunt swallowed him inch by inch, lowering himself to hover over you on his forearms, pressing his hips to yours.

You squeaked a moan, filled to the brim, and grazed your nails down his back, feeling the occasional indentation of a scar beneath your fingers. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed and breath coming out broken.

It was the most unshielded you had ever seen him, and you felt a sense of pride in the fact that it was you who had caused such a response.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, pulling his hips back an inch only to thrust shallowly back into you. You whimpered at the feeling, the way he had your walls stretched so taut around him. “Oh, fu—ckin’ hell…”

“Fuck me,” you whined, grabbing him by the shoulder blades. You pressed sloppy kisses to his mouth and chin, “Fuck me, fuck me—” It was a chant, a desperate repetition of your needs.

Maybe he captured you in another kiss to shut you up, but you didn’t mind. When his tongue parted your lips just as he began to rock forward, you nearly bit down on it, letting out a broken cry that he swallowed happily.

“Don’t want everybody 'earin’ you.” He shushed you, smirking into the kiss.

“Don’t—don’t care,” and you didn’t; if this was how everybody in the barracks discovered your situation with Ghost, you’d be proud. “Feels—you’re so deep.”

“I know,” he was typically smug, but you could tell he was enjoying himself just as much as you were. “Lift your hips, sweetheart.”

You did as he said, lifting your hips enough so that he had room to reach beneath your body and grope your ass, tugging you into every stroke.

“Yeah, ‘at’s it—fuckin’ take it,” the pace of his thrusts increased. With his hands beneath your body, he straightened up, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper, rougher. “Fuckin’—fuck, take it, take it, sweetheart.” His head fell back as he moved, and you felt hypnotized by the way his chest heaved.

“Jesus fucking—Simon, please—” You bit your lip, really and truly attempting to keep the volume of your cries for him down, but he wasn’t making it easy. “So good—feel so good, please, just like that.”

His jaw was clenched but his lips were parted, and he looked over you with an intense focus, training himself to identify every little bodily response from you, and every little thing he could do to earn those reactions.

“Christ, look't you, love—” His lips curled into a fucked-out smirk, “Droolin’ jus' like your cunt.”

Dazed, you watched as he brought his hand down to your face, swiping the drool you hadn’t even realized you’d produced from the side of your mouth with his thumb. He pressed the digit against your lips, and you opened, eagerly sucking his thumb while he continued his bruising pace.

He watched on as you moaned around him, filling you at both ends.

His words spilled out of him, the vulgar vice grip your cunt had on his cock working him to peak vulnerability.

“You know ‘ow long I wanted this?” He bent down, slowing his pace to offer long, deep strokes that were just as overwhelming as the previous, faster pace. “‘Ow long I wanted t’see you droolin’ f'my cock? Would’a fucked you every night you slept with me—f’you said that’s what you wanted, would’a fucked you with ‘at bullet in my ribs.”

You could feel his cock punching against your cervix, the sharp, brief pain in your abdomen immediately fading to make room for the pleasure. And even so, with him encroaching on you like this, forcing you to take him as deep as you physically could, you still wanted more.

You moaned, irrepressibly needy as your hands wandered over his body above you.

Straightening up again, Simon pulled his thumb from your mouth. He took it between his own lips, tasting your spit and saturating the digit further before lowering it to your clit and rubbing circles over you.

“So fuckin’ stubborn—you’re a brat, ‘nd even when you make me pull my fuckin’ 'air out, I’d still let you do anythin' you want,” he couldn’t stop talking, and you were fine with it. His rambling on about his desire for you, paired with the motion of his hips, had you hurtling towards your second high. “Fuck, you feel good—fuck.”

You thought maybe when he tilted his head down, eyes closing as he dropped his chin to his chest, that he was done talking. For a moment, it seemed that way, his attention refocusing completely on your body, as he collected himself and moved lower to hover over you again; nipping at the skin of your chest and licking stripes over your tits, moving his hand from your clit and kneading the pillowy flesh of your breasts.

But he moved to look down at you directly, nose brushing your own, and there was a flash of something in his eyes—soft and completely exposed.

“I love you.” He said it like a secret, the quietest cadence you’d ever heard him take on.

For a moment you thought maybe you were dreaming again—the nightmares morphing into something more akin to psychological warfare that you would wake up from and miss as if it were a nostalgic memory.

But then he said your name.

“I—fuck—I love you.” His breath hitched, and he was clearly attempting to distract himself from your silence by burying his cock into you deeper.

It made you moan wantonly—both his actions and his words hitting you somewhere deep, and you let out a gasp, reaching up to cup his cheek and letting your thumb trace one of the longer scars.

“I love you.” You echoed, meaning it more sincerely than anything you’d ever said to him, and though his brow furrowed slightly, he smiled.

“Again,” he panted above you, “Shit, say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated, hand trailing behind his head and fingers combing through his hair, “I love you, Simon. I love you.” It was the second time in the span of a few hours that you’d found yourself chanting for him, and you were quite pleased.

“Fuckin’—” he sped up again, thrusting into you enough that the bedframe knocked against the wall. You almost felt sorry for whichever poor soul bunked next door. “’At’s it, sweetheart, let me ’ear you.”

He was delirious with lust, overwhelmed by his affection for you. And while it wasn’t something he was used to in any respect, he was certainly enjoying it.

“You fuckin’ tell me—you cum on my cock and you fuckin’ tell me ‘ow much you love it.”

He brought his hand back down to your clit, and your back arched off the mattress when he pressed down onto the bud, massaging over it in time with his thrusts.

“Let me see my pretty girl cum again.” He cooed over you.

His phrasing made you moan. His pretty girl; it rattled around in your brain and you let out a breathy sigh of approval.

“Your pretty girl…”

“’At’s what I said, sweetheart,” he nodded, and he would've been smiling if his focus wasn't entirely taken up on warding off his high. “One more, love. C’mon and gimme what I want.” He growled his words, briefly removing his fingers from your clit to pull your ankles over his shoulders so that he could wrap an arm around your thighs and hold you against him. “Fu—uck, tight little cunt…”

He kissed your ankle, replacing his fingers on your clit once more and watching your face contort in pleasure.

“Simon, fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop,” you stuttered through your whimpers, feeling the familiar heat build in your abdomen, “I’m gonna cum—please—like that, I’m gonna cum.”

He groaned, applying more pressure to your clit as he massaged it to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Go on, sweetheart, gimme another one. Be a good girl, let me see your pretty face while you cum on my cock.”

You let yourself go completely.

“I—I love you,” you mustered the strength to follow his previous orders as the tug that built somewhere in your stomach finally culminated in a pleasant heat coating your skin. Your muscles tensed, your eyes rolling back enough that you could see colors distantly behind your eyelids.

“Yeah, yeah you fuckin’ do. You fuckin’ love it. You love me, sweetheart.” Simon groaned, “’Ere you go—squeeze me tight like ‘at,” his hips stuttered as he fucked you through your high. “Fuckin’ soak me. Good fuckin’ girl.”

His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh, trying to stave off his climax, if only for a moment longer, so that he could continue to enjoy the warm squeeze of your cunt.

When your moans became weaker, battling exhaustion to prolong the delicious overstimulation he offered you, Simon slid out of you with a grunt. He kept your legs up, keeping your thighs pressed together so that he could slip his cock between them and chase his own release.

“Fuck—” you yelped when the underside of his cock swiped over your clit, craning your neck to watch him fuck himself with your thighs.

You could see his abs tighten, desperate moans falling from his lips, and he looked so utterly beautiful as he struggled to control himself against the pleasure.

“Gonna fuckin’ stain you with my cum,” he heaved, rocking against you fervently, “Wanna smell it on you. Mark you up nice, let everybody know who you belong to—show ‘em 'ow good you are to your Lieutenant.”

“Please,” you mumbled your plea, pressing your palm to the back of his hand where it rested on your thigh, “Please…”

With his mouth agape, Simon’s brow furrowed, pushing his hips flush against the back of your thighs; he came with a low groan, bucking against you as he painted your stomach with his spend.

He panted, closing his mouth to swallow and staring down at you in a haze. He tilted his head back, heaving a satisfied sigh, before finding the motivation to move from the bed.

You felt a tug of melancholy, a sudden discomfort in being parted from him, but you watched on as he found what he was looking for and returned to your side.

He wiped you clean with the same goddamn shirt that, as far as you were concerned, started all this.

You fell into a fit of laughter, the adrenaline morphing from physical pleasure to pure amusement.

Simon stared at you like you had two heads.

“After everything that poor fucking shirt has been through, you’re gonna use it as a cum rag?” You tried to explain, and you watched his lips curl into a smile.

“Better a cum towel ‘an a tourniquet.” He quipped, quirking a brow at you.

“Just got the blood out…” You grumbled playfully, and he tossed the shirt off to the side somewhere.

“You’ll live.” He sighed, pressing his palm into your now clean, if not a bit sticky, stomach and appreciating your warmth.

After he had taken a moment to admire you where you lay on your back, he stood, walking around the bed to situate himself next to you. When he’d made himself comfortable, he wrapped an arm around your hips, pushing you onto your right side before tugging you into him.

“Never thought I’d be spooning with Simon Riley.” You sighed, placing your hand over his where it rested on your stomach.

“Consider y’self lucky.” He chuckled.

You fell into a peaceful lull, wrapped up in each other and silent.

“You love me.” You weren’t asking, more so reassuring yourself with a quick statement to ensure that what he’d said in the heat of the moment was true.

“I do,” he nosed your neck, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You whispered it, bringing his hand up from your stomach to kiss his knuckles.

He hummed quietly, and you continued to plant soft kisses over his hand until you were satisfied.

“You still mad at me?” He questioned, and you laughed.

“You really have to ask?”

“Good to be certain.” He sighed, and you shook your head, grinning.

“I don’t want to sleep in your room tonight.” You muttered.

“Don’t ‘ave to,” he responded in a similarly soft tone, “Won’t make you. Say the word, I’ll leave. You can get some sleep.”

“No,” you smiled at his lack of awareness, “Don’t want to sleep in your room—want you to sleep here.”

He was quiet for a moment. You looked over your shoulder, uncertain, and he was already looking back at you with a smug grin.

“’At’s what you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. S’what I want, too.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing your back to his chest.

“Gonna sleep without your mask on?” You teased, eyeing the balaclava where it lay on the floor amongst the rest of your discarded clothes.

“Might as well,” he huffed a laugh, “Cock’s out—nobody’ll notice my face if they come in.”

“I will.”

“I want you to.” He sighed, pressing himself against you so that your head rested beneath his chin.

“Good,” you yawned, “That’s what I want, too.”

Simon chuckled softly, leaning back to reach for the lamp on the nightstand and clicking it off. There was another stretch of comfortable silence, and you felt the soft edges of sleep begin to take hold.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Simon whispered into the darkness of your room.

“I know,” you were just awake enough to respond, “I love you, too, Simon.”

You fell asleep with his arm draped over you, perched over your hips rather than your waist, his hand pressed lightly against your stomach. But this time, you were both under the covers.

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

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heeseungiez · 2 days ago

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nothing i don’t have | pjs

part 2: support our son

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1k

content warnings! swearing

author's note! i'm still trying to figure out what app/site to make the texts on so if anyone has a good suggestion please help please i'm struggling

previous | masterlist | next

You used to come over to Jay’s place nearly every other day. But it had been two weeks, and you were nowhere to be seen. It was to the point that Heeseung, Jake and Sunghoon began asking if you would ever come over again, to which Jay was forced to answer that you were probably hanging out with Huening Kai. He didn’t know your actual whereabouts most of the time, but he guessed. Which made him internally cringe every time.

What he disliked the most, however, was his incessant urge to text you whenever the smallest inconvenient thing happened in his day. He was sure you would very likely reply, but he was scared of what it would be like now that the dynamic of your relationship changed. It should probably be the same, but what if your voice over text changed because now you were seeing someone else?

Jay wasn’t fond of the idea in the slightest. Did you even really like Huening Kai? Who the fuck was he to take you away from Jay? (Yet you weren’t his to begin with.) He missed you, but he could hardly voice it out to himself, let alone you.

The day he nearly killed a man on the spot was when he saw you and Huening Kai walking side by side on campus. It wasn’t just that, actually, because the two of you were holding hands, and you were laughing about something Kai had said. It was even worse because he was clearly walking you to class — a class that you shared with Jay. So you were bound to cross paths, and no matter how hard Jay tried to slow his pace down, you still managed to notice him.

“Oh, hey, Jay!” you called him over with a smile on your face. It was brighter than he remembered, and he couldn’t figure out if it was just his brain playing tricks, or whether you were genuinely happier than he had ever seen you before. “You know Kai, right?” you asked innocently, but it only brought back Jay’s anger from the Sanctuary Café.

Heeseung just wanted to take Jay out to an open mic. Neither of them knew that it would also be the day of your first date with Huening Kai. Jay hated every second of being there, but to you, it must’ve been an unforgettable night.

“And Kai, this is Jay,” you said with a smile, pointing at him.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Kai stretched out his hand forward, but the gaze with which he beheld Jay told him that he knew everything about you and Jay. That you gave him every single gory detail of what had been going on before the two of you began dating, and that made Jay even more furious. Because he refused to acknowledge any other emotion he felt.

He ignored the tightness in his chest as he shook Kai’s hand with a nod. “I’ve heard nothing about you,” Jay replied, not lying, because he genuinely knew nothing about Kai besides the few pieces of gossip and what Heeseung divulged some time ago. Kai wasn’t surprised by that information at all. You hadn’t told Jay anything about him either.

“We have to get to class, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” You looked at Kai with such admiration in your eyes that Jay wanted to step between the both of you and push Kai out of the way. But he couldn’t do it. All he could do was stand and watch and constantly clench and unclench his fists.

“Yeah, of course,” Kai replied, bending down to kiss your temple, but you grabbed the collar of his band tee and brought his mouth down to your lips. Kai let out an involuntary giggle as it happened, and Jay had to abruptly turn away, incapable of not rolling his eyes.

“Bye,” you mumbled quietly, a soft smile decorating your lips.

“Band practice starts at five.”

“I know, Kai,” you laughed and shook your head. “I’ll be there. We need to support our son.”

Jay furrowed his brows, but with Kai’s knowing grin and playful roll of his eyes, neither of you was going to elaborate on what you actually mean.

Your son?

And yet that was the first thing Jay asked about once Kai was finally leaving you alone, his back turned to the two of you. “Your son? The fuck happened in the last two weeks?”

You chuckled at Jay’s confusion, an amused look brightening up your features. “Yujin’s still in high school,” you said, shaking your head. “The keyboardist. If you remember him. He’s actually just started his second year.”

“So you call him your son?”

“Yeah, he’s the whole band’s son. And mine, now.” You grinned proudly, just thinking about Yujin. “Anyways, I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact much lately, but I’m still getting used to this whole new dynamic of me having a boyfriend and all that.”

“Oh, you’re official already?”

“I’d hope so,” you said, shrugging. “What about you? Any new conquests lately? Surely, you already found someone else? Maybe you’ve already had someone on your roster, you know, that kinda stuff.”

If Jay wasn’t too busy cringing at your words, he’d probably notice how tense your tone was, and how much you hated saying them, but he didn’t. All he heard was that you really didn’t care about him any more than a casual fuck and perhaps a somewhat close friend.

“Nah, not really,” Jay replied anyway. “I’m actually kinda… I don’t know. Haven’t felt like doing much lately.”

“Right. So just you and Jane?” you asked teasingly.

“What?” And maybe it should’ve hit Jay instantly that you were speaking of his guitar, but instead he thought that you were suggesting he really was with somebody else already, and he did not like that. “Oh.” He realised moments later.

“Yeah. I guess you could say that.” He nodded. Jay had to count all his small victories of today among the losses, too, however, because you were actively speaking to him finally. And not just that — you sat down next to him in class.

tags: (send an ask or comment to be added!) @moonpri @addictedtohobi

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

I've never been so sucked into a Megatron fic as I have been by your Broken Arrow series. I'm really interested to see if y/n will break and how Megatron would handle it if they did! It's very exciting!

I do love playing with tension. 18+ mass displaced mech 🌶️

Broken Arrow Pt 12

TFP Megatron x Reader

• “Don’t,” you growl the word at him, shoving at his arm as he drags you back into him so he can curl around your much smaller form. Hating that you don’t hate this contact. Especially as he slowly wraps the length of your leash around his palm and vents against the back of your neck. Knowing you’re not getting away from him until he lets you and trying not to think about what you’d done with him or that you’d enjoyed it. Because nothing about this should be okay to you, but there’s still that part of you that had actually been scared for him when he’d been injured. That had warmed at his teasing and taunts despite yourself. That knew he could have hurt you so many times, but no matter what he says, those sharp claws are always so gentle like he’s afraid of breaking you. Despite biting you.

• Finally, you relax against him, your back to his front. Giving up after realizing he’s not letting go. Maybe biding your time hoping he’ll slip into recharge and turn you loose. Still not realizing that he’s never letting you go now. “We don’t need to be enemies,” he murmurs, servos sliding down over your hip and you grab his wrist when he slides lower to cup you. “As lovely as your anger is, I like the way you look out of control, too.” Stroking you, he feels your fingers tighten on him, but not even trying to pull his hand away. Enjoying his touch no matter how you balk at it, as you rock yourself against his palm. Wanting to hate him, but you can’t, can you?

• Those sharp denta brush the shell of your ear, nip at the lobe and those awful servos keep playing with you, lazily exploring. And when you shift against him more on your hip and lift your thigh, he immediately tunnels a servo inside you, mindful of those claws. Out of control? He has no idea. You’re still clinging to his wrist as he slowly fucks you with that servo, pressing your head back against him as you go taut. Hating when you begin rocking your hips against his hand, needing more friction and he chuckles against your hair. He’s still got your leash and you can feel that breathless pull that he’s bound you with when he’d forced your fingers into contact with his spark. But if he has your leash, you have his, too. He’s growling against you, servos petting as you slicken for him. You can feel his spike against your butt, pulsing and hot as a brand. As affected as you are. “More,” you whimper, straining against his hand and swearing when he pulls it away in response. Denying you. Teasing.

• Laughing at your frustration, he shifts your thigh up enough that he can find you and bury himself inside you, groaning against your neck at how tight you are like this, listening to your breathy little noise of pleasure. Feeling you grip his spike. “Patience,” he growls, lips brushing your cheek. “Isn’t this better than fighting me every step of the way?” Moving deliberately to rock himself slowly against you and stroking deep. Palm sliding up to rest against your chest, against the frantic beat of your heart.

• This is a new form of torture, thrusting almost lazily against you in no real hurry when you just want to reach that peak again. But his words twist through you, because you could submit and enjoy this. Enjoy him. Because even if he grumbles about it, he listens to you, seems to care about your opinion. Would it be so bad to surrender and sit by his side? Spend your nights in his berth and your days pulling at his leash, trying to curb his worst impulses? “Make me,” you whisper and his servos tighten on you as he snarls.

• Stubborn brat. Rolling you partially under him, he begins to move faster against you, driving deep again and again. Because that rebelliousness unravels his control. Make you? Those little noises of need you make spurring him on as he ruts against you. “You’re mine.” If it takes all night, he’s going to get that through your head. You come undone against him, crying out his name as you fist his spike in wet, silken heat. And he keeps moving against you until he’s sheathing himself deep to release inside you. Hips rocking to drag it out for both of you. “Say it.”

#transformers x reader #megatron x reader #tfp megatron

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didyoulookforme · 18 hours ago

Text

though i wish i could

you and matty decide to help each other out. because that's obviously what best friends do. slightly based on letter T of the nsfw alphabet

7.7k words

warning: 18+, smut, smoking. grammatical errors, typos.

other bf matty blurbs & rambles here.

-----

it was one of those nights—the kind where matty showed up unannounced, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and some super genius plan to pass the evening. maybe it’d be a god awful movie, maybe a record you’d practically worn out together. it didn’t matter. it never did. it was familiar, easy, predictable. best friend stuff—or at least that’s what you told yourself.

except best friends don’t usually lie on your lap with their head resting softly as you run your fingers through their wild, curly hair. they don’t absentmindedly toy with the rings on your hand like they’re trying to memorize the way they feel. and they certainly don’t slip a casual “baby” into every other sentence, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. no, that’s not normal best friend behavior. but this was matty. he was different. always had been.

you’ve convinced yourself that this is just how the two of you are. how you’ve always been—so close you know each other inside and out, with almost no boundaries left to cross. so, what’s wrong with placing a half-finished joint between his lips while his eyes pierce into yours like he’s searching for something you’re not sure you want him to find?

because, after all, he was just your best friend. nothing more.

right?

-----

so there you were—half-baked on the floor of your living room, matty’s head resting on your legs like it belonged there. he’d just come back from tour, and, let’s be honest, keeping you two apart afterward was practically impossible. no matter how long he’d been gone, the second you were together again, it was like no time had passed.

not that it didn’t absolutely wreck you when he was away. facetime calls and texts were fine, sure, but they weren’t him. they weren’t his stupid laugh echoing through your tiny flat, or the way he’d complain about your snack choices while demolishing half the bag anyway. having him here again, sprawled out on your carpet like he’d been there all along, felt… right. comfortable.

you missed him more than you’d ever dare admit, so this—him, a joint lazily passing between you, his voice weaving into the crackle of the record spinning nearby—felt like something you didn’t want to let go of. he felt like home… within your home...? something like that. whatever it was, you were maybe too stoned to overanalyze it right now.

his hair was different since the last time you’d seen him in the flesh. it had that purposeful, messy-but-not-really look—soft curls held in place with just enough gel to make him seem like a bad boy who’d totally just rolled out of bed. you’d seen it for the first time on twitter when a photo of him mid-concert popped up on your feed. it took exactly three seconds before you were calling him, demanding why he’d chosen to ruin your life with the audacity of that look.

“thought you’d like it,” he’d said, all smug.

and you did. of course, you fucking did.

your fingers slid through those same curls now, twirling a strand here, tucking another behind his ear. his eyes fluttered shut as he let out a soft hum. that stupid, crooked smile of his practically begged for it. you knew this was the kind of thing you only let yourself do when you were high—or drunk, or tipsy enough. it was the only time your guard dropped enough to touch him like this.

and then there were his lips. moving. saying something. but you weren’t listening. you were too busy internally freaking out because, only a few days ago, you’d finally admitted to yourself that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t see him as just a friend. that perhaps you lo—

“hey, so… i found your arsenal of vibrators earlier today.”

and just like that, you were yanked back into reality.

“for fuck’s sake, matthew. you can’t just say that.”

“not my fault you keep your weed and sex life in the same drawer.” his grin was unholy. “kind of asking for it.”

your hand instinctively tugged his hair in protest, earning a wince and a laugh from him. “stop that!”

“stop what? speaking the truth?”

you groaned, already regretting letting him in your apartment. well, maybe not, but still. “i can’t believe you went snooping.”

“wasn’t snooping. was looking for weed and happened to find your box.”

you tried to glare at him, but it lasted all of two seconds before you cracked, laughing despite yourself. you hid your face in your hands again, groaning. “god, you probably saw the new one too, didn’t you?”

“oh, you mean the one that looks like it was designed by an aerospace engineer?” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “yeah. terrifying, honestly. but also, kind of impressive. good for you, babe.”

“kill me now.” you slumped back against the couch, mortified.

“why? better me finding it than someone else, right?” he tilted his head back against your legs, looking up at you.

“okay, sure,” you said, trying for nonchalance, “but ‘arsenal’? really? it’s a perfectly normal amount.”

he snorted. “baby, there are at least seventeen in there. and in all shapes, sizes, colors—hell, i’m pretty sure one of them was glowing.”

“first of all, it’s not glowing—it’s neon,” you corrected, crossing your arms over your chest. “and second, so what if i enjoy options?”

“options, huh? right. i’ll keep that in mind,” he took a slow drag from the joint, cheeks hollowing in a way that made you forget why you were mad for half a second.

it was infuriating, really. matty, who was usually sweet and soft-spoken, had an alarming tendency to let loose when he was high. most of the time, it was harmless. occasionally, though, he’d push his luck. like tonight, apparently. maybe this was payback for the years you’d spent grilling him about his girlfriends you’ve never liked.

you sighed, leaning back against the couch as he passed the blunt back to you, his eyes never leaving yours. and even though he’d just embarrassed the hell out of you, you couldn’t help but smile.

“so, how often do you even use them?” the question came out easy, casual, like it was no big deal to pry into the most intimate corners of your life. typical best friend behaviour, sure.

“what, you want an exact schedule? why?”

“just curious. purely educational. broadening my horizons.”

you rolled your eyes, the spliff perched loosely between your fingers as you handed it back to him. “couple times a week. three if it’s been a particularly boring stretch. maybe more if i’m in the mood.”

he exhaled a slow stream of smoke, staring up at the ceiling like he’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery. “three times a week,” he repeated, his lips twitching. “that’s… respectable. consistent.”

“you’re such a dick.” you laughed, swatting at his arm. “and you?”

he hesitated as he scratched the back of his neck. “uh… couple times a week too, i guess. but it’s tricky on tour, y’know? not a lot of privacy when you’re sharing a bus with others.”

you raised a brow, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “oh my god, you’ve been walked in on, haven’t you?”

and his cheeks flushed instantly, a deep, satisfying pink. “hann.”

that was it—you were gone, full-on laughing, your body shaking so hard you nearly toppled over. the weed didn’t do you any favours. “hann? no way. what did he do?”

“just… stared,” he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “and then, after a solid five seconds of the most soul-crushing silence, he goes, ‘at least close the door next time, mate.’”

“poor adam. scarred for life.”

“poor me,” he countered, but his voice was softer this time, the kind that slid under your skin and lingered. your fingers found his curls again, and he didn’t protest, just let you touch him like it was something that was meant to happen. the air around you shifted, heavier somehow, the haze of smoke thickening it.

you weren’t sure who moved first, but his head turned slightly, his cheek pressing against your thigh, and suddenly you were all too aware of every point of contact between you. his curls against your hand, the warmth radiating from him, the way your own body was buzzing, humming with something you still didn’t want to name. you adjusted your position, trying to ease the growing ache low in your stomach, but it didn’t help. not when he was right there.

“when’s the last time you had sex?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you instantly regretted it. your voice sounded too curious, like you actually cared about the answer. which, of course, you did, you just didn’t want him to know.

he laughed, a short, sad sound. “been months.”

that caught you off guard. “really? but you’re matty.”

“yeah, and?” he looked up at you, his eyes almost amused. “what, you think i’m shagging my way through the world or something?”

“kinda,” you admitted with a shrug. “i mean, isn’t that, like, part of the job?”

“not really my thing,” his voice was quieter now. “done it a couple times, but… i don’t know. feels a bit shit after. not worth it.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything, just let your fingers keep moving over his scalp. he reached for your hand after a moment, his thumb brushing over the rings you wore. it was a small, mindless gesture, but it made your chest tighten all the same.

“what about you?” he asked finally, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“a few months ago,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on where his hand held yours. “with my ex.”

he nodded, his thumb still tracing the curve of your ring. “sorry. about him.”

“don’t be,” you said quickly, trying to push past the lump in your throat. “i’m better off.”

he didn’t respond, just gave you a faint smile that said he understood in a way words couldn’t. the silence stretched between you again, the static of the record the only sound. his fingers kept brushing over your hand, and every now and then you caught him shifting, adjusting his position on the floor.

you stared at him for a long moment, your mind racing, the words forming before you could stop them. “you ever think maybe…”

he turned his head slightly, “maybe what?”

“maybe we could, i don’t know…” you hesitated, your pulse thundering so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out your voice. “help each other out. just… take the edge off.”

he froze, mid-drag. his brows furrowed, his eyes sharp even through the haze of smoke. “you’re fucking with me now.”

“i’m not,” you said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice came out. “just think about it. no big deal. two friends helping each other out.”

“you’re actually joking.” his voice cracked on the last word, which would’ve been funny if your heart wasn’t beating so fast.

“i’m not,” you leaned back, feigning nonchalance as your heart clawed its way into your throat. “we’re both adults. both single. both… frustrated.”

“frustrated,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “and this is your solution?”

“it’s a solution,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes slightly. “what, you’ve got a better idea?”

he laughed, but it wasn’t his usual easy, warm laugh. this one was stilted, like he wasn’t sure if he found this funny or terrifying. “this feels like some teenage bullshit, honestly. like, next you’re gonna ask me to pinky swear it won’t ruin our friendship.”

“oh, grow up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “it’s not that deep.”

but it was. at least for you. the idea had been sitting at the edge of your mind for months, years now, clawing its way forward every time he looked at you with those big, earnest eyes that made your chest feel too tight. maybe it was the weed, or the way he was looking at you now, like you’d just flipped his world upside down, but for the first time, the thought slipped out into the open.

“you’re not worried it’ll get weird?”

“doesn’t have to,” you said, your heart still jackhammering with every syllable. “it’s just… an itch to scratch. no strings. no awkward aftermath. unless, you know, you’re not into it.”

he scoffed, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “don’t put this on me. you’re the one who started it.”

“and i’ll end it if you want,” you said quickly, your pulse racing as he turned his head to look at you. “just say the word.”

but he didn’t say the word. he just stared at you, his gaze softer now, less sharp but still so him. like he was trying to figure out if you were serious—or maybe if he was.

“i don’t know,” he muttered finally, sitting back against the couch now. “this is… fucking mental.”

“you’re overthinking it,” you forced a small smile. “like you always do.”

“and you’re underthinking it,” he shot back with no real heat. “like you always do.”

“that’s why we’re friends, isn’t it?” you smirked, though the weight in your chest wouldn’t let you inhale properly. “we balance each other out.”

he let out a feeble laugh, his head tipping back against the sofa, exposing the curve of his neck. your fingers itched to touch him again, but this time with the excuse of… what, exactly? this favour you’d just proposed? it sounded ridiculous when he said it, but deep down, part of you wondered if you’d suggested it for more than just convenience. part of you wondered if it was because you’d always wanted to be his, but you’d never been brave enough to find out if he wanted the same.

“you’re sure about this?” his voice cut through your thoughts, softer now but still laced with that edge of uncertainty. “like, really sure?”

“yeah,” you said, even though you weren’t entirely sure of anything anymore. “are you?”

he didn’t answer right away, just took a long drag and stared at the ceiling like it might have some hidden wisdom to offer. “fuck,” he muttered, finally exhaling. “yeah, okay. fine. let’s do it.”

you blinked, caught off guard by how quickly the air shifted between you. “wait, really?”

“don’t make me say it again,” he muttered, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips now. “but, like… no weird shit tomorrow, okay?”

“no weird shit tomorrow,” you promised, though the words felt hollow even as you said them. the truth was, everything about this already felt weird. not bad weird—just… heavy.

“good,” he took another hit, holding it for a moment before passing it to you. “so… how do we start this?”

you took the joint from him, your fingers brushing his as you brought it to your lips. the air felt too warm, the space between you now way too small. “i don’t know,” you exhaled slowly. “you’re the one with all the bright ideas.”

“oh, i’m the one with bright ideas?” he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “this was your idea, babe.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched. “fine. guess we’ll just have to wing it.”

he smiled then, that small, weird smile that always made your chest ache. “wing it, huh? sounds about right for us.”

the tension hung heavy between, your gaze flicking to his lips before darting away. his hand brushed your knee, a casual, almost thoughtless gesture, but it made you freeze in place. your lungs pounded in your chest as you passed the joint back to him, your fingertips trembling slightly.

“just… promise me one thing,” he said finally, his voice almost hesitant.

“what’s that?” your own barely above a whisper.

“promise me this won’t mess us up.” he wasn’t looking at you now, his gaze fixed on the blunt as he turned it over in his fingers. “because i… i don’t want to lose this. lose us.”

your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket. “we won’t,” you said, the lie slipping out easily, even though you weren’t sure if you believed it. “we’re too stubborn for that.”

he laughed softly, a small, insecure sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah. too stubborn.”

-----

the two of you ended up in your bedroom. you weren’t entirely sure how you’d gotten here—well, you did, technically, but the reality of it was still setting in. your pants had been the first to go, leaving you in a baby tee and a thong that felt absurdly small given the circumstances. no bra, of course. matty had tugged his shirt off with practiced ease, but you caught the slight hesitation in his movements, the tension coiled in his shoulders.

and now here you were, lying side by side, your heads level on the pillows. the rules you’d managed to set earlier echoing in your mind: no getting completely naked, no penetrative sex, no kissing on the mouth. the essentials of staying detached, you’d thought, though the warmth radiating from his body told you this was anything but.

his face was so close, just inches away, his gaze darting between yours and the ceiling like he wasn’t sure where to settle. your own focus wandered, tracing the line of his jaw, the faint scruff dotting his chin, the steady rise and fall of his chest. everything about him felt sharp and tangible, and the haze of being high didn’t soften it nearly enough.

you reached out before you could overthink it, your fingers slipping into his hair the way they had so many times that night. he let out a quiet breath, his eyes fluttering closed almost immediately. the sound sent a thrill down your limbs, and you let your touch drift lower, tracing the back of his neck.

“you like that?” it felt like a stupid question. he always leaned into your touch. still, tonight you needed his confirmation.

his nod was small, almost imperceptible.

you lingered there, your thumb grazing his skin in slow, deliberate circles. you could feel how stiff he was, the way his body held itself just a little too still. “you’re nervous,” you murmured. it wasn’t accusatory—just an observation.

his lips curved into the faintest, self-deprecating smile. “yeah. a bit.”

“we don’t have to do this,” your voice low and steady. “i mean it, matty. say the word, and we’ll stop.”

his eyes stayed shut a moment longer before he opened them, looking at you like he was trying to make up his mind. “no, i—” he paused, licking his lips. “just… need a second to get out of my head.”

you smiled softly, your thumb skimming along his jaw as you gave him the time he needed. silence filled the space between you, but you didn’t let go, your fingertips tracing his face like you were committing it to memory for the first time. the slight arch of his brows, the slope of his nose, the hollow of his cheek—everything that had always been familiar but somehow felt brand new at this second.

when your thumb brushed over his lips, his eyes met yours again, darker now but still impossibly tender. he caught your hand in his, his fingers wrapping loosely around yours, and pressed a light kiss to your knuckles. it was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a spark to your toes.

“what about you? what do you like?”

the question made your stomach flip, and you laughed nervously, biting your lip. “you’re gonna make me spell it out?”

“maybe.” there was something behind his voice—something tentative, like he didn’t quite trust himself. “just… help me out here.”

“okay, okay,” you said, your laughter fading into something quieter. you guided his hand to your side, just below your ribs. “like this, start here.”

his palm settled on your skin, warm and solid, his fingers spreading wide as if trying to feel every inch of you at once. his thumb traced the curve of your ribs, slow and tentative, and your breath hitched as your body leaned into him without a thought in your brain.

“like that?”

you nodded, your head sinking deeper into the pillow as you let out a shaky laugh. “yeah. like that.”

his touch stayed light, his hand moving in lazy, meandering paths along your side. when his fingers skimmed your spine, your body arched slightly, the sensation making you shiver. the room was impossibly still, save for the sound of your gasping. you let yourself sink into the feeling, your eyes closing as his hand pressed firmer, the heat of him searing into your skin.

your own touch moved instinctively, sliding from the nape of his neck to his chest, your fingertips tracing the familiar lines of his tattoo. you paused at the heart inked over his skin, following its shape carefully, reverently, like it might crack under too much pressure. “this one’s always been my favourite,” you murmured, almost shy. you weren’t sure if it was okay to admit it out loud.

his lips twitched into a faint smile, a quiet laugh escaping him. “you were there when i got it. squeezed your hand so hard i thought i’d break it.”

“you were being a baby about it,” you teased, though the memory made you grin. “all that whining over a needle.”

“so what? it hurt like hell.”

“mmhmm. sure it did.”

your hand wandered lower, brushing over the ridges of his stomach, the faint trail of hair leading down from his navel. his muscles tightened under your touch, and then—god—he let out the softest moan, barely audible but enough to make your heart ache.

your fingers stilled for just a moment before your gaze flicked up to his face. his eyes were closed, his jaw tight, his mouth slightly open like he was trying to hold himself steady. his hand came up suddenly, catching yours. for a second, you thought he was going to stop you, but instead, he guided your arm around him, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his. his face buried itself in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, and you could feel every exhale ripple through you.

“matty,” you whispered, unsure of what you even wanted to say. your fingers curled instinctively into his back, your nails dragging lightly against his skin. goosebumps rose under your touch, the realization that you’d done that sending your head spinning.

then his lips grazed your collarbone—barely, just the faintest hint of a kiss. it felt more like a question than an answer, but it shattered something inside you all the same. he kissed you again, and again, his mouth moving along the slope of your shoulder, each one feather-light yet impossible to ignore. your head fell back against the pillow, a satisfied sound escaping your throat—not quite a moan, but damn close.

his name hovered on your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it again. not yet. your body moved on instinct instead, your leg sliding over his until you were tangled together, the press of him against you making it nearly impossible to concentrate.

“you’re—” his voice was rough, muffled against your skin as his lips kept moving. “you’re making it really fucking hard to stick to the stupid rules right now.”

“you’re one to talk,” your voice coming out breathless as your hand slid back into his hair. “you’re the one kissing me.”

“not on the mouth,” he countered, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. “that was the rule, wasn’t it?”

“semantics,” and you gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, light but sharp enough to send a shockwave through you.

whatever restraint had been holding the two of you back started slipping, unraveling faster than you could catch it. his hands roamed now—your waist, your ribs, your hips—like he couldn’t decide where to stop. your body arched into him, you gasped rapidly, your skin tingling with every touch. it was like stepping into some unspoken, forbidden space, a place neither of you could—or wanted to—leave.

his palm slid lower, curving over your ass, his fingers squeezing lightly at first, testing. the moment they dug in, the air caught in your lungs, your body going rigid for just a second. he halted immediately, his hand retreating like he’d been burned.

“shit, ’m sorry. i—”

“don’t stop,” you interrupted, your voice trembling but sure. you shifted closer, your leg brushing against his thigh as you said it again. “don’t stop. please.”

he didn’t need any more convincing. his hand was back, firmer this time, gripping and kneading, his touch bolder now that he knew it wouldn’t scare you off. you felt his thumb hook under the waistband of your thong, tugging it just enough to stretch, then letting it snap back into place. it was nothing, really, but the deliberate tease of it—the knowledge of how close he was—drew a low moan from you before you could stop it.

“fuck.” his hips pressed forward against you, seeking something, anything, to take the edge off. the weight of him, even through his pants, made your head spin, the haze of your high amplifying every sensation until it felt like you might float right out of your body. his hips moved again, slower this time, but there was no mistaking his intent—the pressure of him, hard and insistent against your hip, set every inch of you alight.

you shifted, needing something to hold onto, and your hands found their way to his neck. you tugged gently, drawing his face closer until your lips were grazing the curve of his throat. you kissed him there, gentle against his skin. his jaw tensed beneath your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile as you worked your way up, your mouth brushing over his ear.

“remember when you told me you liked this?” your lips caught the lobe, your teeth grazing it lightly before you sucked it into your mouth.

and that’s when he completely lost it.

his grunt was low and guttural and his hips jerked forward sharply, grinding against you. his hand tightened on your ass, fingers digging in hard enough to promise bruises tomorrow. you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when his other hand was sliding up your side, his fingers gripping your ribs like he was trying to steady himself.

“fuck,” he rasped, his head dropping forward, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. “you’re—shit, you’re gonna kill me.”

“you’re the one grinding on me,” you shot back, though your voice was only a whisper. you slid your leg over his again, hooking it around his hip to pull him closer. the movement dragged a sharp gasp from him, the sound muffled against your skin, and the way he reacted—like he couldn’t get enough of you—made you grateful for suggesting this precarious idea in the first place.

his hips moved faster now as he pressed against you through the rough fabric of his jeans. it wasn’t enough—not for him, not for you—but the friction was good, so good, and you felt yourself arching into him, your body moving on instinct.

you tilted your head back, gasping as his lips found your collarbone again, his mouth soft and hot as he kissed his way down to the curve of your shoulder. his breath was ragged, uneven, brushing against your skin in bursts as he muttered something you couldn’t quite make out. you wanted to ask, but then his teeth grazed your skin and everything in you short-circuited.

“matty,” his name slipping out like a prayer. you weren’t sure what you wanted—his mouth, his hands, all of him—but you knew you needed more. your hand moved to his wrist, guiding it upward. you pressed his palm against your breast, the thin fabric of your tee doing little to mask the heat of him.

his hips stiled for a moment as he stared down at where his hand was now. “fuck me,” his voice trembled as his thumb brushed over you experimentally. his gaze flicked up to yours, his eyes dark and glassy, lips parted slightly. “you are gonna be the death of me, baby.”

you let out a faint laugh, your hand still resting over his, encouraging him to move. “then stop overthinking and touch me.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. his hand squeezed gently, his thumb circling over your nipple through your shirt, and the feeling—his hand, his touch, the way he was looking at you like you were something to be worshipped—made you start coming undone. he let out a nervous laugh, the sound shaky and uncertain. “jesus, you’re—”

“you talk too much,” you muttered, pulling him back down to you, your lips brushing over the shell of his ear. the tension between you was unbearable now. a thread pulled so tight it could snap at any given moment.

his hand squeezed your breast as his head dipped lower, his lips brushing over your throat, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to learn your body. the heat of his breath sent goosebumps racing across your skin, and by the time his mouth found its way down to your chest, you were already aching for him.

he paused, hovering just above your nipple, his face half-hidden by your shirt as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “can i?” he was barely holding himself together.

you nodded, biting your lip, your fingers slipping into his hair to pull him closer. “please.”

the second his mouth closed over you, even through the thin fabric of your shirt, your back arched, a soft gasp slipping out before you could stop it. his lips worked slowly, testing you, his tongue brushing over your nipple before his teeth bit lightly.

“fuck, matty. that—feels so good.”

“yeah?” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smirk before he moved to your other breast. he sucked harder this time, his teeth catching just enough to make you gasp again, your hands tightening in his damp curls. he alternated between the two, making sure not to neglect either while savoring every single sound you made.

the room felt impossibly hot, and so did he. you could feel the sweat slicking his skin, sticking to yours, and it should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. it was perfect. raw and messy and real, and you were so fucking turned on you could hardly think straight.

“don’t stop,” you urged him closer. you didn’t care that your shirt was clinging to your tits now, soaked with his sweat and spit. it was intoxicating—the heat of him, the way his mouth moved against you, the little sounds he made as he pleased you.

every now and then, he glanced up at you with lips swollen and pupils blown wide. and that look—fucked-out and so completely focused on you—made your heart stutter, your chest tightening with that thing again. you didn’t let yourself think about it too much. you couldn’t.

the tension was building, unbearable, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. you fumbled blindly for your drawer. matty didn’t stop, his mouth still on you, but you could feel him pause for a second, his hand tightening on your hip.

“what’re you doing?” he muttered against your breast, his voice muffled, almost distracted.

“just—give me a bit.”

you finally found what you were looking for. you pulled out a vibrator and grabbed his hand, pressing it into his palm. “make me come,” you whispered. “please.”

his head lifted, his hair a mess, his lips shiny and red. he stared at the toy in his hand like it was some foreign object before his gaze flicked back to yours, his brows furrowed. “oh my fucking god,” he said to himself. but then he nodded eagerly, “okay, baby. yeah. i’ve got you. i’ve got you, darling.”

matty laid you back against the pillows, his movements more deliberate as his lips found yours for a fraction of a second—just a brush, not a kiss, but enough to make you both pause. you swore you saw a flicker of longing in his eyes. perhaps you were imagining things given what was happening. given that your best friend was now currently kissing down your body, his lips trailing along from your chest to your stomach, skimming the sensitive skin there before his tongue darted out. you squirmed under him, your hips lifting slightly, but he held you down with firm hands.

he moved lower, his weight shifting as he settled between your legs. his hands pushed your thighs apart gently, his lips finding the inside of one and kissing his way upward.

then you heard the familiar buzz of the vibrator. he pressed it to the inside of your thigh first, the sensation soft and teasing. “this okay?”

you nodded quickly, gripping the sheets beneath you. “yes. please.”

he smirked, dragging the toy slowly up your thigh before pressing it against your clit through your underwear. the vibrations hit immediately, and your hips jerked as a moan slipped from your lips. he kept the pressure light at first, moving the silicon toy in small circles, watching you closely the entire time.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured, almost like he didn’t realize he was speaking out loud. his free hand stroked your thigh softly, grounding you even as the vibrations sent shivers up every bone of your spine.

he dragged the toy lower, sliding it through your clothed core, making you squirm. his head was now resting against your thigh as he teased you. “feel good?”

“yes.” your fingers twisted in the sheets almost uncontrollably. “fuck, matty, it feels so good.”

he kept it up for a while, working you up mercilessly as you felt your underwear get drenched because of him. every now and then, he pressed it firmly against your clit, holding it there just long enough to make you gasp before pulling it away again. it drove you absolutely insane. every movement felt precise. he seemed to know exactly how to keep you tethered on the fucking edge.

and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled away entirely. you whined, your hips lifting instinctively, but then you felt his fingers hooking under the waistband of your thong. he glanced up at you, his eyes dark and questioning, and you nodded quickly, helping him slide it off.

the cool air hit you, and for a moment you felt exposed, vulnerable, but the way his eyes raked over you—reverent, almost in awe—eased the knot inside of you.

“jesus christ,” his voice barely audible, you almost didn’t catch it. “you’re perfect.”

he turned the vibrator back on, pressing it directly to your clit, and the sensation made you cry out, your hips bucking against him. he didn’t stop, didn’t pull back this time, just kept the vibrations steady as he dragged it up and down your warmth.

his hand shifted, pressing the plastic against your entrance, holding it there just long enough to make you tremble. the sensation was soft but relentless. “can i?” and those simple words sent a ripple of heat to your core.

you nodded quickly, unable to find your voice.

he pressed it in slowly, the toy stretching you inch by inch. the drag was agonizingly good, the ache sharp and perfect. your head tipped back against the pillow, lips parting as your breath caught. he didn’t rush it, watching because you knew he couldn’t help himself, his mouth hanging open slightly as it disappeared into you.

your hips tilted toward him, desperate for more, and when it was finally all the way in, he paused to ensure you were alright, that it wasn’t too much.

“don’t stop.”

he started to move, slow at first, the toy sliding in and out of you with an almost maddening rhythm. your thighs trembled against his grip, your entire body hypersensitive to the push and pull of him. the haze of your high blurred the edges of everything else until all that remained was matty and the relentless pace he set.

the thrusts grew deeper, faster, and you felt the faint roll of his hips against the mattress. the sight of him, flushed and desperate, grinding down for his own relief while his focus stayed entirely on you, made heat pool low in your stomach. he was swearing under his breath now, little fragments spilling out between wobbly breaths.

then his mouth was on you, his tongue pressing flat against your clit before he sucked gently, pulling a broken sound from deep in your chest. it wasn’t enough—not even close—but when he found his rhythm, licking you slow and deliberate in time with the toy, you swore you could’ve died right then and there and that would’ve been alright.

your hands flew to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. “fuck, matty.” his lips curved against you, smug even, but it didn’t matter because his tongue flicked over you again, then again, until you couldn’t think straight.

when he started sucking, harder this time, you bucked against his face, completely out of your control. he groaned into you, the sound rippling through your core. it was filthy, the way he worked you—his mouth, the vibrator, the subtle roll of his hips against the bed.

his teeth scraped your clit, light but sharp enough to send a jolt through your entire body as you yelped. he froze for half a second, pulling back just enough to mutter, “shit. sorry—”

“don’t care,” your body already arching toward him again. “just—don’t stop.”

he didn’t. if anything, he got bolder, his lips dragging over your bud before his tongue circled it in ways that had your thighs quivering. ever so often, he’d wipe his mouth against your leg before diving back in, as if he couldn’t eat you out enough. it was messy, overwhelming, like he was making out with your cunt because he couldn’t kiss you properly, and you fucking loved it. no one had ever touched you like this. he wanted to ruin you just as much as you wanted to be ruined. completely and utterly.

you couldn’t stop convulsing, couldn’t stop moaning, your hands grabbing at anything—his shoulders, the sheets, your own hair—just to keep yourself grounded. the toy inside you was relentless, his rhythm perfect, and his mouth—god, his perfect mouth—was almost too much now. he was groaning into you, grinding harder against the sheets attempting to chase his own orgasm.

“fuck,” he muttered again, his voice muffled against your skin. he sounded completely gone, like he was drowning in you, and that sent you hurtling over the edge. your whole body tensed as the pleasure crashed into you, sharp and overwhelming. his name spilled from your lips in broken gasps, and he didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his tongue and the toy still working you through it.

he only pulled back when your thighs started trembling uncontrollably, his lips swollen, his face shiny with your come, his chest heaving like he’d just run one hundred thousand miles. he looked absolutely wrecked, and it was the hottest fucking thing you’d ever seen.

you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, still lightheaded from the aftershocks as you reached for him with shaky but determined hands. “fuck it,” you were barely coherent, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up.

“wait—what—” he started, but you didn’t let him finish. your lips crashed into his, messy and desperate, and your world came crumbling to a halt when he froze. you thought you’d messed up everything. but when you felt his body melt into yours and finally kiss you back, it was everything and more than you had dreamed of all those lonely nights ago. his lips parted against yours, his hands sliding up to cradle your face like he, matty himself, was terrified you might disappear. like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.

he shifted, bringing your heads level on the pillows, his mouth never leaving yours. the kiss was fast and uncoordinated, a little too much teeth and tongue, but you didn’t care. it was perfect. you muttered his name against his lips, and he answered with yours, his voice heavenly and breathless.

matty’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not until you were gasping for air, your lips now puffy and bruised. his forehead dropped to yours, your breaths mingling in the silence that followed, but his hands never left you, still holding on. maybe he wasn’t ready to let go.

his lips barely left yours, back to kiss you over and over again, just like two horny teenages who wanted to devour each other because it was all so new. when his teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to draw a pathetic whimper from you, your palm slipped between your bodies, brushing over the rigid line of him beneath his jeans. the second you touched him, his hips jerked sharply, and he let out a sound—desperate, so devastatingly beautiful it made you whole.

you touched him again, harder this time, and he whined, another sharp, broken noise that sent a thrill straight to your gut. you’d never seen him like this—so undone, so out of control—and you just needed more.

“help me,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the button of his jeans. “i can’t—just—help.”

he swore under his breath, fumbling with the button with clumsy digits. he got it undone after what felt like an eternity, the zipper catching slightly before it finally gave way. but he didn’t pull them down, didn’t even try. instead, his hands were back on you, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer like he needed your lips to stay alive. “should’ve done this years ago,” he muttered between kisses, his words slurring together. “fuck—wanted you for so fucking long.”

your heart raced, your chest tightening at the weight of his words, but you didn’t have time to process them. your hand slipped inside his boxers, wrapping around him, and the groan that tore out of him made you clench. he was burning under your palm, thick and hard, and when you stroked him, his whole body shuddered.

“jesus christ,” he gasped, his forehead pressing against yours as his hips bucked into your hand. “fuck, baby, you’re—.”

you stroked him again, firmer this time, your fingers sliding up his length and then back down, the slickness of him making it easier. “you’re so hard,” you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

his head tipped back, his jaw tight, his mouth falling open as another moan ripped through him. he wasn’t holding back, wasn’t trying to be quiet at all, and it was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever heard. “can’t fucking help it,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “you—fuck—you don’t even know.”

“then show me,” you murmured, your hand working him faster now, matching the frantic rhythm of his hips. he swore again, louder this time, his grip digging into your waist like he was holding on for dear life.

“i’m not—” he broke off with a choked groan as your thumb brushed over the head of him. “fuck, i’m not gonna last.”

“you don’t have to,” you said sweetly. “it’s okay. just let go.”

he groaned again, his hips snapping forward, twitching in your hand as you stroked him faster. his body was a mess, his skin slick with sweat, and every breath he took was uneven, his whole chest heaving as he chased his high. you kept going, your pace relentless, until he finally broke, a loud, growling moan spilling out of him as he came.

it was warm and sticky on your fingers, but you didn’t stop, not until he was completely spent, his body twitching in the aftermath. “shit,” he managed finally, “fuck, ‘m sorry, i—”

“don’t apologize,” you interrupted, leaning in to kiss him again, “please don’t.”

he sighed into your mouth, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he kissed you back. when you finally pulled away, just enough to catch your breath, he pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours. “what the fuck are we doing?”

your heart ached, your chest tight as you stared at him, his face so close to yours it felt like the world had disappeared. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i don’t want to stop.”

“me either,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours before kissing you again.

it was slower now, lazier, but just as intoxicating. his hands stayed on your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kissed you deeply, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. your body melted into his, the heat of him, the weight of him, grounding you in a way that felt both impossible and completely inevitable.

you were dizzy, hazy, every nerve in your body still buzzing from what had just happened. but for the first time in years, you felt completely, utterly content. like this was exactly where you were supposed to be. with him. always him.

then you made the mistake of resting your come-covered hand on his back, and he groaned, his body jerking slightly. “oh, god,” he muttered, his voice half-laugh, half-whine.

you couldn’t help but giggle, your head dropping back against the pillow. “sorry.” you didn’t sound sorry at all, though.

“you’re disgusting,” he teased, but his lips twitched into a soft smile as he leaned in to kiss you again. it was even slower this time, deeper. and you let him. you let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

this was it. this was everything. and for the first time, it was yours. he was yours.

#it's my birthday so i can write smut if i want to #my favourite trope: high af best friends to lovers #i kinda blacked out writing this so it's probably too long #the 1975 #matty healy #matty #matty healy x reader #the 1975 fanfic #matty the 1975 #matty fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy one shot #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #mw #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 imagine #matty healy x you #matty healy smut

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 days ago

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Take Me With You

A/n: I’m not even sorry he’s so cute I need to drink his unborn children in a salty cocktail

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mommy kink, whiny Slash (feed gooners), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

All it took was one look and you were hooked, you couldn’t even see his face but he had you.

You liked the music, a friend got you into Guns N’ Roses but you weren’t big on the scene and didn’t know them all too well. Still, the music was good so you took your friend up on their offer when they got tickets to their concert.

Front row, right at the stage. The opening band was cool, Sound Garden, but when Guns came out you were you in awe, specifically with the lead guitarist.

He took every measure to cover his face, dark glasses, a top hat pushed low, his big hair patching up the holes, but his body, those hip rolls and those skilled hands, experienced fingers. A thin layer of sweat coated him and you were ready to climb onto the stage and lick him clean.

Your friend saw the way you were eyeing him and kept making jokes, nudging you when he got close.

When the concert ended you walked out with your friend, at least you almost did. You couldn’t not at least attempt to see Slash again, so you made up some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom and snuck off.

It really wasn’t as hard as it probably should’ve been for you to get backstage but you weren’t complaining, not when Slash was so close, not when you saw him slipping a dressing room just down the hall.

You followed shortly behind, closing and locking the door behind you. You turned back around to find Slash sprawled out on the couch, fly down revealing his thick bush.

He was staring at you blankly, his hat and glasses were set on the table in front of him, giving you the first glimpse of his face, big brown eyes, bushy brows. He gave you a once over and a smile spread over his face; it wasn’t lustful, he didn’t look at you like this was some joke, like he’d ever even give you a chance, he just looked happy to see you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice was nothing like you expected, it was soft and sweet with a rasp to it from smoking.

“I, uh, I’m not too sure, honestly.” You replied. You didn’t have a plan, you had a concept: get backstage, see Slash. You never thought you’d get backstage nor did you think you’d see Slash.

Slash chuckled and gestured you closer. “What do you want to do?” He asked, that smile still on his face.

Your eyes trailed over body again, plush thighs stretching out his leather pants and expensive ostrich skin cowboy boots. “Whatever you want me to do.” Slash’s brows raised at that, of all things he hadn’t expected that, at least not worded in such a way.

He gestured you closer, tapping the floor with his boot to signal for you to sit down. You did just as he asked, kneeling between his legs. “You ever done this before?”

You’re face scrunched. “I’m not a groupie.” You said, grudgingly pulling your eyes from his happy trail.

Slash snorted and shook his head. “No, I mean, like, ever.” He said, cocking his head to the side as he took in your innocent front, doe eyes looking up at him, a nervousness to the way your lips moved and your eyes flickered.

You slowly shook your head, hoping he wouldn’t send you away. Instead he just adjusted his position and pulled his half hard dick out of his pants, stroking himself a few times.

He held his tip to your lips, smearing pre on them as a silent request for entry. You opened your mouth for him and he brought a hand to the back of your head, pushing you down on him.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned, head falling back. “Thank you for coming back here, fuck.” He mused, guiding you to help you bob your head on him. “Squeeze your thumb, it’ll stop your gag reflex.” He said, demonstrating it himself.

He did enjoy hearing you gag on his length, choking on his girth, but this was your first time. He was content with just seeing the struggle, your throat bulging with him, eyes watering and drool beading out the corners of your mouth, trickling down your chin.

You took his suggestion and it did help, not completely but it was definitely better than before. Honestly, you didn’t mind the discomfort so long as you got to watch his expressions, his eyes closing in ecstasy, when he opened them you got to see the need in them as soft whimpers and whines left him.

He had you going slow, dragging this out. “Fuck, I don’t- I don’t even know your- fuck, mommy.” He moaned, eyes crossing as thick spurts of cum shot down your throat, he could barely keep his thighs from locking around your head.

He let go of your head, letting you pull away from him with a few good coughs. You wiped you mouth and stood up, taking a seat beside him on the couch.

Slash threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side, kissing your cheek. “You sure you don’t want to make your way through the rest of the band?” He teased.

You shook your head. “They don’t all look so pretty when they cum, do they?” He scoffed and pulled his arm back, fixing his pants and standing up.

“Alright, get out, I gotta go.” You chewed your cheek, looking him over, eyes landing on his clothed ass. He turned back to see where you were staring and laughed. “Jesus, what do you want?”

You thought for a moment, slowly bringing your eyes back to his. “I get to choose?” Slash stared at you, you wondered if he heard you at first but then he nodded. “Take me with you.” That sweet, warm smile found its way back to his face.

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majoryeager104 · 3 days ago

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Meet-Cute part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pro Hero! Touya X Gn!Reader

Summary: Pro hero Touya Todoroki finds a new favorite cafe

Touya now visits your cafe just about every day- same time, 8:00 AM sharp, whether he has to go out of his way or not. It’s become routine for the both of you to lose track of time in your little conversations while you make his usual order, too engrossed in each others presence to notice the minutes tick by, and before you know it, he’s rushing out the door again.

To Touya, your little corner cafe was like his own little secret, his hiding spot when he needed some semblance of peace, a place where he could slow down. He was yet to figure out if you knew who he was, but to be honest, at this point he didn’t really care whether you did or not, because you treated him like a friend, like an actual person. It was refreshing, compared to the constant harassment and prodding from every other corner of his life.

But to you, his presence in your little cafe was suffocating, but in the best way. You’d done a decent job of treating him like every other customer, because you didn’t want to scare him off. The way his fingers brushed yours when you gave him his coffee, the way his eyes lingered a little longer than they should’ve on you and you alone.

It was so difficult not to fluster under his little remarks, and yet he played it all off so casually. The number two hero, and your cafe was his favorite. Needless to say, your cafe got a little busy after he started coming as a regularly to visit you. But Touya paid the extra buzz of noise no mind. He’d smile, and take pictures, and then slip past the crowds and right inside, and from then on his attention is on you.

“Hey Y/n!” He grinned, slipping in through the door, hearing the familiar, cheery bell over the bustle of crowds outside. You looked up, smiling back “Hey Touya! Your usual?” “Yes please, Lovely” he grinned, walking up to the counter, the pet name rolling off his tongue. With how he said it, you’d think he’d said it before, but he hadn’t, and so the little title hit your ears with a shock. You nodded, turning to sheepishly begin his order.

But Touya most definitely caught your reaction, a lopsided grin forming on his face at you- finally, he’d gotten you to blush. It was like a mission of his for weeks now, and he’d finally managed it. Flirting, compliments, nothing pulled your reaction but that title. It was peculiar to him, but at the same time adorable, that such a simple nickname would be what earned him your blush. Lovely. He wasn’t lying, to him you were precisely that.

“So, lovely…” he leaned on the counter, grinning as he watched your usually relaxed shoulders tense once more- his efforts were rewarded. “Yes?” You glanced back at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh a bit under his breath at you and your rosy cheeks as you smiled at him. Yep, lovely described you perfectly. “…are you…” he trailed off, your eyes fully on him now as he struggled to find his words.

It was like as soon as you gave him your full attention, he’d lose all knowledge of what to do with it- tongue tied, for once in his life. He took a sharp intake of breath, his words coming out fast, and blurted.

“are you single?” He inwardly winced at his own blunt question, glancing away as your eyes widened slightly- he’d never felt so insecure, and yet so confident in something in his life. It was a weird experience, knowing for certain you want to be with someone, and yet being so uncertain of whether or not they felt the same.

At the same time, while his heart and mind raced in unison, your soft laugh filled his ears, bringing his eyes back up to yours, meeting you and that big smile of yours, something he couldn’t help but blush at himself. You took your own deep breath, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I am.”

Touya sighed in something close to relief, but more like awe, because how? He shook away the longing thoughts, putting on another smile to hide his blush as he leaned closer on the counter. Maybe just one more flirty comment would do the trick.

“can I change that?”

It’s the way I was listening to this on repeat while writing lmao @bitchyfestivalbouquet 🫶🫶🫶

#bnha dabi #mha dabi #bnha touya #mha touya #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi x reader #Spotify

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brightstar2000 · 3 days ago

Note

To the haters: This show is not your show. These characters are not your characters. They're not yours to write in the main show. If you don't like a character or something, quit watching. It's as simple as that. Or make an AU to build your own versions of the characters and keep them there.

It honestly sucks that the internet is such a toxic place now where people spread negativity left and right over every little thing. Certain buttons exist for a reason, like the block button. Filters exist for a reason. Use them!

We all remember the saying: "If you have nothing nice to say then say nothing at all." Or at least we should. Constructive criticism isn't bad, but downright criticizing is. They are two very different things. Constructive criticism is politely explaining what you don't like about something, and offering respectful ways for them to improve on it. Criticism doesn't have the improvement part, let alone politeness.

These people are humans too. How would you feel to be chased out of something you like? Let alone something you helped make? LAES wouldn't exist without Kat, and Earth is her character to build. Again, i say, make an AU to build your own version if you don't like the canon version and keep it there.

To Kat: I am so sorry people have been giving you so much hate. I'll admit, Earth was never a favorite character of mine, but i never hated her. You did a wonderful job building her character, and i feel awful that these people went out of their way to make you want to stop. I respect your decision. I hope you recover from this while away from the community, however long that will be, even if it's permanent.

Know that we do not claim these people as "fans". They are not fans in my eyes.

I wish you the best, Kat, and i hope you have a swift recovery, and a calm, well deserved break. You did not deserve any of this hatred.

You know, I was there for the argument you had.And since you supposedly know so much about Greek mythology, I have to say that you behaved in the same way that Athena behaved with Arachne. That person was just giving constructive criticism about some questionable behaviour of your IMPERFECT character in a calm and polite way, but you had to explode and humiliate her, right? I don't care if it was the straw that broke the camel's back, it wasn't fair what you did because you are a public figure that everyone will support and this person who didn't even insult you is getting hate just because you decided to join the conversation instead of just walking away. And for your information, if Earth was a boy who behaved in the same way, I would still hate him, because the problem isn't her gender, it's her personality.

Ask box is closed now, I won't be engaging with tumblr anymore. I've had over 10+ asks in the hour just being assholes like this.

You win, bye.

#queen kat #queen kat productions #lunar and earth show #The celestial tsbs subfandoms are some of the most toxic i have ever seen in an otherwise mostly wholesome parent fandom.#it's really upsetting.

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maddy-k-reads-all-day · 3 days ago

Text

Drawing the Line - Amanda the Adventurer fantape

Edit: The title sounded a bit to serious for this silly little fic

Previous Tape

Riley takes the next tape and puts it into the VCR. The tape glitches a bit before it starts to play. The episode begins with Amanda holding a bunch of coloring supplies before noticing Riley.

“Hi Riley,” Amanda whispers, “Wanna color with me?”

“Amanda? Where did you go? I think the episode is about to start!” Wooly calls out. Amanda makes a shushing motion with her finger and hides behind the couch. “Oh… hi Riley. Have you seen Amanda?”

“Nope. Why don’t I wait here and you go find her for me.”

“Huh? Well… okay…” Wooly says with uncertainty. He walks away. Amanda switches the tape to her bedroom. Her dresser is now against her door.

“What’s going on?” Riley asks.

“Nothing!” Amanda laughs nervously in an extremely quiet voice, “I just… you’re leaving after this tape right? Wooly told me. So… I wanted to spend some time with you… like… just you…”

“Okay? And?”

“I don’t want Wooly to feel bad.”

“So you’re barricading your door and hiding from him?”

“Okay I see how that’s not the best plan…” Amanda sighs.

“Did you get in a fight or something?”

“No… it’s just… we hang out like… almost all the time… and like… I wanted a little me time you know? I mean he got an episode almost all to himself, why can’t I have mine?”

“And he doesn’t want that?”

“I don’t know… Wooly is… sensitive. He seems to take the littlest things the wrong way. When I tried to tell him I wanted some alone-time he got really upset… and we had so much fun yesterday… I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I think if anything is going to ruin it, it’s deliberately avoiding him and never telling him why.”

“Yeah… you’re probably right.” Amanda sighs. She teleports Wooly into the room.

“Wha? Why am- Oh! Amanda there you are!”

“Hi Wooly…”

“What’s wrong?” Wooly asks.

“Um… Wooly?” Amanda pauses, she looks at Riley nervously.

“Go on.” Riley says.

“Okay… Wooly… remember how I talked about wanting some me-time?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well… I think I wanna just have an adventure drawing with Riley today.”

“What? Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No Wooly you didn’t do something wrong stop asking me that.”

“Okay…”

“Look, you don’t like drawing and you don’t like hanging out with Riley. Right?” Amanda asks.

“I guess so…” Don’t just admit that! Riley thinks.

“I want some me-time and you get a day off. Win-win right?” Amanda explains. Wooly looks kind of sad, “C’mon Wooly please?”

“I guess…”

“Great!” Amanda beams, gently pushing him out of the room, “Have fun!”

“Amanda…”

“Shush. Today, we’re drawing some pictures!” Amanda announces, dropping to the floor and opening her sketchbook and crayons. “C’mon you too!” Riley turns around and sees their sketchbook and colored pencils on the table.

“Alright.” Riley smiles. This could be fun.

“You know I really like to draw, do you like to draw?” Amanda asks. Riley types in yes.

“Oh please, you don’t have to use that. Just talk to me, please?”

“Yeah, I love to draw. Kind of what I do for a living actually.” Riley answers. Amanda’s eyes widen and her whole face lights up with curiosity.

“Really?”

“Yeah I design and rig v-tuber models for people.” they explain. Amanda looks… completely confused. Oh yeah… v-tubers weren’t really a thing back then huh? “I um… design characters for people and make animated models they can use to make videos with?” That is the worst explanation ever…

“Wow that sounds neat! I wonder if I could’ve done that…”

“I’m sure you could with time and practice. Once you get out I could teach you-”

“If I get out…”

“Ah-”

“Nevermind… forget I said anything.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s draw! I’m thinking of making… an apple pie! What colors should I use?” Riley clicks on the silver and tannish color. The colors of the apple pie they made together. Amanda smiles and starts to color.

“You draw something too!”

“Like…”

“Anything you want.”

“Alright…” Riley starts to draw Amanda being free in the real world. They look up at Amanda’s drawing, now she’s drawing Kate.

“Kate was really nice… I used to talk to her all the time… I really liked her…”

“Yeah…”

“I miss her…”

“Me too…” Riley sighs. They start sketching Kate into the picture… without even realizing it.

“Her hair was blond right?”

“Yeah…”

“What color is your hair Riley?”

“Blond… like hers.”

“Mmm…” Amanda starts sketching the lonely kitten in a train, “I’d draw you too, but I can’t really see what you look like. It’s… blurry…?”

“I see…”

“And I can’t.” Amanda jokes. Riley doesn’t get it.

“Amandaaaaa! Want some snacks?” Wooly barges in. Amanda looks… annoyed.

“Wooly… I told you to leave me alone!”

“I know I just… thought you’d be hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh… okay… Whatcha drawing?”

“I’ll show you I’m done.” Amanda says, covering her sketchbook.

“Okay…” Wooly walks away, leaving the door open. Amanda reaches over and swats it shut with the tip of her hand.

“That was close, he almost saw my warm up sketches.” Amanda chuckles bashfully, opening a new page.

“I know your pain.” Riley whimpers. Amanda starts a new drawing. “Remember that anime I showed you from my phone?”

“Madoka Magica? Yeah I loved it!” Amanda laughs, “But Wooly was so mortified, we thought we killed him!”

“Yeah like, what is he a hamster? Wait- So… Could you even see it?”

“Yeah because it was really close to the screen…” Amanda says.

“So if I…” Amanda looks up and sees Riley’s face EXTREMELY close to the screen. She jumps back in surprise.

“Don’t scare me like that!” she gasps.

“Well, can you see what I look like now?”

“I can see your ginormous face!” Amanda shouts.

“Yeah?”

“Back away Riley you’re freaking me out.”

“Aww… I thought you could draw me too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll draw you… as… best I can.” Amanda says, catching her breath.

“Okay…”

“Hey Riley look! It’s me back when I was still Rebecca!” Amanda beams, showing the rough sketch. In the picture Riley sees Rebecca, getting a big hug from Sam and Kate. On the side of Kate, a somewhat off version of Riley and Sophie are holding hands. On the side of Sam is Wooly.

“Wooly looks a bit lonely huh?”

“What do you mean, he’s got all of us!”

“And… he’s still a sheep.”

“Well… I don’t really know or remember what Wooly looked like when he was human so…” Amanda shrugs.

“He just looks… left out.”

“No no you don’t get it at all. See, Sam and Kate are my family, and Wooly is like… my brother… I guess…? And you guys are all my friends! I care about you a WHOLE lot. But like… not as much as my family you know.”

“Well, me and Sophie are holding hands.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you want me to draw you kissing?”

“Amanda… no… that’s not what I mean…”

“Hmm… oooooh! I get it! What if I draw his sister?” Amanda suggests, “Remember, we saw her when Wooly’s memories were showing through the tapes that one time?”

“But she’s… dead…”

“So is Kate… and I still drew her here!”

“I guess that’s true.”

“She’s here in my heart! This picture will never come true anyway!”

“What do you me-”

“Did you need any watercolors by chance?” Wooly asks.

“Wooly…”

“I found them in the living room and-” he sees Amanda glaring at him. “Sorry I’ll go.” Amanda waits till Wooly leaves and closes the door again.

“It’s a picture… of when we escape…” Amanda sighs. “Well… my ideal of it anyway… you know… that I would be able to live with my dad… and talk to Kate… and hang out with you guys and Wooly… I bet in Wooly’s ideal world… his little sister would still be…”

“Amanda…”

“Just… let me have this little dream, okay?” Amanda asks, sounding like she’s going to cry.

“Of course… but um… hey… Sophie and I were talking and… we were thinking… if we get you and Wooly out of here… we’d adopt you… and you can live with us…” Riley says. Amanda looks at them sadly in silence for bit before saying:

“Riley… if it turns out-” she stops. “Don’t ever mention this to Wooly okay?”

“Okay…?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“Depends…”

“Can you get me out of here… no matter what it takes?”

“Of course!”

“Even if it means… will we disappear?”

“What?”

“If it turns out that we can’t get out of here… back in the real world… if we can’t escape without disappearing… you would still let us out of here right?”

“Amanda…”

“You would still set us free, right?”

“If that’s what you want…” Riley sighs, “if that would put your heart at peace…” Amanda smiles tearfully.

“Thank you Riley…

“But… What about Wooly?” Riley wonders. Amanda freezes.

“Would it… be bad if I said… that’s his decision?” Amanda questions, “Like… I don’t want to be here anymore… and while I’d hate to leave him here… I guess I’d get it if he wants to stay… I really am a bad friend huh? Here he is all worried that I’m gonna leave him behind and… if I really had the chance… a real chance to get out of this h--- I’d take it without a second thought.”

“I mean… it’s complicated…” Riley hears a soft thud outside the door.

“He’s got every right to be mad at me.”

“I’m sure he’s not mad at you-”

“He is though… I overheard him talking to Sophie about it. When they had milk and cookies without me.”

“They did what?”

“I’m not mad… Wooly clearly just needed some time to himself too… which is why I don’t get why he’s so bent out of shape about me wanting some.”

“That’s Wooly for you.” Riley sighs, unsure what else to say.

“And I’ve been so patient with him lately. I know he’s been going through a hard time with his memories and all that. I know he’s not okay but like… I’m not either… and sometimes that’s frustrating because… I want someone to lean on too… It's like he relies on me too much. Like I have to be the strong one all the time.”

“Am-”

“It’s the worst because he’s the older one! I… I need someone to talk to too… that’s why I like it when you’re around… or when it’s just us… those couple tapes we had… just us… that was great. Not that I don’t like having Wooly around… but every once and a while… I’d like to spend some time without him, you know?”

“That’s fair…” Riley says.

“Then why does he make me feel like the bad guy?” Amanda wonders.

“I do not!” Wooly protests on the other side of the door. Amanda walks over to the door and opens it. Wooly falls over on his back. “Oh… whoops. Hi Amanda…” he chuckles nervously.

“Wooly!” Riley gasps, “You’re still here?” Riley suddenly panics, noticing Amanda looking angry. Really angry.

“ONE TAPE! ONE FLIPPING TAPE WOOLY! THAT’S ALL I ASKED OF YOU!” Amanda screams, “YOU ACT LIKE THIS EVERY SINGLE TIME! Whenever you want some time to yourself it’s fiiiiine, you can just sneak off without me- but for the love of apples when I wanna have some me-time it’s the end of the world!” Wooly just stands there, kind of stunned. He doesn’t look like he knows what to say, he just looks… kind of angry.

“Let’s talk about boundaries!” Riley interjects trying to stop another potential feud between them. They are just like siblings I swear. Amanda catches on, she takes a deep breath.

“It is very important to respect people’s boundaries!” Amanda instructs. “You see, boundaries are rules we set with our friends and family to let them know how we like to be treated!” Amanda starts poking Wooly’s arm.

“Amanda… Amanda what are you- stop that!” Wooly snaps. Amanda stops poking him.

“See, Wooly told me to stop. He’s setting a boundary.” Amanda explains, “And now I am respecting that boundary. When our boundaries don’t get respected, it can make us very upset. It’s important to explain our boundaries so we don’t get in fights.” Amanda turns to Wooly. “Wooly, I asked you if I could have some alone-time with Riley today. I really wanted to just be left alone. I was setting my boundaries. When you kept coming in and interrupting us, it made me very mad. Can you not do that please?”

“Ok-okay…” Wooly mumbles awkwardly, rubbing his arm. “I’m sorry…”

“Why did you keep coming in, Wooly?” Riley asks. Wooly seems a bit embarrassed by this question.

“I just felt… kind of left out and… I’m not really used to having time to myself… I just got… kind of bored… and restless…”

“You could clean the house.” Amanda suggested. “Plenty of people clean when they’re bored.”

“But… nothing’s messy.”

“Then make things messy.”

“That sounds… wrong.”

“Look Wooly, I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is that I really want to be left alone right now. Could you please respect that?” Amanda pleads. Wooly nods and leaves the room sadly. Amanda closes the door behind him.

“You know you could’ve just invited him to draw with us.”

“No. I’m putting my foot down. I’m setting a boundary.”

“Good for you Amanda.” Riley says in a congratulatory way. She smiles and returns to coloring in her picture.

“I didn’t ask you many questions this episode huh?”

“That’s fine.” Riley shrugs. Amanda quietly sits there coloring and Riley resumes their coloring. It’s a peaceful quiet shared between two friends enjoying an activity together. Amanda seems to enjoy this quite a lot, as she is smiling the entire time. Eventually, both their pictures were done.

“Well you already knew what I drew! It’s all of us! When we escape! Far away from anywhere where Hameln could ever hurt us…”

“I guess we had the same idea…” Riley smirks, showing their picture close to the screen. “It’s me and Sophie giving you and Wooly a big hug when we get you out of there.”

“Aww Riley…” Riley couldn’t see her face, but they could hear the happiness in her voice. “I like spending time with you… if… so… when you go promise me you’ll stay safe okay?”

“I promise.”

“Good… and if we can’t escape. Could you just… keep watching the tapes? Keep spending time with us forever… I know it’s a lot to ask.” Riley pulls the picture away and sees Amanda crying a bit.

“Of course I will. I’d love to.”

“Let’s hang these up.” She smiles tearfully. Before they leave the room Amanda wipes her tears and shouts: “Wooly! I’m done drawing, do you wanna see?”

“Uuuuh… I’m having a bubble bath right now, maybe later.”

“You better not use all my bubble bath.” Amanda responds. An awkward silence is heard.

“Um… enjoy your time with Riley Amanda… I uh… got an errand to run…”

“One of these days I’m going to drown that sheep.” Amanda grumbles to Riley. The tape changes to the kitchen, where Amanda takes out the drawings from her sketchbook and hangs them up. There are more drawings than what she showed to Riley. There’s one of Amanda and Wooly holding hands in front of a big open door. She doesn’t explain that one. “Thanks for hanging out with me today Riley. Come back soon.”

“I will.” Riley says. Amanda smiles at them and the tape ends, falling out of the VCR. The title has changed to “Let’s Talk About Boundaries.” Riley turns around and finds two pictures on the table. The one they drew… and Amanda’s picture that says: To Riley and Sophie. Love, Amanda. Under it is the next tape Stargazing. Riley heads upstairs and hangs the picture on Sophie’s fridge.

“So… how did it go?”

“We had to teach Wooly a lesson about boundaries before Amanda tried to kill him again.”

“Oh so you can be a responsible adult sometimes then.”

“Shut up.” Riley laughs.

“What cute pictures. Amanda drew this one?”

“Yeah… I don’t know how she managed to give it to me though. I just turned around and it was there… She also changed the episode title.”

“Interesting… I’ll have to write that down in my notebook.”

“Yeah.”

“Riley? Do you have to go?” Sophie asks, hugging Riley from behind.

“This lead… could change everything. It’s… remember when Amanda said that Kate almost found a way for them to leave?”

“Didn’t we confirm that it won’t work?”

“Yeah but it was close right? If we find out exactly what that is… we might be able to find a better solution ourselves…”

“And what’s the end goal here?”

“Get them out of there…”

“And defeat Hameln?”

“I’m going to be honest… I don’t think we can.”

“Riley…”

“I mean… Kate and her friend’s couldn’t beat them. Sam couldn’t. The police… the media… Sophie… this cult has existed since the middle ages… thousands of people probably tried to stop them… if they couldn’t… I doubt we could. I just want us to be safe.”

“So… what’s the plan?”

“Get Amanda and Wooly out of the tapes… even if it means that the most we can do is just free their souls… and the souls of the other kids if we can. Best case scenario we find a way so that Hameln can never do this to anyone again… but defeat Hameln… no… I think it’s best to be as realistic about this as possible.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I think this is the best we can do…” Riley sighs, Sophie looks at them with worry. “We can stop if you want.”

“What?!”

“Do you want to give up?” Riley asks, “I don’t want to force you… force us… into danger if you don’t want it.”

“Riley… but what about Amanda…?” Sophie questions. Riley looks at her sadly.

“I… I don’t know… I don’t know what to do… I want to help her but…” they glance at Amanda’s picture and the tears start running down. “I don’t know if I can…” Sophie bites her lip.

“Hey… it’s okay. We will find a way…” Sophie says softly, “And I’ll be right here with you… through it all…” she glances at the calendar. “Actually, why don’t you stay here? I have no work this weekend. You finish the tapes… I’ll go look into that lead for you.”

“But Sophie-”

“These people all knew me through my mom… but Hameln doesn’t. I won’t be in any danger… and I won’t have to worry about you.”

“It’s just a day Sophie-”

“Exactly… look at you… look how tired you are.” Sophie claps Riley’s face in her hands, “Let me be a part of this.”

“Sophie…”

“Besides… I’m waaaay better at research than you.” She grins, dangling her notebook in Riley’s face. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. Promise. You get some rest… play with Amanda some more. She needs you.”

“I need you.” Riley responds. Sophie just smiles and gives Riley a kiss on the forehead.

“This too shall pass. Now let’s watch those secret tapes and see what we can find.”

Authors Note: Riley is still the main character after all. Guess what? I made an apple pie today :3

Next Tape:

#amanda the adventurer #amanda the adventurer 2 #wooly the sheep #ata 2 #maddykpost #amanda the adventurer wooly #fanfic #fanfiction #maddykwrites

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