#you got to meet SUN (briefly) before he was cut

[heliads]

we both know what happened to you - newt

Ben is exiled. The Glade doesn't take it well.

masterlist

It’s easy to be quiet in the mornings when it doesn’t matter. Simple days are for simple words, fading phrases, and long spells of silence. On days like today, though, after nights like last night, silence feels like the only option. No one can meet each other’s gaze. And no one wants to talk when they can still hear the echoes of Ben’s last desperate scream echoing in their mind. 

You feel a certain kind of restlessness when you’ve killed your friend. It gnaws at you like mad. Like how Ben was mad until you shoved him in the Maze and let him die. You can’t stop thinking about it, turning over that awful moment in your head again and again, unable to let the wound close in peace. He’d begged you to let him live, all of you, again and again until he was already half inside the Doors and knew it was over. You’ve known him for months. Many knew him longer still, yet all of you are complicit.

This is the Maze, after all. This is where you’re all born again with no memories and hardly even a name, and this is where half of you die. Stephen, cut in half after trying to climb down the Box Hole. Nick, his grave just barely green over with moss. And now Ben, hair like corn silk, who ran too far too fast, dead before he got to twenty. You’ll be there soon, maybe. You and Newt and everyone you’ve ever cared about. The Maze is where scientists kill the kids they raised. Birds kicked from the nest. Someone’s smoothing out your feathers now and readying you for the plunge, but all you can do is stare at the empty place among the straw and twigs where one of you had been just seconds before.

You’re staring at the walls of the Maze, lying flat on your stomach in the grass. There’s a stone jutting uncomfortably into your left elbow, but your chin’s resting on top of your laced fingertips and you’re not sure you have the strength to keep yourself from falling into the dirt while you push the smooth rock away. You wonder if Ben ever kicked that stone, if he ever tripped over it on his jog into the Maze and out again. You wonder if he stayed by the Doors when he died, or if he tried to run his old routes one last time, operating on instinct alone.

A shadow passes in front of you, darkening the pear green knives into something like the needles of the pine trees. A boy comes with the shadow, free of charge, and he slumps down next to you, pausing briefly to slide the stone away from your left elbow before lying down on his back. You turn your head, placing your right cheek on your interlaced fingers to stare at him.

Newt has always been beautiful in the sunlight. Even now, in this uncertain gray somewhere between overcast and clear skies, his eyes catch the faint bars of sunshine and turn from brown to gold. With a pang of agony deep between your ribs, it reminds you of the blond crown of Ben’s hair. You wonder if his eyes will ever shatter scarlet like Ben’s temples did too, at the end, when he hurt himself so badly he never came back, and your eyelids flinch shut to stop yourself from seeing it.

When you manage to open your eyes again, a cloud has passed over the sun, coaxing Newt’s eyes back to a woody brown, and it’s okay to look at him again. He’s looking at you too now, the lines on his face deepening with regret. You’re mirrors, the two of you, perfect pictures of guilt and misery reflecting back again and again until you’re certain you’re going to dissolve into each other for good.

“It’s not your fault,” Newt whispers. His throat is dry, and his voice cracks on most words.

“It’s not your fault either,” you murmur back. “Not Minho’s, not Alby’s. These things happen.”

Newt’s lips press together, and you know he’s going through the same swoops of grief as he remembers every Glader you’ve lost over the past few years.

“You know, I remember when he just started out as a Runner,” Newt says quietly. “Stupid shank. He was terrible at directions but he tried so damn hard that he actually fixed his own shuck memory. You should have seen him smile the first time he got a route right without one of us having to correct him. Could have powered the sun.”

He sighs, a sob trapped in the sound. To distract him, you ask, “Why’d you let him stay on as a Runner if he kept getting lost? Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

Newt looks up at the sky, remembering. “We didn’t have many Runners in the early days. We had to take what we could get. Besides, Nick was dead set that it was better for morale if people weren’t letting the Runners quit so soon. He was early in his days as first-in-command, so we wanted to believe him. Ben got better anyway. Soon he was just as good as any of us.”

Newt’s voice trails off a little, and you know him well enough to guess what he’s thinking– if they had switched Ben out anyway, maybe he wouldn’t have been in the Maze, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten Stung, and maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill Thomas. Maybe he wouldn’t have been Exiled. Maybe he’d still be here, and you wouldn’t be lying here trying to suppress this invisible wound bleeding out both of you without spilling a single drop of blood.

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat.

“It’s no one’s fault,” Newt says listlessly. “That’s official protocol for when someone gets exiled, you know. Nick made that klunk up too. Said people knew the rules, so if they broke ‘em, it was on their shoulders, not ours.”

“Doesn’t explain why I feel like I should have saved him, though,” you mutter.

Newt nods in agreement, expression tired. “We’re going to get through this,” he says dully. “Same way we got through every other friend we lost. We’re going to pick ourselves up and we’re going to move on. We’ll stop thinking about him.”

“No, we won’t,” you say, and continue before Newt can interrupt. “We’re never going to forget Ben, and it would be awful not to. We’re just going to stop feeling guilty, that’s all. We’ll think about Ben as Ben, not how he was after he got stung.”

“Is that fair to Ben?” Newt asks. “If we ignore what happened to him? I’d be mad, I think. Feels like we’re cheating.”

You let out a long breath. “When you think about Ben, what comes to mind? Your gut instinct, I mean. Not the first awful thing about the Doors shutting on him, but what Ben really is to you. Is it the thing we had to strap to the bed in the Med-Jack hut when he was so strung out that he was hardly human at all? Or is it the shuck kid who kept making too many left turns and followed you and Minho everywhere?”

Newt closes his eyes, half in agony, like he’s begging for strength from someone who isn’t listening. “Runner Ben. Not him when he was sick. That’s Ben to me.”

“Exactly,” you say. “That’s our Ben. That’s what matters. He wasn’t Ben at the end. Ben would never hurt us.”

And Ben would never beg for you to save him. He would never look at the Maze like a bad dog, terrified, and he would never stand there for so long once he was past the Doors, as if he had forgotten the way again.

Newt reaches out and takes your hand, gripping your fingers almost painfully, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Promise me, Y/N. If something happens, if I get stung or if I– if I– again– Tell me you’ll do the same for me. You’ll remember me as me.”

You choke back a sob. “Nothing’s going to happen, Newt.”

He squeezes your hand again, insistent. “You heard Ben. He was saying all kinds of stuff, saying the world out there was terrible. If it does, you have to promise– you have to promise–”

He’s manic and terrified in a way that shocks you. Newt is the calm one, always has been, except that one time that terrified you just as bad as this. If he isn’t in control, then you’ll have be that for him.

“I promise,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’ll always be my Newt. Always.”

He relaxes suddenly in your grasp, still as death. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat.

He pulls you close to him, your head tucked against his collarbone, heart to heart and rib to rib. The sun warms you both, dappling skin and hair and clothes. It’s going to be a while until you stop hearing Ben’s last scream when you’re locked in sleep. It’s going to be a while before you remember how to go about living like usual again. If there’s one comfort in all of this, at least, it’s that you won’t be alone. With Newt, you never will be.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @bonesnplywood, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[muzzlemouths]

sooo... how would we feel about more Dream-Eater!Moon stuff?

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Art with a psycho girly partner? 🥺

Beguiling Perniciousness 🎀

I love this ask! 💗

Your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface; He knew you'd cross paths again as he watched your amiable self skip down the road and fade into the distance.

6k words

Girly reader who is obsessed with Art 🎀

Do I even need to say that it's smut it's all I ever write

You played the part well, he'd give you that. Art had first caught sight of you in the old costume shop in Miles County, lurking towards the back where all the nauseating pinks and creams amalgamated to create it's own fantasy-like microcosm, full of various princess and fairy costumes and similar varieties.

He didn't particularly pay you much mind initially, his focus solely on the girl he often terrorised, grinning eerily at her with a sense of foreboding. He remained cruelly amused even as the adolescent with the ironic angel wings dashed out of the shop, eager to flee his suffocating presence.

His mind had slipped the possibility that you had remained within the shop, excitedly trying on pretty tiaras and adorning yourself with sparkly jewellery, all the while remaining oblivious to the grotesque murder of the store assistant, his head cut clean from his neck. Blood pooled upon the floor, draining from the ugly orifice. His head had been tossed haphazardly to the side.

He had heard your bubbly self round the corner, humming happily with an armful of items and clothes, before bumping into his side hastily. Art peered down at your mildly shocked expression, gauging the way your round cheeks appled out into a smile.

Blood lightly covered his form, and specs of it had been transferred onto you. You didn't react, as happy as ever, giggling at your mistake. "Pardon me! I'm sorry, I'm in a world of my own.", your curls bounced as you gazed around the shop, bypassing the crude, decapitated head, and instead focusing on the locked door at the entrance of the shop.

"Oh! I didn't realise they shut so early. That's okay, I've got everything I need.", you whirled past him, almost skipping over to the door and unlocking it. The dresses and other items in your hands still had the tags on them, unscanned and unpaid for. As soon as you stepped a foot out the door, the alarm rang.

Even still, you remained as unperturbed as ever, glancing back at the clown. "You won't tell, will you?", you had indicated to your stolen goods, flashing him a dazzling smile. "You look like someone who knows how to keep a secret.", your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye.

In fact, your smile rivalled Arts as he nodded slowly that, yes, he could definitely keep a secret. His head tilted inquisitively, searching your expression for a semblance of fear or shock, but he genuinely found none. As you offered him a cheerful goodbye and skipped off down the road, Art bet most people thought you were ditzy and dumb.

Staring at your receding form in the distance, Arts keen eyes knew the aura of darkness when he saw it. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface. He didn't bother seeking you out, you were bound to cross paths.

That had been a year ago. A few weeks after your initial meeting, Art had paused his laborious work of crafting within the dilapidated house due to the sound of male shouting tinged with irritation.

"You've brought me out here for what? You said I could fuck you, so why the fuck are you leading me into the middle of nowhere? Got your boyfriend out here or something?"

The tone was downright condescending and full of unrighteous anger; he believed you owed him something. Art stood amongst the shadows of the lowering sun, arms crossed languidly as he watched, recognising your melodious voice instantly.

"You don't have to be so crude about it, I just want to have a romantic walk in the forest." You pouted, eyelashes fluttering at him as a small smile tugged at your lips, a pretty sheen of lipgloss staining them rosy.

The man gave you a disgusted grimace, checking his phone repetitively. He seemed aggravated, pawing at your skirt covered hips and backing you into a nearby tree. He outright ignored everything sweet you had to say, barely sparing you a glance as he scrutinised your form hugging jumper appreciatively.

Still, you prattled on and on, rambling kindly about how beautiful the forest became in the autumn, how refreshingly cold it was and that it was the perfect weather for a nice walk-

"You've got such a slutty body. Shut your mouth for me, yeah?" Hands began smoothing the already short skirt up your thighs, bunching the fabric, before they were slapped away. You ducked past him, skipping over to your bag that you had dropped earlier on and started searching for something.

"I just need to grab a condom. I'm a good girl, you know." You twirled a lock of hair with a sly smirk, digging through the multitude of items within your handbag. You pouted your lips in mild irritation, hand swiftly seeking what you needed, before you nodded to yourself happily, hand clutching what you desired.

Standing straight, you twirled around and offered the man a wink, to which he scoffed. Barely a second later, his kneecap was blown off as a resounding bang echoed throughout the thicket.

He screamed and fell to the floor in a heap, blood pouring grotesquely over the leaves that blanketed the damp ground. You held the gun out in front of you, aiming steadily. You shot the other knee, face stoic, and rolled your eyes at the blood curdling scream he released.

Art remained in the shadows, arms folded with intrigue as he chuckled to himself, eyebrows low. He watched the man roll back and forth upon the ground, crying out for help and for mercy. Peering back at you, he cocked his head at the way you giggled with a delicate hand covering your mouth, gun held high.

"You're so silly for thinking I'd ever let you touch me. At least take a girl out for dinner first, you know?"

With a playful wave goodbye, you shot him in the head, watching the way his body collapsed backwards, twitching. All fell silent. You sighed contentedly at the peace, smoothing your skirt back into place pristinely.

A rustle of leaves drew your attention, a tall, monochromatic man standing eerily still, lurking behind a tree at you. He was grinning. You waved at him amicably; he returned the gesture.

"Oh, I'd recognise you anywhere! From the costume shop, right?"

Art nodded slowly, stepping out from behind the tree and taking measured steps towards you. You still held the gun in your hand, but it was pointed at the floor.

As the clown approached, you found your neck craning upwards, his body swallowing you in it's shadow. He was lithe and lumbersome, grinning down at you.

"Think you could keep another secret, Mr tall and handsome?" You giggled, face a light pink from his close proximity and intense stare; he was alluring. In fact, you found yourself downright infatuated with him. You could sense the danger oozing off of him in waves, and although a bolt of caution shot through you, you couldn't deny the peculiar attraction you felt to his unique and theatrical self.

Art declined his head down at you, pointing softly to himself, humbly, as though to say 'who, me?', before comically twisting to look behind him, seeking out the other person you were surely complimenting.

It made you giggle again, smiling sweetly up at him as you shook your head at his playfulness. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so bold. You're the miles county killer, aren't you? It makes me nervous being in the presence of someone way above my calibre."

Your eyes fluttered around cutely, before returning up at him with a beautiful sparkle. Art waved off your compliment dramatically, grin sharpening at your girlish giggle. To anyone else, his rigid closeness and predatory stare down would immediately raise flags. But you seemed happy enough, cheeks a cute pink.

"It's so difficult though, being efficient, secretive and untraceable just like you. If I had half of your strength, it would make my life so much easier. It really takes it out of me having to lug these bodies around. And also-"

Art didn't take notice of when you both had begun to walk slowly through the shadowed forest, only that he didn't mind hearing your rambling. He watched you gesture dramatically as you told your stories of having to lure horrible men into the woods before shooting them, and cocked an eyebrow as you suddenly changed subject and fawned over the falling leaves, excitedly proclaiming your love for the various reds, oranges and yellows.

Art nodded thoughtfully at most things you said, even if the gesture was slightly mocking in its sincerity. Even still, he quite liked your voice, and he found himself laughing at some of the tales you told. You were delicate, short of stature compared to him; It would be incredibly easy to reach over and snap your neck. Art found that he didn't want to.

He wasn't restraining himself out of kindness, and he wasn't even actively attempting to be polite. He simply wanted to act this way, here and now, as spontaneous as always. It was humorous, for once he was the one listening calmly, and you were the one grinning far too widely at him.

That was some time ago. Since your first real introduction, you had seen Art here and there, pleasantly surprised when he'd turn up just as you were about to clean up the mess you made of a body, only to drag it with ease to whichever location you desired and burn it.

From there on, sightings of him became even more frequent, moreso to the point that one day you heard a crash in your kitchen, running down with gun in hand, only to bare witness to Art standing menacingly with a horrific smile, blood coating his form and a scissors and pliers held intimidatingly.

Upon seeing you, confusion entered his eyes, his hands lowering. You had never seen the clown appear bashful at his own mistake, raising his hands and shrugging as though to say 'oops'.

It made you giggle, hand to mouth. You pointed towards the window, indicating to the house nearby. "Art, weren't you supposed to be killing my neighbour tonight? You've trespassed the wrong house!" You snickered, bounding over to him excitedly and staring up at him with the most innocent, adoring expression; it made him want to lift the pliers and rip your stunning eyes out and keep them forever.

Art had the decency to realise his mistake, scratching the back of his head awkwardly before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He remembered you saying you lived close to his next victim, but he didn't realise you were adjacent. Mistakes for him were so rare.

Art scoffed at himself, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air as though saying 'ive made a real mess of this'. His theatrics made you laugh, increasing drastically as you watched the way he perched his hands on his hips in exasperation.

"I'm really glad you're here. I've never shown you around my home before, so..if you've got time..." You trailed off softly, lifting your hands and crossing your fingers with hope as you danced side to side, awaiting his response.

Art deliberated upon that, taking his time as he watched you dance, before shrugging once with a grin. Sure, why not. He could spare a minute or two before he absolutely maimed your neighbour.

He felt your smaller form bolt over to his side and lock arms with him, and he let you. You pulled him along, showing him each room swiftly before dragging him up to your bedroom and pushing him in.

"You look soo dangerous in my room! I love it!"

You had a point. Perusing the room, he found it to be incredibly girly. You had a lot of pinks, fairy lights everywhere and a few teddies here and there. His monochromatic self standing eerily still within your room feels like he's siphoning the pretty colours out of it.

Regardless, you utterly beamed at him, more than happy. You bordered on manic, he thought, body shaking in excitement and fists clenched so hard. Your bright grin stretched wide, eyes round and watchful, focusing solely on him and his reaction.

After what felt like ages, Art lifted a finger up to his neck and mimicked a cutting motion, head tilted to the side and tongue poking out like a comical cartoon character that had been killed. This room was far too bright for him, sickeningly sweet and adorable, but your high pitched giggles of glee at his honest opinion had him chuckling silently too, eyebrows low as he watched you dazzle.

That had been one of your biggest turning points with the clown, and from that day you saw him almost daily. In fact, he walked into your home whenever he felt like it. You'd find him lounging on your chair by the TV at random times in the night, or eating at your kitchen table serenely.

What you cherished the most was when he took you to his dilapidated hideout, dark and dingy and cold, fully juxtaposing your little home; you were now the only beacon of light and colour in this place.

He did enjoy terrifying you now and again, especially in his hideout, his tall form no longer behind you, silently waiting for the moment to make you scream. Each time it made you incredibly excited, anxiety building up inside of you giddily.

When you'd least expect it, Art would be there, coming at you with a hatchet and swinging it downwards playfully. He'd listen to your high pitched squeals and relish in the way you'd flinch and cover yourself protectively. He'd laugh and point at you, shaking his head; it got you every time.

"You're so scary! But honestly, you're so attractive when you do that. Surely some of your victims admit that? The women? Maybe some men?" You swayed your shoulders bashfully, cheeks turning pink like they so often did in his presence.

Art paused at that, a mild look of bewilderment shaping his face at your proclamation, before a sinister smirk darkened the expression considerably. You blinked owlishly as the clown began to take measured, predatory steps towards you, backing you into a damp wall.

He was so tall, caging you against his body, and all you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, gnawing your pretty lips in anticipation of his next move. He chuckled silently at your reddening cheeks and the way you reached your hands up to cup them delicately. Finally, as an answer, he shook his head slowly.

You seemed mortified. "Did you cut their eyes out first or something? You're handsome to me! Tall, intimidating, dark, incredibly strong--", you began counting on your hand all of Arts best qualities, all the while the clown crossed his arms and nodded patiently, egging you on to continue with a wave of his hand.

"--Honestly, I've always thought this, but I didn't want to be too bold, and I'm feeling really shy with you backing me up against the wall but I also love it, and--and I'm rambling because I'm nervous."

Your admittance seemed to be the biggest factor that contributed to how the two of you were now: You completely smitten with him, and him accepting the fact that he would never kill you. You were sweet and you made the best hot chocolate, and you did make the killings more fun so he'd keep you around.

You were incredibly bubbly, always smiling at him beautifully and helping him cut up body parts with your constant giggles that rivalled his own. He had unintentionally made you cry once, and a foreign emotion had struck him.

Art thought it would be incredibly amusing to offer you a badly wrapped gift with a human body part inside it. He did it mostly to shock you and hear your shrieks of surprise that would eventually melt into laughter, and he didn't particularly put much thought into what body part he would gift you with.

Upon opening the box, you were stunned into silence at seeing the rotten, maggot infested heart staring back at you. You didn't cry out or scream, and you didn't giggle or smile. Instead, your large eyes filled to the brim with tears, lips quivering before the fat droplets spilled over and a sob was wrenched from you.

"Oh my God.", you held a hand to your mouth, mascara streaking your cheeks messily. "Is that a heart? For..for me?", you spoke in utter disbelief, words whispered and shaking. Art cocked his head at your peculiar display of sadness, but nodded nonetheless. He had never seen you cry before.

"That's the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.", you rushed out in a broken sob, sniffling and wiping your tears profusely. Art blinked, face depicting confusion, lips tilted downward. His mind blanked as he awaited your explanation, amusement doused temporarily.

"Id always appreciate anything you gift me, but a heart? Of course I'll be your girlfriend!" You shrieked out with a sob, box dropping to the floor as you jumped and lunged at the clown, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

He felt your tears soak his neck, his hands lifted up in mild shock, face deadpan, frozen as you wrapped your body around his own, perched upon his lap. Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in amusement and exasperation, mimicking your emotional sobs over your shoulder with a dramatic pout, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.

He eventually threw his hands up in defeat, chuckling to himself. He did not foresee a reaction like this coming when you opened that box. He was more than content to play along, and eventually wrapped his strong hands around your body, charcoal eyes swirling with evil. He rather enjoyed your spontaneity.

Following the initiation into an apparent 'relationship', Art received a few gifts from you too. He himself received a human heart in a black, satin box. It was relatively fresh, and he couldn't help but sigh dreamily and flutter his eyelashes at the romantic gesture. His theatrics were over the top and evidently condescending, but it flew over your pretty head.

He was mildly impressed. You often used guns to kill your victims, lacking the strength and speed to ever out maneuver anyone bigger than yourself. Your hands were never that dirty either, you were not acquainted with using sharp weapons on the human body, so to be gifted a heart of all things, carved with effort from somebody's chest - it made Art nod in genuine approval.

The rest was history.

Art felt unnaturally domesticated within your presence, but he really didn't mind. You had a lot of uses, and he couldn't deny the possession he held for you. If claiming you as his own meant that you were in a 'relationship', then so be it.

He remained nonchalant to your girlish romanticism. He found it to be amusing and peculiarly cute, and even when he'd coo at you mockingly like a little dog, you loved it. In fact, a lot of his condescension did not perturb you. You were overjoyed at him mocking your kissy faces, pouting petulantly, mirroring your own actions.

Art couldn't deny enjoying the tender moments too. He had come to the conclusion long ago that he would never kill you - you were the only exception - and would display surprising levels of intimacy if only to hear your high pitched giggles and tease you for your pinkening cheeks.

Like right now, how he had his large palm delicately stroking your soft hair, brushing strands out of your face. His hand reached down to cup the side of your face, thumb tenderly rubbing circles upon your cheekbone.

You sighed dreamily, the exhale leaving your nose as you bobbed your head up and down his thick length. You sat perched on your knees between his wide thighs on the living room floor, sticky lipgloss leaving a messy residue on his shaft, your lips glistening with saliva.

You had been doing this for a while, languidly pleasuring him, and he let you. He allowed you to sink to your knees and fondle him until he was half hard before your loving mouth engulfed him. All the while, he watched whatever movie you had on TV.

Even when his dick was fully hard, splitting your jaw apart, he barely looked at you. He was focused on the movie, a masked killer hunting a woman down, and hardly spared you a glance even as you worked him faster, slurping and sucking him messily.

It made you unbearably wet, craving his attention, craving even a semblance of pleasure in his expression, or a buck of his hips to indicate that he was enjoying it. Instead, he stroked your cheek delicately, lazily, as though you were a pet that was doing a satisfactory job and nothing more.

Your brows knit together frustratedly, and you took him deep into your throat, saliva pooling down your chin as you choked and moaned quietly at the pulsating between your thighs. You were so wet it was beginning to coat them.

Granted, you had foregone the underwear, instead wearing an incredibly short skirt that had your plump ass cheeks hanging out. You were needy today, you depended on his attention, but he refused to spare you even a thought and it made childish tears well up in your eyes.

Your knees spread below you, skirt rising up higher upon your hips. If he had spared even a moments gaze upon you, he'd see the way your tight, puckered hole swallowed a pretty buttplug, embellished with a sparkling pink diamond on the end.

The pressure was pleasant, and you used your inner muscles to squeeze the toy, wiggling desperately as you did. You closed your eyes as you began sucking him lewdly now, the sounds becoming sloppy and loud as you reached a hand between your legs to play with your aching clitoris.

You were dripping whorishly upon the floor, moaning around his huge cock as you rubbed circles around the pulsating nub before slipping your fingers over it directly, hips bucking in relieved pleasure.

Arousal surged through you as you felt his hips lift the slightest, seeking the back of your throat, and your eyes flew open to witness the serenely blissful expression on his face, only to widen your eyes.

His gaze had been unknowingly on you for a while now, lacking it's usual grin and instead staring sternly, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark eyes. There was a lecherous blackness in his gaze, drinking in the way your cheeks reddened considerably, eyelashes fluttering bashfully against your cheeks.

You had his full, undivided attention now, and it only served to make you increase your efforts tenfold, bobbing your head up to the very tip to suckle the sensitive nerves, lapping up his salty precum with your hot tongue, before sinking back down as far as you could go, lifting a hand to fondle his swollen balls, encouraging them to unload inside your wanting mouth.

Arts intimidating stoicism faltered momentarily at your ministrations, head leaning back into the cushioned chair as his mouth opened in a silent, pleasured exhale, his sharp and angular jawline emphasised greatly from this angle.

That subtle, minor expression of bliss shot bolts of unfiltered arousal through you. You moaned around his cock, redoubling your efforts even as your jaw ached. You suckled your way to the tip, releasing his solid length with a pop; your hand took over, jerking him steadily.

"Mm, I get so wet whenever I give you a blowjob. If you had spared half a second to look at me, you'd notice.", your voice came out in a quiet, childish whine, lips pouted dramatically.

Art lolled his head to the side and stared down at you, eyebrow cocked in a silent question. He scrutinised your little pout and the way your eyes sparkled with unshed tears and a slow, sharp smirk etched it's way onto his face.

Aw, did you crave attention? Are you his little attention whore? Art snickered at the thought, but found that this must surely be the answer; you craved his affections, and he chuckled as your lips quivered.

Art stroked your face tenderly and pouted right back at you, nodding and mockingly agreeing with your little outburst. It really was awful of him, wasn't it? He'd have to rectify that.

Before you knew it, you found yourself bent over the arm of the chair, legs kicked apart as he toyed with the little plug in your ass, wiggling it back and forth. You had a glorious ass, round and fat and smooth, and even he wasn't immune to its juiciness.

He jiggled your cheeks playfully, watching the skin mold to his hand and ripple outwards under the pressure. One day, he'd fuck your tight little rim raw, and the thought had him rock hard as he pushed his cock against your sodden pussy and glided in halfway with a teasing smirk.

"Nng, don't tease me. P-put it all in, stretch me out-", you begged pathetically, pushing your luscious ass back against him.

Art pulled out slowly to the tip, rubbing along your folds for a moment, before catching the tip against your hole. With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, he sunk in as deep as he could, parting your velvety walls. The stretch was always considerable, always tinged with pain. It made you shudder beautifully, back arching.

"Yes, yes--Love this feeling, love you--", you rambled in a high pitched, girlish tenor, moaning as he filled you to the brim and more.

Arts face split into a nasty, smug grin behind you, shoulders shaking with laughter. It was pretty clear that you loved him, he thought. Each time his cock found your sodden hole you'd proclaim this proudly, delirious and euphoric.

Gripping your waist, Art smoothed his calloused hands down to your hips and back up rhythmically, hearing you sigh in delight.  He fucked you the way he knew you loved, hard and deep, and had no issue acting so intimately, so romantically, as you'd say.

You were his, and he enjoyed your feminine noises of pleasure. He felt that you were the only instance where he would ever act this way. With you, he didn't merely act on a whim anymore, dangerously spontaneous. Of course, that did happen on occasion, but in moments like these, when he was paired up with someone so bizarrely loving, so warm and bubbly and intimate, he found that reciprocating wasn't all that hard anymore.

He revelled in your little adoring sighs as he smoothed his way up your womanly figure, and the way you'd nuzzle into his palm every time he'd trail a strong hand down your jaw and onto your neck to hold possessively.

You were as unhinged as him, but you were also..gentle. He didn't particularly want to hurt you too much anymore. He did want to fuck you into a crying mess, however.

Art pressed a thumb to the dazzling diamond sticking out between your cheeks, applying pressure so it sunk in deeper, all the while fucking you hard and filling you so full.

He had a feeling that you were hinting at something with the way this delectable little toy jutted out of you. You were so pure on times, he imagined you found it hard to admit. That was fine, he'd get it out of you one way or another. If you wanted your ass played with so much, all you had to do was ask.

He wiggled the toy back and forth, pulling on it slightly and feeling the way your tight hole suctioned it back in. You whined at the feeling, your ass and pussy deliciously full, and stared back at him with dazzling, loving eyes.

"Ahh-Art--Feels so good-!", you gasped, moaning sweetly to him, so high pitched and whiny that he couldn't help but coo down at you in faux affection. His cock pummelled into you rhythmically, the wet slap of skin permeating the air. His heavy balls slapped sinfully against your pulsing little clitoris causing your legs to quiver and shake.

Art gripped the base of the toy more firmly, wiggling it side to side once again, before pulling it out from your tight rim. You whined noisily at the feeling, shuddering as you felt his fingers dip down between your legs to gather lubrication, before prodding at your hole once more and sinking in to the knuckles.

You cried out, back arching and legs widening further at the feeling of his thick fingers rhythmically filling your ass. It felt dirty and forbidden, something you had never done before, but each and every time he gave your virgin hole attention, whether it be a delicate stroke of his thumb or his tongue lavishing the area, it had you so wet and sticky that you could barely handle it.

Art grinned salaciously as his digits pumped into you deeply, all the while his rigid cock slipped into your pussy relentlessly, stretching you in ways that you should be used to by now, but you never were. He was so long and thick and it made your mind whirl with pleasure.

"S-so dirty putting your fingers in there I--ahh-- I shouldn't like it but I do!", you rambled adorably, your tongue loosening as he fucked you harder, snapping his hips against your bouncing cheeks.

Art snickered and shook his head at your innocence; A finger in your ass was probably one of the least dirtiest things he had touched. Another digit entered your passage, his hot length ravaging your pliant form. You cried out in broken whimpers, rambling little, soft compliments about his sheer size and how you needed him to fuck you, how you loved him.

You became dumb once his cock was near you, he found. He quite liked it, revelled in your incoherent stammering, or the way your eyes would be glued to his massive length.

Art grinned cruelly down at you, a sudden darkness enveloping his irises as he gripped painful handfuls of your hips, his fingers no doubt bruising the tender area, before he pushed your body forward so your upper half fell down with a yelp, your ass fully on display for him and fucked you so mind numbingly rough that tears streaked down your cheeks, your high pitched sobs and cries to slow down were music to his ears. In the next breath, you'd beg him to never stop.

Your thighs quivered and shook as his balls slapped hard against your clitoris, his cock fucking into you so sinfully you were outright weeping. You shrieked when your orgasm peaked, splattering down your quaking thighs as you gasped and fisted the blankets desperately.

Art grit his teeth in concentration, feeling that overwhelming urge to unload himself within you. He placed a rough hand against your head and forced you downwards, his head tilting back and lips parting in bliss as his cock filled your crammed little hole with ropes of hot cum. His hips stuttered as each powerful rope shot out, your pulsating walls milking him and lapping up as much as it could before the excess spilled messily out of your pussy, around his girth and down his balls.

You were panting shallowly as he finished, unceremoniously dropped as his hands and body removed themselves from you. Cum dribbled out of your used hole, and you flushed darkly as Art righted your bunched up skirt, smoothing it back down over your ass and putting his cock back inside his costume as though he hadn't just decimated your body and mind brutally.

You pushed yourself up on weak arms, turning to face the cheeky grin of the clown who looked as pristine as ever, not at all out of breath and sweaty like you were. Art indicated to the forgotten movie on the screen, nodding over to the settee so that you could both take a seat and finish it, but upon taking a step forward your legs felt so shaky you thought you were about to collapse.

You stumbled forward and gripped his costume tightly, gravity making the thick, warm cum inside of you dribble down your thighs messily. Art outright laughed at your unstable legs, cooing down at you and winking at you slyly. He shrugged nonchalantly, raising his hands as though to say 'oops'.

You giggled up at him bashfully, feeling him lead you to the settee before you promptly flopped backwards onto it and spread your legs out over his lap. Art didn't mind, from how short your skirt was he got a good eyeful of your glistening, puffy pussy. It made him scoff darkly to himself, shaking his head.

"Oh, Halloweens on. This used to be my favourite film, I had a massive crush on Michael Myers for the longest time-".

Ah, there it was - your silly ramblings had started again, and Art cocked an eyebrow at your admittance, peering at the character on the screen who seemed to be choking a stupid teenage girl.

"--And I guess I do like Jason too but, I don't know, he never appealed to me as much as Michael--"

Art nodded along to your cute outburst, watching the way your eyes sparkled passionately. He smoothed a hand up your calf, smirking.

"--But Jason is so much faster than Michael, which is kind of attractive, you know, the whole predator/prey thing, and--"

Art raised both brows now, grin positively evil. You wanted to be chased, did you? Hunted down and captured like a victim? Interesting. He began to chuckle to himself, arms folded and turning in his seat so he could give you his undivided attention.

You felt your cheeks pinken at his look and realized you had probably admitted too much. From the way he wiggled his eyebrows, stare turning predatory, you knew he was plotting something.

"What? It can't be that surprising that I'd..kind of like to be on the receiving end one day. We hunt so many people, it must be hot being hunted," you sighed dreamily, hand reaching over to his and stroking it tenderly. It was rough and calloused.

"Especially by you. That would be..", you paused, biting your lip in a sultry display. You imagined the scene: Him undoubtedly capturing you and having his way with you. You could feel heat blooming in your abdomen. "-Exhilarating. I-Ive thought about it a few times.", you shrugged softly, embarrassed. You struggled to meet his gaze, but when you finally did, it made your breath hitch.

Long gone was that teasing grin, instead replaced by a stern austerity, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark, smouldering eyes. He chuckled once, demonstrated by the way his shoulders lifted in amusement, but his face remained downright terrifying and blank.

You fluttered your eyes to your lap, crimson faced and fidgeting, rubbing soothing circles into his veiny, strong hand.

"Do you...like that idea? I-if not that's okay. It's weird. I shouldn't have said anything.", you trailed off vulnerably, uncertain. You struggled to decipher his moods when he wasn't smiling, and it scared you.

A firm hand gripped your chin, tugging it upwards to meet his fiery gaze forcefully. He was so close, suddenly leaning halfway over your body and with a deliberate, slow nod, he wanted to make it clear that he would very much enjoy that.

You bit your lip in nervousness despite his clear agreement, studying his expression cautiously, but a smile soon graced your lips as Art wiggled your chin fondly back and forth, offering a small smirk; He liked that idea.

Soon, your face brightened up, and you practically jumped at him and snuggled against his chest, his thigh between your own. "You make me so happy.", you whispered, sighing in delight as you watched Michael kill another teenage girl.

Art shrugged playfully, patting your head. You probably should have never admitted that fantasy to him. He'll chase you like you wanted, give you a little head start, but after that he'd treat you like a real victim. You'll be so terrified that you're shaking, having second thoughts about the ordeal.

Then he'd fuck you into the dirt like a whore, knife held too close to your neck, borderline cutting into your flesh. He wouldn't go too far - Some light cutting, some choking, a gun to your head. It was all relatively toned down.

Even still, no matter how much you begged and screamed and pleaded, you'd still hold that adoring infatuation for him. It made him tilt his head back fully, unhinge his jaw and laugh so violently it actually scared you.

You knew what he was. You knew the dark, unfathomable pit of evil inside of him would swallow you whole too, making you his victim one way or another.

You knew he wouldn't kill you, but that doesn't mean that he'd never torment you. These were facts that you simply accepted; you loved him, you didn't know if he was capable of such an emotion, but him keeping you alive and treating you tenderly now and again was enough for you.

It made your heart sing and your insides pulse with need. Leaning your head fully against his chest, you curled up against him as he almost naturally enveloped you in his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into him and savoured the moment.

You couldn't wait for the future ahead. You couldn't wait to maim more people with him and make love to him in their blood. You couldn't wait to become his next victim.

The thought made you wet all over again.

[seafarersdream]

Thinking about Reader who has the ability to sleep everywhere and the cast always bothers her for that and they put things on her to see how long it takes her to wake up. But on one occasion she falls asleep on Ewan/Tom's shoulder and he's just a mess?? 😭

I don't know if it makes sense but the idea is there!! I love your work by the way

Out Of It (Ewan Mitchell x Y/N)

Y/N had always considered herself pretty grounded. Sure, she got to hang out with the cast, swapping jokes and stories like they were all old friends. But there was one little secret she kept tucked away, like a guilty pleasure—a huge, and she meant huge, crush on Ewan Mitchell. But, she reminded herself on the regular, it was just a celebrity crush. Nothing serious. A harmless little fantasy she kept to herself, because let’s be real—she was just the makeup girl, and he was, well, him. Then, one day, the universe decided to have a laugh at her expense.

TW // Strong language and profanities.

PS: I decided to take a different approach to the plot, hope it’s okay!

The sun was barely rising over the horizon when the makeup department bustled with activity, its team members moved with choreographed precision. The trailer was alive with the scent of coffee mingling with the chemical tang of latex and adhesive, the lifeblood of the team that assembled at ungodly hours to work their magic.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool air, along with the unmistakable presence of Ewan Mitchell. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, taking in the scene with a wry smile. Dressed casually in a worn leather jacket, another one of his band t-shirt, and dark jeans.

“Morning, sunshine,” Y/N greeted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up from the prosthetic jaw she was carefully painting.

“Morning, Y/N. You look absolutely thrilled to be here,” Ewan replied dryly, his mouth curling into a smirk. He perched himself on a nearby chair, his lean frame relaxed but his gaze keen as it flicked over the team’s work.

Tom Glynn-Carney was already in the chair, his eyes closed as he tried to find some inner peace amidst the whirlwind around him. His usual charismatic energy was subdued, replaced with a resigned patience that only came from enduring this process multiple times. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he muttered, peeking out from under his lashes. “Are we sure we need all this crap? It's just a flesh wound, right?”

Y/N laughed, a bright sound that cut through the tension like a knife. “Just a flesh wound? Sure, if you call half your face melting off just a flesh wound.”

He groaned slightly as one of the other makeup artists adjusted a piece of latex on his forehead. “Maybe just light me on fire for real next time.”

“I swear to God, Tom,” Y/N said, her voice cutting through the soft murmur of the trailer. She leaned in, squinting at the edges of the prosthetic around his left eye. “If you move your face one more time, I’m going to staple it in place.”

Tom’s laugh was muffled, careful not to disrupt the delicate work being done on his cheeks. “Sorry, boss. Just trying to keep the old face from going numb. Can’t feel my arse either, for that matter.”

“Is he behaving, or do I need to step in?” Ewan said from behind them.

“Barely,” Y/N replied without looking up, her hands steady as she pressed down the edge of the prosthetic along Tom’s jawline. “You can take him if you want, though. Maybe scare him into sitting still.”

“Fuck off,” Tom muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. “Last thing I need is Ewan glaring at me while I’m trying to get through this torture.”

Ewan chuckled as he stands up and walked further into the trailer, his boots making soft thuds against the floor. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m just here for moral support.” He glanced at Y/N, his eyes lingering a bit longer on her than the others might have noticed. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” Y/N said, her tone matter-of-fact. She finally glanced up, meeting Ewan’s gaze briefly before returning to her work. “This is a fucking beast of a job, though. Five hours minimum, and that’s if Tom doesn’t fidget.”

Ewan nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter beside Tom. “You’re a miracle worker, Y/N. Don’t let this tosser tell you otherwise.”

“Hey, I’m the victim here!” Tom protested, though his grin betrayed the seriousness of his words.

“Victim, my ass,” Y/N shot back, a playful edge returning to her voice.

Tom chuckled, though the movement caused Y/N to pause and glare at him. He immediately stilled, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good.”

Ewan watched the process with interest, his eyes following Y/N’s every move. He was always impressed by her skill, the way she could take something so gruesome and make it look so real. It was an art form, one that required patience, precision, and a bit of madness. And Y/N had all three in spades.

As Y/N worked, she could feel Ewan’s gaze on her, a constant presence that was both comforting and distracting. She ignored it as best as she could, focusing on blending the colors to create the perfect shade of burnt skin. But it was hard to ignore the way her pulse quickened whenever he was around, the way his voice seemed to vibrate in her chest whenever he spoke.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally leaned back, surveying her work with a critical eye. The prosthetics were in place, the scarring realistic and horrifying, just as it needed to be. She let out a small sigh of relief, wiping her hands on a cloth before tossing it aside.

“So, Ewan,” Y/N said, breaking the silence, “what do we think? Does our dear Tom look like he’s had a close encounter with dragonfire?”

Ewan stood, walking over to examine Tom up close. His face was thoughtful, eyes narrowing as he took in the horrifying sight. “You know, I think we could go a bit heavier on the singed eyebrows. Aegon doesn’t exactly seem the type to worry about grooming after this.”

Tom let out a groan. “Fucking hell, you two. I’m gonna look like I went through a meat grinder.”

Y/N laughed again. “Relax, Tom. You’ll be the prettiest corpse on set.”

Ewan smirked, stepping back to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “Gorgeous, really. You’ll be the talk of King’s Landing.”

Tom rolled his eyes, clearly fed up but too deep into the process to protest further. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”

As the final touches were completed, Y/N stepped back, her eyes scanning over her work with a critical eye. “Okay, you’re done. How does it feel?”

Tom slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Y/N’s in the mirror. “Like I’ve been fucking roasted alive, which, I guess, is the point.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, satisfaction in her voice as she began cleaning up her tools. “Alright, Glynn-Carney,” she continues, with a wave of her hand. “You’re done. Get out of my trailer before I change my mind and add a few more scars for good measure.”

Tom stood, stretching his arms and rolling his neck. “God, I can’t wait to see the reactions on set. Thanks, Y/N. You’re a fucking genius.”

“Don’t I know it,” Y/N replied with a grin. She watched as Tom exited the trailer. A spring in his steps.

Ewan stayed where he was, watching Y/N as she cleaned up her station. “You really are something, you know that?”

Y/N glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Just doing my job, Mitchell.”

“No,” Ewan said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s more than that. You’ve got a talent, Y/N. And a way of keeping us all in line.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. “Somebody’s got to keep you lot in check.”

Ewan’s smile was slow, genuine, and it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Lucky for us, we’ve got you.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching out between them, thick with possibilities. Finally, Y/N broke the gaze, clearing her throat.

“Well,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “Off you go then.”

Ewan nodded, still watching her as she moved around the trailer, his eyes never leaving her. “Yeah… I’ll see you on set.”

“See you,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper as he turned to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to tidy up.

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A hush falling over the room as the cameras rolled. The bedchamber set was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains drawn to block out the sunlight, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the stone walls.

Y/N stood on the sidelines, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched the actors take their places. Andrij Parekh, the director for this episode, was seated in his chair just a few feet away, his sharp eyes focused intently on the monitors in front of him.

On the bed, Tom, fully transformed into the broken and battered Aegon II, looked like a man who had been to hell and back. The prosthetics had turned his face into a grotesque mask of burns and scars, his once vibrant features now hidden beneath layers of latex and makeup. His eyes, however, remained sharp, flickering with a mix of pain and defiance as he prepared for the scene.

Ewan, in full costume as Aemond Targaryen, stood near the foot of the bed, his posture rigid, every inch the cold, calculating Prince Regent. His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, the eyepatch over his left eye adding to the menacing aura that surrounded him. There was something chilling about the way he carried himself, a quiet intensity that made even the most seasoned crew members uneasy.

“Action,” Andrij’s voice cut through the silence, a single word that set everything into motion.

Ewan stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound on the stone floor. “Brother,” he began, his voice low and smooth, almost soothing, though the underlying threat was unmistakable. “How fortunate that you are awake. I was beginning to think you might sleep through the entire war.”

Tom shifted slightly on the bed, his movements slow, labored, as if even the act of breathing was painful. “Aemond,” he croaked, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “What… what do you want?”

Ewan’s lips curved into a thin smile, the kind that never reached his eye. “Only to ensure your comfort, Aegon. You’ve been through a lot, after all. It’s a wonder you even survived.”

Tom’s gaze flickered, a mix of confusion and fear crossing his features. “I don’t remember,” he muttered, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece together fragments of a nightmare. “I don’t remember what happened.”

Y/N watched intently, her eyes following every subtle shift in their expressions, every carefully chosen word. This was the kind of scene that could make or break an episode—the tension between the brothers, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air.

Ewan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet each word was laced with ice. “Good. Best you don’t remember. There’s nothing to be gained from dwelling on the past, after all. The future, however… that’s what matters now.”

Tom’s eyes darted to Ewan’s face, searching for something, anything, in the cold, indifferent mask that stared back at him. “I don’t… I wouldn’t…”

Ewan cut him off, his tone sharp, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You wouldn’t what, Aegon? Speak of things best left unsaid? Confess to some… imagined slight? No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He straightened, the threat clear in the deliberate casualness of his movements. “We’re brothers, after all. Blood of my blood. We wouldn’t want anything to come between us. Not now, not ever.”

Tom swallowed hard, his throat working as he tried to form words, but nothing came. The fear in his eyes was real, a reflection of the strained relationship that had been growing between the two of them, now laid bare in this moment of vulnerability.

“Good,” Ewan said softly, almost tenderly. He reached out, his hand hovering over Tom’s burned face, but he didn’t touch him, didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. “Rest now, Aegon. Leave the burdens of the realm to me. You’ve earned your peace.”

With that, Ewan turned and walked away, the scene coming to a close as Andrij called out, “And.. cut!”

The tension in the room broke, the spell lifted as the crew sprang into action, adjusting lights, resetting props, preparing for the next take. Ewan relaxed his shoulders, the hard edge of Aemond’s persona slipping away as he returned to his usual self. Tom let out a long breath, his body sinking deeper into the bed, clearly relieved that the intense scene was over.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, impressed by the depth they’d brought to the scene. Ewan caught her eye as he walked over, his expression softening as he approached. “So, what do you think, Y/N?” he asked, his voice warm, a stark contrast to the cold menace he’d displayed just moments before.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk playful. “Not bad, Mitchell. You almost made me believe you’re the cruel bastard you play on screen.”

Ewan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Almost?”

“Hey, I know you too well,” she teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against a nearby prop table. “But seriously, you guys nailed it. That was intense.”

“Thanks,” he replied, his smile genuine, a hint of pride in his eyes. “It helps when you’ve got a good team watching your back.”

Y/N spied Tom’s hand moving from the corner of her eyes. “Fucking hell,” Tom muttered, reaching up to touch his prosthetic-covered face.

“Don’t even think about it,” she scolded, her voice carrying a mix of playful sarcasm and genuine concern. “You start messing with that, and we’ll be here for another few hours fixing it.”

Andrij approached them, nodding in approval. “Great work, everyone. We’ll take a short break before moving on to the next scene.”

As the crew began to disperse, Y/N caught Ewan’s eye again, her heart doing a little flip at the intensity of his gaze. There was something in the way he looked at her, something that made her pulse quicken, but before she could dwell on it, he was already turning away, slipping back into the role of Aemond, preparing for the next bit.

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The set was finally quiet, the last echoes of the day's filming fading into the background as Y/N, Ewan, Tom, Fabien, and Phia settled themselves near the steps of the Iron Throne. The towering seat of power loomed above them, but for now, it was just a backdrop to their impromptu snack break.

“God, I’m starving,” Tom groaned as he unwrapped a sandwich, his voice muffled as he took a massive bite. “You’d think they were trying to kill us with these hours.”

Phia laughed, shaking her head as she reached into a bag of crisps. “You’re such a drama queen, Tom. It’s only been, what? Twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours of torture,” Tom countered, wagging the half-eaten sandwich at her before taking another bite. “I deserve a medal, not just a bloody sandwich.”

Fabien grinned as he popped open a can of soda. “Maybe we’ll get you one shaped like the Iron Throne. Then you can lord it over everyone else even more.”

Y/N, perched comfortably beside Ewan, raised an eyebrow as she munched on a kebab. “Speaking of the Iron Throne, did you know that Emma and Matt tried to recruit me to Team Black today?”

That got their attention. Ewan, who had been quietly eating beside her, looked over with a curious glint in his eye. “Oh yeah? How’d they manage that?”

Y/N leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “They promised me a seat on the Iron Throne, no questions asked. Said it’s about time someone else gets a chance, since someone” she shot a pointed look at Tom, “—has been hogging it all season.”

Tom feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “I’m just fulfilling my royal duties, Y/N. It’s not my fault you lot don’t have the je ne sais quoi to claim the throne.”

“Je ne sais quoi? Really? You’re so full of crap.” Phia repeated, barely containing her laughter.

“Exactly,” Y/N chimed in, leaning back on her hands as she eyed the throne. “But seriously, Tom, I need that selfie, okay? You’ve been banning everyone else from even getting close, and I’m not above switching sides to get my shot.”

Fabien smirked, leaning back against the stairs. “It’s true. You’re a tyrant, Glynn-Carney.”

Tom shook his head, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You all talk a lot of shit, but the throne belongs to me. You want a selfie? You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged,” Ewan deadpanned, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

As the conversation continued, the weariness of the day began to catch up with them. The energy slowly ebbed away, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. Y/N, who had been unusually animated, started to feel her eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the room and the low murmur of voices lulled her into a drowsy state, and before she realized it, her head began to droop.

Without warning, she leaned over, her head coming to rest on Ewan’s shoulder. The sudden contact made Ewan go rigid, his eyes wide with shock. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Should he move? Say something? Wake her up? But the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her, especially since he had been harboring a massive crush on Y/N for what felt like forever.

Tom, who noticed the situation first, nearly choked on his sandwich, desperately trying to stifle his laughter. He nudged Fabien, who quickly caught on and shot Ewan a wicked grin. “Looks like someone’s got a new pillow,” Fabien teased in a singsong voice, causing Phia to glance over and giggle.

Ewan’s face turned an impressive shade of red, his usual cool composure completely shattered. “Shut up,” he hissed, his voice low and tense as he tried to keep still, not wanting to wake Y/N. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, her hair tickling his neck, and despite his best efforts, his heart raced.

Y/N, oblivious to the chaos she’d unintentionally caused, snuggled a little closer, her breathing soft and steady. Ewan’s mind was in overdrive. Okay, don’t freak out. She’s just tired. She doesn’t even know she’s leaning on you. Just… act natural.

Tom, unable to resist, leaned over and whispered, “Careful there, Mitchell. Wouldn’t want her to wake up and realize she’s been cuddling with you.”

“Tom, I swear to God—” Ewan began, his voice a strained whisper, but he was cut off by Y/N shifting slightly in her sleep, making him freeze once more.

Phia, trying to be the voice of reason but failing miserably, leaned in with a grin. “Maybe she just knows you’re a softy, Ewan. Perfect for napping.”

Ewan shot her a death glare, his embarrassment only growing. “You’re all assholes, you know that?”

Fabien chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but let’s be real, mate—this is adorable.”

Ewan groaned inwardly, knowing there was no escaping the teasing he’d endure from this moment. But as much as he wanted to retort, a part of him couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of Y/N resting against him, even if it was just because she was exhausted. His hand twitched slightly, tempted to brush a strand of hair from her face, but he resisted, not wanting to push his luck.

The ribbing continued around him, but Ewan barely heard it, his focus entirely on Y/N. For now, he’d let her sleep. And if it meant enduring the endless teasing from his friends, well… it was a small price to pay.

“Just wait until she sees the photos,” Tom whispered to Phia, pulling out his phone to capture the moment. Ewan’s eyes widened in horror, but it was too late.

“Don’t you dare!” Ewan hissed, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t wake Y/N, but Tom just smirked, already snapping a few shots.

“This one’s going in the group chat,” Tom said smugly, causing Fabien and Phia to dissolve into laughter.

Ewan could only sigh, resigned to his fate. But despite the teasing and the inevitable jokes that would follow, a small, secretive smile tugged at his lips.

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Y/N had barely made it through the door of her flat before she collapsed onto the couch, her body finally catching up with the exhaustion of the day. She kicked off her shoes, letting them land haphazardly across the room, and leaned back with a groan, rubbing her temples as she tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment from the day’s events.

The picture of her sleeping on Ewan’s shoulder had exploded in the group chat, with the cast and crew having an absolute field day over it. The jokes had ranged from harmless teasing to outright accusations of a backstreet romance, leaving Y/N feeling mortified beyond belief.

God, I can't believe I fell asleep on him, she thought, covering her face with her hands for a moment before letting out a frustrated groan. She knew she had to address it, to apologize for the awkwardness, but the thought of actually texting Ewan made her stomach churn with nerves.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she steeled herself and typed out a message.

Hey, Ewan. Just wanted to say sorry for crashing on you earlier. I was so embarrassed when I saw that picture in the group chat. I hope I didn’t make things weird or uncomfortable for you.

She hit send and then dropped her phone on her lap, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside her window, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the stillness, trying not to overthink the situation.

When her phone buzzed a few minutes later, she opened one eye and glanced at the screen. Seeing Ewan’s name made her stomach flip, and she quickly unlocked her phone to read his reply.

Hey, sleepy head. Honestly, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. You looked like you really needed the rest, and it was no trouble at all. Seriously, it’s no big deal.

Y/N felt a small wave of relief wash over her, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message came through.

Fuck it, this is me shooting my shot—are you free this weekend?

She froze, staring at the screen as her brain tried to process what she was seeing. Was Ewan really asking her out? She reread the message a few times, half-convinced she was imagining things, but it was still there, plain as day.

A mix of shock and excitement surged through her, making her heart race. She sat up straighter, her mind spinning with possibilities. After what felt like an eternity, she finally mustered the courage to respond.

Wait, are you serious? Because if you are, then yes, I’m free. But if this is some kind of joke, I swear to God, Mitchell…

She held her breath, waiting for his reply, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh. When her phone buzzed again, she almost dropped it in her haste to read the message.

Not a joke, I promise. I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while, just never found the right moment. And, well, maybe now’s the time.

Y/N felt a giddy warmth spread through her, the earlier embarrassment completely forgotten. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she tried to come up with something clever to say, but in the end, she opted for honesty.

I’d love to, Ewan. I guess I’ll see you this weekend then?

His reply came swiftly.

Definitely. And hey, if you need a nap while we’re out, I’ve got a shoulder for you anytime.

She couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest finally releasing as she typed out her response.

You better be careful with offers like that, or I might just take you up on it.

Another ping.

Looking forward to it, Y/N.

As she put her phone down, Y/N found herself grinning like an idiot. She curled up on the couch, the weight of exhaustion lifting slightly as she thought about the weekend ahead. It seemed like this little nap incident might have been the best thing that happened after all.

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 8

Summary: You spend Christmas with your family and are joined by an unexpected guest.

CW: Discussion of family trauma (Sirius'; reader has a good family), allusions to sex.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter is a little late. I was meaning to get it out closer to actual Christmas Day but things just got really busy. I still hope you enjoy nonetheless and that you all had a wonderful Christmas!

--

Christmas Eve had rolled around quicker than you expected and you suddenly found yourself scrambling to pack for your trip home for the holidays.

James had left the day prior for a vacation with his family and Remus had headed home earlier that morning. The only person left in the apartment was Sirius.

You found him sprawled out on the sofa as you lugged a heafty suitcase of gifts out into the living area. He looked over at you in amusement.

"Need some help with that?"

"Maybe," you responded, already out of breath just from the journey down the hall. "I still have to get it down the stairs yet. I'm not sure I thought this all the way through."

He chuckled deeply.

"Well, let me know when you're leaving and I'm happy to assist."

"Thanks Sirius."

You paused for a moment then, gazing at him thoughtfully. He was wearing a tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt and his hair was tied into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He was watching some Lifetime Christmas movie absent-mindedly. You noticed that he didn't seem paricularly fesitive.

"So what are your plans for Christmas?" You asked him as you dragged your suitcase towards the door.

He shrugged, eyes still glued to the TV. "I don't have any, really."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really get on with my family anymore and usually I'd spend the holidays with James but as you know, he's in Australia for Christmas this year and I couldn't quite afford the airfair. I thought I'd just spend Christmas here."

Your frown deepened so much that you were sure it'd give you premanent forehead wrinkles. "So what? You're going to spend Christmas alone?"

"I suppose."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you assessed him. You hated the idea of just leaving him alone in the cold apartment during the holidays.

"Okay, get up," you told him after a moment.

He looked at you, perplexed. You just sighed and crossed your arms over your chest.

"You're coming home with me for Christmas."

He raised a brow. "I appreciate the gesture but I don't think-"

You rolled your eyes, cutting him off. "I'm not taking no for an answer. If you think there's any chance I'm just going to leave you here, then you're out of your mind. Now hurry up and grab your things!"

--

It was a couple of hours drive from the city to your hometown and you couldn't help but take notice of Sirius' nervous fidgeting the whole way there.

The sun was just starting to set when you arrived.

"Y/n! Darling!"

Your mother swung the door open, a giant smile painting her face at the sight of the two of you. She threw her arms out, embracing you in a warm, comforting hug.

"Hi Mum! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she pulled back, glancing up over your shoulder. "And you must be Sirius!"

"Lovely to meet you," the boy greeted, uncharacteristically politely. He stuck his hand out towards her.

"Oh, don't be silly," your Mother exclaimed, bypassing the handshake and delving in for an equally enthusiastic hug. Sirius looked briefly surprised by the gesture, before leaning down and heitantly returning her affections.

"We're so excited to have you," she announced kindly.

"Is that y/n?" a voice called from through the threshold.

"Oh yes! Come in, you two. The family's all inside."

"Darling! So good to see you!" your Dad stated, getting up to embrace you as well. Sirius hung back as you were greeted by enthusiastic family members.

Once you'd said 'hello' to both parents, grandparents and your younger brother, you turned back to look at your roommate.

"Everyone, this is Sirius," you introduced. "He'll be joining us for the next few days."

"Oh my! You're a very handsome young man!" Your grandmother declared. Sirius let out a soft chuckle.

"Thank you. I'm flattered," he responded slickly. "You're quite lovely yourself."

You held back a laugh as your Nana's face flushed red. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker?"

"So are you y/n's boyfriend or something?" Your brother chimed in from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, assessing Sirius through squinted eyes.

"Oh no, nothing like that," you were quick to assure. "Sirius and I are just friends. He's my roommate actually."

"Right..." your brother responded. He didn't seem convinced.

You were distracted by a sudden loud clap from your mother.

"On that note, why don't I show you to where you'll be staying?"

You and Sirius followed her up the stairs and down the hall.

"This is you."

She swung open the door to reveal your childhood bedroom. It was still adorned with the same brightly coloured wallpaper that you had growing up, and cluttered with long forgotten momentos of your adolescence.

Your eyes widened slightly as they fell on the queen bed postioned in the center of the space.

Being the gentleman he was, Sirius moved to carry your suitcases into the room while you pulled your Mum aside discreetely, looking around to make sure no one could hear you.

"Mum, there's a... uh, slight issue the bedding arrangements."

A look of feigned innocence crossed her face. "Sorry but there wasn't much I could do on such short notice. You're grandparents are staying in the guest room. So unless you think Sirius should take the couch, or share with your brother, he'll have to sleep in here with you."

You sighed thickly. There was a twinkle of mischief glimmering in he eye.

"I see what your doing here," you uttered, an unimpressed look gracing your features.

Your family had spent years trying to set you up with various different suiters during your holiday visits. Their intentions were good but for some reason they just couldn't stand the thought of you being single.

"I'm not doing anything!" your mother responded with mock offense. "It's simply out of convinience, that's all."

You rolled your eyes. "Right. Sure it is."

She shrugged. "But you know, if there was anything going on between the two of you-"

"Mum!" you scolded harshly.

"I'm just saying! He's very cute!"

You glanced back at the doorway behind you and rolled your eyes. However, you couldn't deny the facts. Sirius was a very attractive man.

"Anyway," your mother stated. "I'm going to get a start on dinner. I'll give you two a moment to settle in."

She sent you a glaringly conspicuous wink as she turned and headed back down the stairs.

You huffed loudly and ventured into the room. Sirius looked up as you entered, from where he'd been examining a set of porcelain figurines on the dresser.

"Everything okay? I heard a lot of whisper-shouting," he smirked.

"Yes. Yeah, it's just my Mum. She can be a bit overbearing at times."

"She seems nice," he murmered absently and suddenly you felt a terrible sinking feeling in your gut.

Sirius had been his usual, confident, charming self during the whole ordeal thusfar, but it didn't go unnoticed, the hint of discomfort that he was trying to mask. It dawned on you that he may not be used to such warm, welcoming family envionments.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Sorry, about the... um, sleeping situation."

He gave you a gentle smile. "I'm okay if you are- to share, I mean."

You felt your palms grow sweaty. God, his smile was deadly.

"Uh, y-yeah. That's fine."

"Great," he nodded. Then he glanced once more around the room, taking in it's eclectic design choices. "So this is where you grew up, huh?"

"Yes it is. Gorgeous, isn't it?" you remarked sarcastically, gesturing to the pink and blue striped wallpaper.

"So tell me," he teased. "How many boys did you sneak up here over the years?"

"Oh loads. Yeah, I was clearly very popular in highschool."

He barked out a laugh. "Of course. I'm sure all the guys were just lining up to spend some time under these lovely magenta bedsheets."

You chuckled, looking up to meet his eyes. He sent you a handsome grin, a dimple popping out in his left cheek and suddenly you felt a lot more at ease.

Maybe this situation wasn't so bad after all.

--

You awoke the next morning to the feeling of an arm splayed across your waist. You looked over at the boy beside you. He looked angelic, framed by the golden morning light that was peering through the gap in the curtains.

The previous night had gone extremely well, with Sirius charming your family in various ways over dinner. He'd chatted to your Dad and brother about shared music tastes and listened to your Nana's long-winded stories with unwavering interest. He even made sure to go back for seconds on every course of your mother's Christmas Eve menu. Overall, he'd been a perfect gentlemen.

As you gazed at the man, taking in his boyish, almost delicate features, he began to stir. He blinked up at you, gathering his bearings before a smirk overtook him.

"Merry Christmas sweetheart," he murmered, his voice deep and heavy like the strings of a bass guitar.

"Merry Christmas Sirius."

--

Your family was gathered in the living room when you made it down stairs, cups of hot chocolate in hand and ready to exchange gifts.

"Took you two long enough!" your father called from his armchair beside the fireplace.

"Yeah!" Your brother echoed. "What were you doing up there anyway?"

You rolled your eyes and slapped him gently on the shoulder as you came over to sit beside him on the floor. Sirius hung back awkwardly, not quite sure where he fit into the family dynamic, something that didn't go unnoticed by you... or your grandma.

"You can have a seat right here, hun." She patted the spot on the sofa beside her.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Sirius follow her direction, squishing in to the tight seat between your grandparents. You raised a brow at him from across the room and he responded with an tight-lipped smile.

"Alright! I think it's time for gifts!" your Dad announced.

It took a while to get through all the boxes piled under the tree. By the end of the ordeal you had precured a mass of items including, several handmade bees wax candles from the shop down the road, a boldly detailed set of teacups, a new sunhat and a lovely pair of earrings from your mother.

Your gaze trailed back to Sirius every once in a while, taking note of the way he curiously watched on to see the reactions of your family as they opened their various gifts. It occured to you that Sirius had likely never experienced a pleasant Christmas morning such as this one before. Something in you felt very glad that you'd dragged him along this year.

"This one's for you, Sirius!" your mother chirrped after most of the presents under the tree had sucessfully been unwrapped. She held out a gift box towards him, over the sea of massacarred Christmas paper that now covered the floor.

Sirius eyes widened. "Really? Oh, you didn't have to get me anything."

Your mother chuckled warmly. "Well we couldn't leave you giftless during all of this, could we?"

Sirius smiled but seemed hesitant in taking the box.

"It's only something little," your mother informed.

Your brows furrowed as you watched Sirius take the gift. You hadn't been made aware that your family had gotten him anything. Especially on such short notice.

Sirius carefully removed the wrapping paper to find a large silver box hidden beneath it. Cautiously, he opened it up and you couldn't contain the snort of laughter that burst from you at the sight.

Sirius let out a throaty chuckle as he held up the ugliest Christmas jumper you'd ever seen. The rest of the room was quick to follow as they assessed the man's gift.

It was a frosty blue colour with a giant, smiling snow-man in the centre. There were snow-flakes of all shapes and sizes surrounding it, adorned cheaply with silver glitter that was bound to shed and get into every nook and cranny of the house.

"Wow. This is uh... well, it's definitely something," Sirius muttered as he analysed the woolen monstrosity.

"You could wear it today!" your grandmother suggested and you let out another chortle at the insinuation.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I could."

With that, he hesitantly reached up and slipped the piece of fabric over his head. Everyone in the room began to cheer jokingly as he secured the item.

"How do I look?" he asked, throwing his arms out to show off his present. He looked directly over at you.

"Oh, it's super sexy," you teased.

"Knew it," he responded leaning back on the couch. For the first time since he arrived, it seemed that the playful glint in his eyes had returned. You could tell he was finally starting to feel more comfortable. "I reckon there'll be a queue for me outside the door once all the girls in town get a glimpse of me in this thing."

"Well, I think you look very handsome," you grandmother chimed in.

Another eruption of laughter filled the room.

--

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Your Aunt's family came over for Christmas Lunch and you got the chance to observe Sirius in caught up in an intense nerf gun fight with you younger cousins as you helped set the table.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight and the revelation that the man was surprisingly good with kids.

You spent the day laughing and drinking and unwrapping presents. All the while, Sirius never even thought about taking his new jumper off. In fact, he'd never tell a soul but secretly he found it very comfortable.

The day ended where it began, in the living room. With bellies full of Christmas ham, your family had spent the evening sipping brandy and remeniscing about your childhood in the english countryside.

You'd never felt more embarassed in your life as when your grandfather recounted the tale of you falling head-first into the touching pool at the aquarium you visited on your 6th birthday.

You also noticed the way that Sirius laughed loudly at all the stories, soaking up the energy in the room as if he was trying to freeze the moment in time. You found yourself drawing closer and closer towards him on the couch during the night, gravitiating into the comfort of his contact.

Everyone was pretty tispy by the time 11:00pm rolled around and one by one, began heading off to bed. You, Sirius and your father were the last men standing as the clock approached midnight.

"Well, that's it!" your Dad sighed, glancing down at his watch. "Christmas is over for another year."

"What a shame," you sighed. You were propped up on the sofa beside Sirius who had an arm lazily thrown around your shoulders. Unconciously you found yourself nestling into his side. "I wish it could be Christmas all the time."

"That sounds awfully expensive," Sirius teased and your father chuckled in response.

"Well, I'm off to bed," you Dad announced, getting up from his seat and setting down his mug. "Do you two need anything before I go?"

You shook your head gently. "Nope. We're good I think."

"Well then," he came over to place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll see you in the morning. Merry Christmas guys."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," you called after him at the same time as Sirius muttered a "Goodnight Sir," in his direction.

And then there were two.

The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from the twinkling Christmas lights that adorned the tree in the corner. Snow was falling steadily outside and the fire crackled in the fireplace on the opposite wall from where you sat. You could feel the alcohol buzzing through your veins.

"Did you have a nice time?" you asked Sirius, scooting away from him slightly to get a better look at his face.

"I had a lovely time. Did you?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "I always have a lovely time on Christmas."

Sirius chuckled. "I can see why."

His eyes darkened a bit and you could tell he was thinking about some distant memory, probably from childhood, that rattled around in the back of his brain.

Maybe it was the alcohol or just the comfortability of being in your childhood home, but you decided that tonight was the night to broach the subject.

"James told me that you don't get along with your family."

Sirius scoffed. "That's putting it lightly."

You frowned. "I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault," he murmered, gazing into the fire. "They're awful, rancid people. The lot of them."

"But you're close with your brother aren't you?"

Sirius sighed. "I am now. Took us a while to get there, though."

"Oh."

You sat back, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at him. He looked ethereal in the flickering fire-light. There was a moment of heavy silence between the two of you. One that clouded the room and settled like dust over the furiture.

You didn't want to push him to talk. Not if he wasn't ready. However, after a few long seconds, he began to speak again.

"I ran away at sixteen, you know?"

He turned to look at you, stormy eyes boring down into your own. They were full of so much emotion. All the pain and vulnerablility he was so good at masking was coming to the surface, brought forward on the tides of liquor.

"i just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take them. My parents- well, they were always mad at me about something. What classes I was taking, who I dated, who I was friends with. It just seemed at that point, like all they could do was yell at me."

"That sounds awful," you sympathised.

"It was," he continued. "And the worst part of it was how they pitted me and Regulus against each other, made us compete for their love and attention. Regulus and I didn't speak for years after I left."

"Where did you go?"

He huffed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "James'."

A sort of fuzzy warmth erupted somewhere in your gut.

"That's nice. It's good that you had someone you trusted so much."

"James is my best mate in the world," Sirius explained. "And his family took me in like I was one of their own. If it wasn't for them... well, I don't know what I would've done."

"He's a wonderful person," you responded fondly. "We're very lucky to know him."

"That we are."

There was a pause and then:

"You're a wonderful person as well, you know? I also feel lucky to know you."

You felt an explosion of heat behind your cheeks, and you had to turn away from him quickly to hide your embarassement. Your heart was pounding in your chest and suddenly your throat was as dry as a desert.

"Come on, I think we should go to bed now.”

You stood abruptly from the couch, grabbing his hand in yours and tugging him up with you. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, doing your best not to disturb any of your sleeping family.

"Wait! Hold on a second."

You stopped in the doorway of your room, coming face to face with the boy in front of you. He was standing very close, eyes alight with an emotion you couldn't quite describe.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Then he gestured upwards. Following his direction, you looked up to notice a single strand of Mistletoe hanging from the doorframe. You could only guess who put it there.

Then you looked back at Sirius, who had a small smirk painted on his lips. Slowly he began to lean closer towards you.

"We have to do it," he murmered, your lips only centermetres apart. "It's bad luck if we don't."

Then, in an instant, he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours. Sparks errupted within you as you kissed him back.

Sirius moved his hands into your hair, lacing them in between thick strands. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into the doorway and pressing him up against the wall.

Suddenly, he was reaching towards the hem of your shirt, fingers dancing over the skin of your hip and sneaking up your side. You let him.

Before you knew it, that stupid Christmas Jumper was decorating the bedroom floor.

You grinned against his lips as Sirius pulled you down onto the bed.

--

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife @eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone @ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld @switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill, @delusional-4-fake-people, @ch4rlotte35, @insideoutjulie, @hiireadstuff

[servicpop]

CURRENTLY VIEWING : slightly obsessive deliquent oc x good student male!reader

「ㅤSFWㅤ」ㅤbandaging up your (almost) bf adrien after a bad fight!

✙ warnings — mention of violence / blood / slight homophobia / slight suggestions of stalking or obsession

notes ,, first actual writing post... hope you guys like it "

Adrien and you lived two worlds. You were a model student, perfect in every way, whereas Adrien was nothing but a deliquent who skipped all his classes and failed all of his subjects (except for sports). If you two were so different, how did you end up together?

It started with an exchange of glances when you both started your first year of being a senior, somehow your presence was never known by Adrien until that one glance turned into never ending eye-contact, briefly smiling at eachother as you two met eyes from across the courtyard. His heart felt like it was about to crumble whenever you smiled at him. Your lips, your perfectly imperfect teeth shining at him. He had definitely fallen for you.

But how would his friends feel if they knew he was crushing on another guy?

As much as he wanted to hide it he couldn't. Everytime he went home and sat down in his chair, he would be welcomed with your face in the form of printed pictures stored in his top drawer. He knew it was wrong but he couldn't help it, you were so attractive you reeled him in like a fish. But somehow. Somehow. You and him talked more and more, exchanged numbers, hung out a few times and even brushed hands once! Adrien for sure didn't wash his hand after that. You weren't confirmed to be dating but it sure seemed like it.

And that was the start of Adrien's fall for you.

It was around 5:00pm, the sun still shining brightly but casted a slight orange hue into the empty council room, indicating that sunset would near. You were currently in said room, sorting the books, cleaning the tables, finishing off the work your teachers assigned you because you were such a good student. Yeah it was nice for them to rely on you but to be honest, all you wanted to do was go home but alas you couldn't.

Almost as if the universe pitied your unbearable boredom, the door to the council room clicked opened. At first you thought it was a teacher, but turning around you met the deep eyes of Adrien. His soulless eyes bore into yours, his knuckles dripping with blood as he stumbled into the room, almost collapsing on the couch.

"Got into another fight," He grumbled, his deep sultry voice reverberated in the room. Shit, his voice was hot. Snapping out of your thoughts, you quickly rushed over to him, viewing his bloody and bruised knuckles. It looked bad. Probably from beating the shit out of someone but you wouldn't question it. After some rummaging around you finally found the first aid kit, clicking the white box open before kneeling down infront of Adrien, a small smirk plastered his face.

"You don't have to you know? I just wanted—" Adrien's voice was cut out by a sharp hiss as you applied the alcohol to his wounds.

"Let me be a good friend to you."

Ooh... friend? That hit Adrien straight to the gut

"I just wanted company."

"Then your not allowed to hold my hand with those bloody knuckles."

"..."

"please bandage my fingers."

A wholehearted chuckle left your throat as you fished out the puppy patterned bandages around his knuckles, making sure you kissed each and every knuckles after. Just to make sure that there was no lingering pain of course, not because you two were had something for eachother or anything. You looked up at Adrien to see a small smile on his face, he was always so serious looking and whenever he smiled it was usually the shit eating grin type of smile. You had only really grown closer with him for a few weeks now so... why were you already hooked on him?

"You lost in thought?" He asked, snapping you out of your little trance. You shook your head, and he brought your chin up to meet his in a light kiss, his calloused fingertips gripping your chin lightly while his other hand found solace in your own. It was something straight out of a romance movie, his warm fingers against yours, his lips against your soft ones in such a gentle kiss. You never knew deliquents could be this gentle. Pulling away you wiped your lips and tugged your hands from Adrien's. You weren't dating him. You can't do this. You turned your head a pout adorned your lips, "Don't just casually kiss me," you huffed.

"But I know you liked it." Adrien hummed.

extra notes ,, I didn't have a full goal for what relationship reader and Adrien would have but i really liked the enemies to lovers sort of denial trope. I also experimented with the colour coding of the text, I find it easier to identify when they're speaking but let me know your preferences! I'm a bit nervous posting this since its my first time ever posting on tumblr but yeah! Also no smut yet, still getting warmed up you know

[tiramisuc0ffee]

Warm Afternoons.

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!reader

Summary: After wrapping up a more than pesky mission, you and Satoru decide to laze about for a few hours before returning to Jujutsu Tech... which leads to Satoru being a lot more sentimental than you both are used to.

warnings/tags: Takes place before "The Ghost of You" (which you can read here), this is just a further look into the reader's dynamic with Satoru :), reader and Satoru are close friends, and themes of unspoken feelings, it's like pretty clear that they like each other.

word count: 1.9k (THIS IS MUCH LONGER THEN I THOUGHT OOPS)

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

"God that was so annoying"

Your voice slices through the tranquil evening, disrupting and overtaking the buzz of cicadas and the gentle symphony of the wind as you approach a lonesome bench that stands planted before a river. The sky is a canvas of orange and yellow as the sun dips towards the horizon, its warmth kissing your skin. A gentle breeze rustles through the grass and nearby foliage, creating a mesmerizing, smooth oceanic hum that cushions your approaching footsteps.

A soft snicker meets your ears and you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you prepare for one of his usual snarky remarks.

"You got knocked on your ass pretty hard. You sure you're okay?" Satoru speaks, his eyes meeting yours as you sit beside him on the bench. He sports a teasing grin but his eyes betray his demeanor as you easily spot the specks of concern lingering in them.

The mission the two of you had wrapped up no more than an hour ago had been undeniably frustrating. What was supposed to be a routine exorcism of two second-grade curses had turned into a chaotic struggle against two first-grades, both capable of using cursed techniques. While it was nothing more than a small adjustment for Satoru given his well-praised Infinity and Six Eyes, you definitely had been taken off-guard. Not anticipating the usage of cursed techniques and the sheer force behind them led to a few cuts and bruises that honestly stung more from frustration than pain.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you had been set up for failure by being fed false information by Yaga.

Scoffing at his words, you give his arm a gentle nudge with your elbow, sinking further into the curve of the bench, "Shut up, I was just caught off guard for a moment..." you murmur before a soft smile tugs at your lips, "But I'm okay. Just a few scrapes here and there.... I'll see if Shoko can patch me up when we get back..."

Satoru simply nods at your reassurances, a soft hum escaping his lips as he gives you a once over as if to confirm that you were actually telling him the truth.

It was annoyingly stupid how he tended to do this. He had these moments where he seemingly stared into you, seeing through your being, opening you up, dissecting and picking apart your every feature.

It made you feel so exposed—being under the microscope that was his cerulean eyes. His eyes were breathtaking, there was no doubt about that, but these moments made you realize how those blue oceans could be oh-so intimidating and you briefly wondered if this is how most cursed spirits felt when being face to face with his power.

You shudder slightly, and he quirks an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly before grinning, "what?" he asks, though his eyes never leave you.

You shake your head waving him off wordlessly, and you can't help but smile just a little wider before bringing the straw of your smoothie that you bought beforehand to your lips. You hum softly as the cold sweetness coats your tongue, bringing a refreshing calm.

After spending so much time with him since the two of you met in your first year, you've come to understand that this simply was his way of showing concern. He never was one for soft words or heartfelt expressions; his awkward attempts at sentiment were as endearing as they were clumsy.

"You don't think the higher-ups will be mad if we're a few hours late with our report, do you?" He then asks, shifting his gaze off of you and watching the sun through his dark round sunglasses.

You let out a soft chuckle, wordlessly pressing the straw of your drink to Satoru's lips watching him take a sip without hesitation.

He hums, smiling softly as the cool liquid coats his tongue. "Mango?" he inquires, his tone light and curious.

"Mhmm" you hum out, bringing the straw to your lips as he finishes taking another sip.

His arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You find yourself leaning into him, the closeness feeling as natural as breathing. It's a simple gesture, but it's one that feels like a second skin for both of you. The way Satoru effortlessly bridges the gap between you two speaks volumes more than any words could.

You were magnetic to him. Being close to you, talking to you, being in your presence, it all just felt so correct, it felt so easy. He honestly couldn't pinpoint when this physical aspect of your friendship first developed...

Maybe it was when you welcomed him back with a bone-crushing hug after he had been away on a 2-week mission with Suguru. Maybe it was when he brushed and braided your hair during one of your many sleepovers in your dorm room, the two of you sitting on your bed, his long fingers, delicately touching your hair and somehow perfectly braiding your hair despite him insisting it was his first time.

...Maybe it was when he awoke the following morning, with you in his arms, your head resting on his chest and your arms around his waist.

He really wasn't sure when it became so normalized, but slowly, he was getting to a point where he stopped questioning why. When everything felt so right, why did he need to question it? This was just the way things were between you two.

Even though he knew for a fact that you weren't this way with anyone else just as he was only this way with you, there was no need to think too deeply about the implications, right?

"I'm sure they may have a lot to say if you're gone for too long, Mr. golden child of the jujutsu world," you remarked sarcastically, finally responding to his question with a smirk. He rolled his eyes at you, pursing his lips at your words, "Me on the other hand, I don't think they're all that concerned.." you then grumble, clearly still irritated by the miscommunication that occurred during the mission.

He laughs, the rumbling of his chest being felt against your arm as he saw through you so easily. "Don't pout too much like that, you'll get wrinkles and look like a grandpa," he teased, the hand around your shoulders reaching up to pull at your cheek. You immediately hiss swatting his hand away, "...don't pinch me, asshole," you said through teeth which only earned you another laugh from him.

You could be so crude at times, and he frankly adored that about you, because, he was the same. He wondered if that's why he felt so drawn to you since day one. He liked how you carried yourself with this lightheartedness, the way you were just so effortlessly... you. Dead serious when you needed to be, strong, dependable, but also the way you were able to keep up with him. Sending snarky remarks right back at him and telling jokes that were so stupid, he would genuinely laugh until his stomach hurt.

He smiled softly to himself, feeling a gentle warmth spread in his chest.

His eyes shifted to your face and he just... took you in.

Watching as you happily sipped on your smoothie, your fingers gently smoothing out the spot where he pinched you. You definitely looked a little more roughed up than usual... but you still... looked so nice.

As your eyes shifted to meet his gaze, he noticed a small scratch on your cheek, and thoughtlessly, his long fingers gently took hold of your chin. He tilted your face to the side ever so slightly, his eyes tracing along the split skin, taking note of the redness and irritation.

You nearly choked on your drink as your fingers gripped your cup a little tighter, crinkling the plastic. Not a word was shared as you looked at each other and you felt your entire being start to warm, a sense of shyness growing deep within you.

You awkwardly laughed, "You're acting like a creep, Satoru" you joked, trying to lighten the air and get some air into your lungs. His eyes snapped back to yours and you noticed how his eyes widened slightly as if he only just realized how intimately he was touching you.

"Sorry..." he murmurs, but not making any sort of attempt to remove his gentle hold on you.

His lips parted, then closed. His eyebrows furrowed, and his throat bobbed when he swallowed. You took note of each of these actions as they played out before you.

"You know.." he suddenly says after a beat of silence passes, his voice trailing off as his mind searches for the right words to say. He wanted to say something, he knew he wanted to express something to you. But he wasn't used to this, not used to soft words of gratitude and appreciation. He'd grown accustomed to interacting with others rather bluntly or in a lighthearted, sarcastic, joking manner, but ever since he met you, it was as if he had no choice but to break this routine of his.

He furrowed his eyebrows again. Fuck...He really was trying.

"I really do appreciate us... you-" he tried to continue, pouting slightly as he stumbled over his words, which led to you letting out a lighthearted chuckle.

"Are you being sentimental with me right now, Satoru?" you grinned widely, words carrying a teasing undertone as you attempted to mask your growing fondness.

He groans slightly, finally removing his hand from your face and letting it drop to your shoulder. "Could you not right now?" he huffs out, "I'm trying to say something nice to you".

And there's a certain look in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher.

"Sorry, sorry," you giggle softly "I know you're trying...I appreciate you too Satoru" You smile softly at him, trying to reassure him that you understood what he was trying to communicate.

"It's not just that," he interjects, sighing softly as his free hand runs through his snowy locks and makes a mess out of them, "It's just nice... to have someone who simply, understands," his voice is quiet and delicate and his words are careful, coming out slow and precise.

"Having you here, having you with me... that means a lot to me... I know I don't normally say shit like this- but I do really appreciate what we have..." His eyes are now focused on the darkening sky as the sun officially says its goodbye, setting past the horizon.

"I hope you don't plan on going anywhere" he then chuckles, his smooth demeanor returning as fast as it left as he gives you a lopsided grin.

You're rendered speechless for a moment.

There's a lot you wanted to say, certain feelings that are just dying to be expressed sitting right at the tip of your tongue as you can't help but melt from Satoru's words.

But you let them sit there, those will be for another day. When it's right.

"You're stuck with me, that's for sure" You grin widely at him watching as his smile grows at your reassurance.

"Good," he says, gently ruffling your hair which has you whining softly. "...Let's head back, gotta get you all fixed up before you start crying from the pain" he snickers, removing his arm from you and standing up from the bench, offering his hand to you.

You laugh softly, taking his hand as he helps you to your feet. "Shut up..." you murmur before shoving his shoulder slightly once again.

The two of you walk side by side in a comfortable silence, the evening growing cooler and the river’s gentle rhythm growing distant. You couldn't help but smile to yourself, the fondness in your heart continuing to grow the longer you mauled over Satoru's words.

Yeah... you definitely didn't plan on going anywhere.

☆~~~☆~~~☆

A/N: I went overboard with this I can't lie LMFAO. I'm so sorry about the delay on this, I can't lie I've been putting it off because I have been drawing Gojo instead of writing about him hehehehe. This is 1 of 2 snippets I have planned as little prequels to "The Ghost of You" I will try to work on the next one as soon as possible. It will be ANGSTTYYYYY so prepare yourselves for it if you are interested in reading it!

also- like completely unrelated but I learned about the ask feature! So you guys can send me fun little messages now yippie!!

☆~~~☆~~~☆

Taglist: @hyori2 @kalulakunundrum @smolbeanzzz @numblytemporary @satxoru

(I hope I didn't miss anyone LMFAO)

[ks-dreams-fantasies]

TEACH ME PT.2 - TRAVIS KELCE

a/n: I'm so glad you guys liked the first chapter, I really hope you enjoy the rest of this mini series 🥰

Warnings: Nothing much, first getting to know each other, some flirt hère and there

Words: 1,553 (Not proofread)

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

Part 1

TEACH ME PT.2 - TRAVIS KELCE

’’Stop doubting yourself, you look great Y/N.  Now hurry up or we’re never going to make it’’ Camille said chuckling at your nervousness. She had seen you try half of the items you had in your closet to find the perfect outfit for the occasion. 

You listened to her, grabbing your bag as well as the gift you had wrapped for Wyatt before heading out the door. You were so grateful when Kylie told you, you could bring a plus one to the party, you felt relieved to be able to bring your best friend with you to calm you down a little. 

It was just a kid’s birthday party but the fact that Travis was going to be there had your mind racing with anticipation. 

You entered the lively scene of the Kelce’s backyard, amidst the laughter and chatter, a tall figure caught your attention the moment you arrived. You locked eyes for a second before tiny hands reached for you.

‘’Miss Y/N, you came.’’ Wyatt said hugging your leg tightly as you chuckled ‘’Is it for me?’’ she asked pointing at the gift box in your hands. ‘’It is. Happy birthday little one. Where can I put this?’’ you asked her, referring to the box in your hand.

‘’I’ll take care of it.’’ A deep voice said before you looked up to meet a pair of mesmerizing blue ones. ‘’Oh thank you.’’ You handed him the present before replacing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

‘’I'm glad you could make it," Travis greeted, his smile sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

‘’Me too’’ you responded blushing slightly before you remembered your best friend. ‘’You remember Camille?’’

‘’We met briefly, it’s nice to see you again, I’m Travis.’’ He said reaching for her hand. ‘’Oh, I know.’’ She responded as she looked at you with a smirk before meeting his eyes again ‘’great to meet you too.’’ She said shaking his hand in return. 

You soon got interrupted by Jason and Kylie, greeting you and offering you a drink. They had done an amazing job at decorating the backyard. The garden was transformed into a whimsical wonderland, with every detail carefully curated to bring Wyatt’s dreams to life. It was a pastel wonderland, giant balloon arches everywhere, banners with her name on it and a big inflatable bouncy castle. There was a dessert table and an open bar for the adults.

As the day progressed, you and Travis gravitated towards each other. You exchanged stories about your own childhoods and discussed Wyatt’s potential. Laughter flowed easily, and conversation felt like second nature. It was as if you had known each other for years. 

Hours passed like minutes, and soon it was time for the cake-cutting ceremony. Wyatt insisted that you stand close to her. You felt a sense of belonging that was rare to find outside of your classroom.

‘’You know Wyatt was so happy that you came today, she really adores you, actually she won’t stop talking about you.’’ Travis remarked.

‘’I have something to admit, but if I tell you… you have to promise me not to tell anyone.’’ You said a playful glint in your eyes. ‘’Anything for you’’ he said getting closer to you.

You looked up to him and got on your tiptoes trying to get closer to his ear. ‘’Wyatt might be my favorite, but I’m not supposed to admit that.’’ You said leaning back and smiling at him. Your breath tickled his neck, creating small goosebumps on his skin. He brushed it off chuckling at you. ‘’You’re secret his safe with me.’’ 

As the evening sun cast a warm golden hue over the backyard, Travis invited you to take a walk in the neighborhood which you agreed to. You both strolled along the winding path, the soft rustle of leaves accompanying your conversation. The easy banter and shared laughter made the world seem lighter, more vibrant.

"You know, Miss Y/N, spending time with you makes me wish I had a teacher like you back in the day," Travis admitted with a grin. "I might've actually enjoyed school."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his playful remark. "Well, you know, it's never too late to start learning something new."

He flashed a charming smile, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Maybe you could be my personal tutor, then. I've always wanted to learn a second language."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. "I suppose I could make an exception for a dedicated student like yourself."

The flirtatious undertone was unmistakable, yet it danced around the edges of propriety. It was a delicate balance, one that left you feeling both exhilarated and cautious.

As the conversation flowed, Travis shared anecdotes about his football career, often finding ways to slip in compliments about your intelligence and warmth.

‘’You really like football uh?’’ you asked him playfully but in awe at how dedicated he sounded.

‘’It really is my life. There’s nothing like the adrenaline of stepping on the field, people chanting your name and having fun with your teammates. I just know I was made for this…’’ he said daydreaming, ‘’sorry, I’m ranting.’’

‘’No, no it’s fine, I love hearing you talk about your passion and your career, it sounds pretty fun actually.’’ ‘’Yeah?’’ he asked surprised, you nodded.

‘’Well, you should come see me play sometimes’’ he said walking slowly, looking right at you. ‘’I would love that.’’ You said with confidence, the action surprising you more than it surprised him. You had been walking for 45 minutes and came back to the front of the house without even realizing it. 

You went back into the backyards, enjoying the rest of the evening with the other guests. It was now time to head out with Camille, you scanned the room for Travis and Wyatt and saw them laughing loudly near the photobooth area. He had her in his arms, to take photos and he had opted for a little pink wig to make her laugh.

‘’Take it off’’ ‘’Why do I have to take it off?’’ he asked his niece, ‘’Because I don’t like it.’’ ‘’You don’t like it? I thought you said you wanted dad to have pink hair.’’ She leaned in, pointing at his head, ‘’Yeah, but I don’t want you to have pink hair.’’

‘’Why can’t I have pink hair?’’ he asked her, looking offended, ‘’Because you’re naughty and you’re sneaky.’’ You chuckled at their conversation making Travis turn around to look at you with a smile on his face, pulling off the wig from his head. 

‘’Can you believe that?’’ he said fake gasping at what Wyatt said to him. ‘’That your naughty and sneaky? Actually, yeah, I believe that’’ you said smirking back at him. He laughed pulling you closer into his chest so that the photographer could take a couple pictures of the three of you. You blushed at the proximity of his body against yours. You could feel his arm snake around your waist, as he smiled at the camera, Wyatt in his arms and you by his side.

Camille was staring at the both of you from where she stood, talking with Jason and Kylie.

‘’He won’t shut up about her since they met earlier this week’’ Jason admitted making your best friend chuckled quietly. ‘’Well, he made a good first impression, she was so nervous before coming here today.’’ They all laughed. ‘’I mean they look good together.’’ Kylie added before you joined them.

‘’Thank you so much for the wonderful day, it was really fun.’’ You said, before hugging Wyatt’s parents. ‘’The pleasure was ours, Wyatt was so happy her favorite teacher could come, and she loved the gift you picked for her.’’ Kylie said smiling widely at you. 

‘’I’ll walk you out’’ he said before you both followed Camille as she got in the driver seat leaving you and Travis outside the car. You were about to open your mouth to say your goodbyes when Travis beat you to hit.

‘’Listen, I won’t beat around the bush, I had a good day with you, and I find you so beautiful and kind and … and I’d like to take you out.’’ You gulped slowly. You had an amazing day too, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you were ready, ready for something new. You hadn’t gone on a date in forever, and the last time you opened up to a guy, he broke your heart. You could hear Camille’s voice in your head, screaming at you to go out with the man. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between you and Travis and the undeniable chemistry that seemed to swirl around you both. 

‘’I’m sorry, forget it, I… I just thought we had a connection today and…’’ he rushed in response to your long silence before you cut him up rapidly.

‘’No, no … I would love to. I’m sorry I just wasn’t expecting you to ask me out’’ you laughed quietly ‘’but I would love to go out with you’’ As you bid each other goodbye and exchanged numbers, there was a charged moment of unspoken attraction. The world seemed to hold its breath as you parted ways, leaving you with a feeling that the story between the both of you was far from over.

To Be Continued

Taglist : @kkrenae @spencerreidisbootiful @nabiiturner @ilove-tswizzle

Part 3

[ladyinsturniolo]

dj!matt & micro-influencer!reader meeting for the first time!

— to be aware of…. above pictures don’t define reader, use of y/n, recreational drug and alcohol use, a few already developed friendships, potentially incorrect dj terminology, grammar & spelling errors, semi-proofread, lmk if there’s more!!

the sun had just started setting, casting an orange glow over the furniture in your apartment through the window. the clinking of clutter echoed from the bathroom as you started getting ready. saturdays in california went fairly accordingly to unspoken plan, going out is a typical 20 something year olds event of choice on the weekends after all. a close friend, tara, offered to bring you out to some random house party in the hills… of course you said yes.

that brings you to now, stuck in a smoke filled room crammed full with far too many people. if it wasn’t for tara insisting on pregame shots you’d be drowning in the bodies and bumping music. you and tara were currently stood in the kitchen, boredom had just started seeping into your guys’ minds when tara got a text.

chri$

| u at the party? waiting for u at the booth if u want in

mrs. yummy 🙈

| otw!!! i’ve got a friend with me, is that okay?

chri$

| all good, come up

mere seconds later, you were being dragged through the swarms of people. the raven haired girl pulling you through the crowd only briefly explaining where you were moving to, something like ‘dj… friend of mine…more fun…’ that was all you heard… and really all you needed to hear.

when you finally made it to the booth, two taller guys, looking around their mid-20s stopped the two of you- but before they could even speak, a blue eyed boy with a black beanie on interjected. “i got them, they’re with me, let em’ up.” as the two men moved, the boy grabbed taras hand to guide her up the stairs and she held onto you.

the actual booth was crowded, not as bad as the party scene below however. as the unknown man and tara bantered for no longer than a brief second, she quickly turned around to you. “literally where are my manners,” she pulled the now familiar looking boy to face you, “y/n, this is chris.. he’s a good friend of mine!” chris smiled, tipping the drink in his hand at you softly. “s’ nice to meet you, y/n. glad to have you, make yourself at home or whatever the fuck i’m supposed to say…” chris said sarcastically. you’d known of tara’s group of friends, stalking on instagram late at night when bored does become a habit or something like that.

the tipsy giggle you let out was uncontrollable, “nice to meet you too, chris.” you smiled back in greeting, but before the exchange could continue, a drunken yell you knew too well cut you off. “Y/NNNN!!! TARA!!! finalllllly, my girls are here!!” the the partial weight of madison’s arm on your shoulder only has you stumbling with surprise for a second. you watched as tara had the same reaction, but you both giggled with glee nonetheless.

“already plastered, mads?” you hummed out teasingly, nudging your head against her lulling one gently as your hand found the brunettes wrist instinctively. “listen..listen… carrington made us pregame okay! remind me to never hang out with the boys before a party…” madison giggled as she glanced between you and tara.

the loud screech of the microphone turning on cut through the beat of ‘Les’ by Childish Gambino, which was met with boos before chris’ voice could be heard rasping through the speaker. “alright, cut that booing shit. we’ve got my boy matt up here in the booth tonight, he says he’s got some new shit in the mix for y’all t’night. turn up, and be safe!” it was then that a beat started playing once more, the lights pulsing with them.

“shit, it’s matt’s set.. let’s get up there!” tara yelled, pulling both you and madison through the group of people. the faces she pulled you around looked familiar.. this was her group of close friends.. tara invited you out with her close friends, you could almost cry if the lyrics if madison screaming the lyrics of her favorite song so slurred hadn’t made you giggle.

looking up, your eyes met matt’s side profile. he was a lot prettier in person over instagram… that was your initial thought, ‘why haven’t you come around sooner?’ was your second.

as the night pulled longer, and your attention pulled into new conversation and a few guts from particularly strong joint later… your thoughts never wavered from matt. so, when tara and madison got lost in conversation together, you lingered closer to the front railing of the dj booth. you wedged your way to the front, watching as his tongue poked his cheek, hands moving across the decks and mixers. matt looked up towards the crowd, glancing to the side for a second.. then double taking as he made eye contact with you. it only lasted a split second, as you felt a hand tug on your wrist; pulling you back through the crowd of people. “y/n! don’t run off like that!”

✻ ˖ ֹ ִ ⟢.

it was nearing the early hours of the morning when chris ushered matt into the little circle created by the group. “look whose finally off the clock!” chris said, shaking the boys shoulders, “chill, man.” matt spoke with slight annoyance as he tried to sip his modelo. “hey man, i’m just hyping you up after a good set.” chris replied, earning a resurgence of agreement from the group. “hey but we’ve gotta see what the newbie thinks, that’s what matters most.” carrington chuckled, earning a jab and a nudge from tara and madison.

you flushed, sudden attention and eyes beaming on you like a spotlight. though matt’s were the only ones you looked at in the moment - they were the ones beaming on you most intensely. “you’re awesome man.. totally awesome. like, really you are awesome at maintaining the crowd.. really… and your remixes are sick.. so sick.. you’re so cool.” you rambled, word vomit, shit. you rubbed your eyes, looking down and sighing in defeat. “let’s lay off the weed tonight, huh y/n?” tara giggled jokingly as she plucked the joint from your fingers.

however, when you looked up, he had the faintest smirk on his face… his eyes were still on you.

˖◛ . . A/N. thank you so so much for reading!!! if you would like to be added to the TL or have any thoughts, concerns, critiques, etc. let me know… bye bye now 🌹!!!

tl: @sturnioz

[soullessdianthus]

𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐲 | 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐱 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Requested by anon:

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR SUCH DELAY, I kept postponing it and then I had other things on my head.

Summary: Task Force 141 is sent to gather intel from cartel's warehouse. However, their informations were flawed and they were cornered by hostiles. Soap got shot and it doesn't look good. What will they do in a stalemate as such?

Warnings:reader is eastern european coded (just briefly), some gruesome desc. of wounds, blood and fights, talk of killing people

Word count: 3.8k

GIF by oleworldblues

The flight wasn’t a steady one, turbulence occurring every minute on board. Although such voyages weren't anything new, those tremors were irritating to say the least. You managed to stay in the seat for the most part of it, cursing the pilot, Nikolai for such an unpleasant ride.

A flick of regret crossed your mind, scolding yourself for being so strict on him. But all the remorse passed, when another turbulence made you hit your head over the helo’s wall.

When you crossed through the storm cloud, the helicopter twitched so suddenly and you jumped in your seat. Afraid of falling off the bench, without much thinking you grabbed what was the nearest to search for support. And it was Soap’s thigh.

 ━ Jesus, since when th’ lass‘ so handsy? ━ Scott laughed it off as you straighten your back against the helo’s surface. 

━ Since Nikolai forgot how to navigate damn thing. 

━ Then ye hadn’t seen Ghost drivin’ a car. That was somethin’ to be terrified of. 

Soap chuckled while jokingly mocking the lieutenant sitting across them. As always the skull face remained solid, still and emotionless. You spent enough time in Task Force 141 to know that he had to be smirking under that thick layer of balaclava. Even if the big, grumpy guy denied it verbally. The spark in his eyes revealed all you had to know. Some people laugh with their eyes, you know?

━ I hope we won’t live that long to repeat the thing. ━ Gaz cut in, leaving the cockpit and entering space, where they were sitting. It meant they were close to landing. 

Thank God, because if the flight would continue like this, you would have bumped into all of them by the time of your arrival at the meeting point. 

The lights went off, when you got closer to the ground. A one, stronger jolt and the helo landed, dust floating in the air due to the propellers spinning around.

All of you gathered up near the exit, doing the last weapon and inventory check up. When everything was proper and intact, you were ready for the ramp to open.

━ Gonna wait for your signal on the radio ━ Nikolai said with a Russian accent, flicking some of the controls above his head. ━ Nadrat im zadnitsu [rus.: Kick their asses].

━ Sure will. ━ Gaz patted the pilot on his shoulder, before joining the rest of the team. The platform began lowering itself until it hit the ground beneath, hard.

You were supposed to meet up with Captain Price, leading a group of his own, just a few kliks from your landing location. Team’s sole purpose that night was to infiltrate the cartel’s hideout, north of Mexico's border. It wasn’t a fortress, but a well equipped warehouse at most. 

Well, at least that's what your superiors were suspecting.

They needed proof of the cartel's affiliation with powerful drug traders overseas and any other information you managed to find inside, while Price’s team created a diversion. You were a group of professionals, what could go wrong?

When all of you walked out the helo, you took a look around, eyes getting used to the darkness flooding the field around. The night has fallen as the sun disappeared over the horizon. 

You stuck closely to MacTavish as it was never smart to split up without strict order. Your main task as a medic was to keep an eye on them, patch them up if needed – overall, keep them alive.

There were no crickets to be heard, creatures hiding somewhere in the grass. But the gut feeling, or rather a natural intuition convinced you, something else was lurking in the plain field. When Nikolai started the engine again of the helo and flew off the ground, your eyes crossed with Ghost’s. 

It was too quiet.

He believed something was off too and the Englishman was much more experienced in a field than you. That could only mean trouble. 

You pinched your lips together into a fine line, involuntarily holding a breath in. Your muscles and joints were in a preparation mode. If the military had a medal for prophetic abilities, you would have a stack of them by now. 

Just as you started moving towards the old, abandoned truck in the middle of the grassy field, the first shots got fired. Your knees softened, when you sprinted towards the rusty vehicle to take a cover. 

You managed to take a quick look through the scope on your rifle, trying to asses – where were the fuckers coming from. But they hid in the bushes quite well. Those who were foolish enough to come closer to your group, quickly got eliminated.

Kyle was right by your side by the rusty car, shooting just above your head as you kneeled down. Suddenly an enemy troop jumped from his cover swinging a knife at your comrade. The steel shimmered in the moonlight.

It was a matter of seconds – despite the training sergeant had received, he couldn’t break the laws of time and space. You, on the other hand, were facing the threat directly. 

━ Gaz, down! ━ You yelled, before taking down the man, piercing his chest with few bullets. You held the rifle up and steady, meanwhile the attacker stumbled backwards and fell onto the coarse grass beneath. Lifeless. 

Kyle nodded in your direction, not exchanging a word of gratitude, but he didn’t have to. Besides, there was no time for courtesy. You were under fire. 

━ Piece ‘f cake, eh? Real nice fuckin’ cake, Lt. ━  Soap mocked Ghost earlier words, as his predictions regarding this mission didn’t include an ambush right off the bat. ━ What now?

━ Focus, MacTavish, we need to take a cover. There’s an ol’ farm, only a klik east-south ━ The lieutenant reloaded his own rifle with a firm tug on the empty magazine. As always, he kept a cold blood even when surprised by unpredictable ━  We’re headin’ there, is that clear? 

━ Aye. ━ Gaz approved and you silently nodded, feeling the raging pulse of your own heart in the neck artery. 

You noticed that his dark gaze got stuck on your face, that probably got a little too pale due to the adrenaline. You were still getting used to working in a field, you’ve never been cornered like this before. Verbatim. 

Every time after the mission, when you lay still in the barrack at night time, you wonder if Ghost felt like he was actually babysitting the whole Task Force. At least sometimes. Because it was usually you, Soap or Gaz who got into trouble.

Kyle and Johnny were around the same age, still fairly young to be in special forces, but you? You were even younger and less skilled, though you managed to catch up with different abilities than your male mates. 

And Lieutenant Riley? He was older than all of you, that’s for sure. You didn’t know how much exactly, but that’s what you managed to deduce since your joining the squad. 

So it wasn't an uncommon occurrence, where Ghost took the lead during a crisis and led you all to safety. He was more than sure all of you would manage on your own, if the circumstances were different. 

━ Y/C, with me ━ the lieutenant stated, getting ready for the next step. ━ Soap, Gaz, you go together. We’re movin’, now. 

Each soldier with a rifle held steadily in their hands, began to move swiftly through the darkness of the upcoming night. While Gaz and Soap took the right flank, you and Ghost took care of the left. The lieutenant kept in mind checking the back too. All you had to do was push forward.

It was a challenging task to keep up with their longer strides, but they were mindful of your struggles. You would never be left behind. One for one. 

The outline of the old barn appeared in the reach of your hand as you pointed the rifle’s barrel towards the two men coming from your left. You managed to take one down, by shooting through his knee, however you missed the other one.

You cursed in your native language, letting the frustration out. Within the span of a couple seconds you collected your breath and aimed once again. This time you shot him, right through his shoulder. They had bullet proof vests, therefore shooting at their chest made no sense at all. 

Shooting at the vest from up close – then, that’s a different story.

Muppets, as Captain Price called them, took down each one of the enemies without a slip up on their flank. 

You’ve never said it outloud to anyone, especially not any member of Task Force, but in a work field you looked up to…well, some of them. They executed their tasks immaculately. Whilst you still had some things to learn, they were usually understanding, willing to help out. Usually, not always. 

Sometimes, due to his harsh comments, you thought that Ghost expected you to be born with skills he achieved through the years in a service. Which, for obvious reasons, was not fair.

The way to the farm was a bumpy one, tall grass covering any holes in the ground, but you finally made it. Ghost and Gaz broke into the old stable and began checking out the insides. You were just behind them, when you heard Soap’s grunt through clenched teeth.

It could only mean one thing – Johnny got shot. You reached to touch his arm, maybe to pull him inside, but the Scottish sergeant did it anyway. With Kyle’s help you shut the heavy doors behind to give the team extra coverage. 

You finally took a deep breath. 

Ghost spoke through the radio, slowly walking up to the barn's other end. You deduced that he spoke with Price about the ambush, but your focus was on blood pouring out of the fresh wound.

You stepped closer and MacTavish leaned in, letting you take a look. And it didn’t look good. Soap inhaled the chilly air, a droplet of sweat rolling down his temple.

━ Shit. ━ You felt Ghost’s gaze upon your back, when you cursed with such passion. He was waiting on a report. ━ Bullet went through his arm. 

━ The cartel wasn’t wasting money on security, huh?  ━ Gaz mentioned, still quite not believing himself they encountered such skilled soldiers. Why weren’t they informed about that beforehand? They would take a bigger team.

━ But ━ you continued ━ because Soap is so bulky, the ammo didn’t scratch any important artery. 

━ I knew you’d appreciate my form, lass. 

━ Nevertheless, I insist on patching him up.

━ Insist? ━ The big Englishman repeated what he just heard, surely raising an eyebrow beneath mysterious balaclava. At least that's what you imagined him to do. When he looked at you, he saw your scowl. ━ Fuckin’ hell, fine. We need to stay ‘ere until Price comes with backup. 

Ghost’s voice sounded firm and emotionless as always. Maybe there was a hint of annoyance, but who wouldn’t be? The intel wasn’t good enough if the cartel's security managed to take you by surprise and outsmart the special forces. 

Kyle silently went outside to take a look around, patrol the surroundings when you took care of John’s nasty wound.

━ Hey, I’ll manage, no need to–

━ Don’t even start ━ you interrupted Scottish man, rummaging through the medic bag.  ━ You want them to follow us by the trickle of blood you left behind? Or do you want to faint due to blood loss?

━ Alright, alright, I get it, lass. Sweet Jesus. 

━ You’re like children. ━ The lieutenant pointed out at your foolish scuffle, checking each corner of the barn. 

━ Do you know children that carry M4s?━ An even more stupid joke escaped your mouth, before you giggled silently, opening the new package of gause. Even Johnny chuckled, when you began applying pressure on top of his wound. 

━ Keep your morals like this and we just might fulfill our task. 

Ghost definitely had the charisma of an exhausted father, but that was one of his characteristics that not many people were fond of. But you were. You liked his tacky humor, always a way to brighten the day.

━ One-four-one, do you copy? 

A sudden sound of the radio on your vest broke the silence. It was a voice belonging to Gaz, but usually his tone wasn’t so… nervous. Another bad omen. 

━ We need to get out of ‘ere! ━ Just as he finished the sentence, Kyle ran through the barn’s door, M4 rifle in his hand. ━ They’ve got their own reinforcement. 

━ How many? ━ You asked, finishing wrapping a tight bandage over Soap’s bicep. 

━ I saw four cars riding through that bush we came from. ━ Dark skinned soldier answered, glaring through his shoulder. You have to be very aware of your surroundings from now on.

━ Y/C, you feel like sniping? ━ The skull had spoken, the brown eyes looking at you. No, through you. ━ Can you cover us?

━ Yes, I’ll keep an eye from the attic. 

━ Good. 

━ What about Price? Where is he? ━ Soap asked, reloading his weapon. 

The Englishman pressed the button on his radio.

━ Bravo 0-6 this is Ghost, how long?

━ Hang on, four more kliks. Are you still in the barn? ━ Captain asked through the speaking channel only your team had access to.

━ Positive.

━ Good, stay there. Over and out. 

Price’s voice vanished as soon as he echoed through the old stable. Situation wasn’t looking good for your team, but what else could you do? If Gaz was right and the enemy managed to distribute groups of his soldiers around the farm, there was no way out. 

So you had to defend your position and wait. For what? At this point for a backup that miraculously appears from the skies.

You swiftly climbed onto the wooden ladder until you reached the upper floor of the old stable. There were bales of hay scattered around and few windows. One of the bigger ones was facing the courtyard between the buildings. When you were in a position, you took a look around the property. 

Ghost was already prepared on the right side of the building you were in and Gaz was on the other. Meanwhile Soap was slowly walking around the antique fountain in the middle of the courtyard. 

Everyone was ready and anticipating the enemy’s next move. 

━ Gaz, three coming from your left. ━ You warned him through the speaking channel, before pointing the rifle’s end to those mentioned soldiers. 

When the adrenaline bursts inside of your veins, time passes quite fast. Which was a dangerous thing, because if you lost track of it or a consciousness about your surroundings – you would be dead quickly.

You had to withhold your nerves and focus on one task at the time.

After a deep breath in, you slowly let it out. Looking through the rifle’s loupe, you began shooting at the group that just got out of the truck. A gunfire right beneath their feet, before they got perforated with your bullets. 

A bitter, metallic taste spreaded over your tongue. You swallowed some saliva, checking up if you had bit the inside of your cheek. It happened before, when you completely zoned out during a shooting. You were so fixated on the task, you clenched your jaw on the delicate tissue. 

But this time it was just remorse, building up each time you pulled the trigger. Of course, you knew not each inflicted harm caused inevitable death, some just made the enemy’s soldiers… indisposed. Nonetheless, it was a burden you had to carry on your shoulders.

When you cleared out the zone near the parked car, your sight moved to the Ghost outpost. He was stabbing the soldier's neck and shoulder with short and quick movements. In your assessment, he was doing fine.

Then when you wanted to check on Gaz and Soap, there was a thud over the wooden surface that got your attention. You snapped your head towards the sound and saw one soldier that managed to climb  here. 

━ I found the sniper. ━ The man said into his own radio, hooked over his tactical vest. 

He rushed towards you and you tried to point your rifle at him. The man was faster and he grabbed the weapon, stopping you from shooting at him. There was only a little window of time to decide what to do next. So you used all your body weight to tackle that soldier to the ground.

Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you pushed forwards, causing him to fall backwards. Meanwhile, still having an upper hand, you reached for a karambit that was stacked behind your belt. 

You managed to climb on top of him swiftly, because that was your advantage in a clash with big, muscular men. You raised your hand and before the blade reached his chest, the man grabbed your wrist in the air, blocking your further movements. 

For a short while you struggled against his grip, trying to push the knife into his ribcage with the mass of your upper body. However, the mercenary locked you with his leg and rolled over you, trapping you beneath him. 

You took a quick look around – both of you rolled over dangerously close to the edge of the attic. A sight of a few meters depth made you lightheaded. So you continued struggling, as the soldier held a firm grip over your wrist, cutting the blood flow. Even when your wrist went numb, you did not drop that karambit. 

It was your most valuable bargaining chip in this situation.

You huffed a couple of times, slightly changing the position under the man’s frame. But when he finally reached for his gun, you grabbed the short barrel and pointed it far from your head. 

Calculating the next step carefully, you decided to let him win over the knife in your hand. Because with the drop of it, he released your wrist. The man swung his whole shoulder to punch you in the face. 

For a short moment you saw spots in front of your eyes, when his clenched fist met your cheekbone. Ouch. 

And finally, when your arms began to give up, you focused your defense on your legs – they were stronger. You managed to tuck them beneath his pelvis and strengthen your legs, kicking him over your head. Only then, you released the barrel of the gun. 

The mercenary fell over the edge of the attic and onto the ground beneath. You heard the loud thud followed by a crack. He broke his neck.

You laid there for a while, collecting your breath as you just faced death. Quite a normal day in the life of a soldier. The shootouts from the outside began to fade and it got you worried. You had to check that out.

━ Steaming Jesus ━ a familiar voice, brought you back to your full strength. You got up on your knees and carefully looked through the hole in the floor. ━ Is that how you greet people?

The American was standing above the body you just threw from the upper floor. A puddle of blood staining the ground. 

━ Alex! ━ You expressed your enjoyment, seeing your college for the first time in a while. It meant he came with a backup. A miracle of tonight's ambush.  ━ You’re saving our asses. 

━ Come down now, the situation is under control. 

You ran to gather your weapon, before hooking it around your shoulder. You quickly climbed down the ladder and walked up to a man with bright eyes and trimmed mustache. 

━ Laswell send her regards. Price team wouldn’t make it on time ━ Alex Keller explained, putting one of his hands on your shoulder as the two of you slowly walked out of the barn to the courtyard. ━ A bloodbath, huh? Only the four of you?

Soap was sitting on the fountain’s edge, the material hugging his arm wasn’t soaked with blood. “Good” you thought. Some of Alex’s soldiers that were sent here by Kate Laswell walked around the farm to check every corner. 

━ We don’t like crowds. ━ Gaz reached his hand to greet their friend, who was in Urzikstan. At least, that's what they thought. Until now. 

━ Understandable, sergeant. ━ The ends of his mustache lifted up as he smiled. ━ We should wait here for Price and regroup. 

━ So we continue what we started? ━ Just before you asked, Soap and Ghost joined the conversation in the middle of the courtyard, the pathways laid out with stones.

━ We can’t retreat now, they would know we’re after ‘em. ━ The lieutenant explained, why the retreat was an idea not even being speculated here. The presumed cartel would move along with their belongings, the proof you needed to gather. 

So therefore withdrawal was off the table. 

━ We need to strike ‘ard, now. ━ Ghost continued his talk, when the soldiers began to talk between each other from the other side of the abandoned house. 

All of you turned around to see the upcoming Captain Price, pressing his rifle to his chest. 

━ Took ya long enough, Captain. ━ Gaz stated bluntly, few droplets of blood appearing on his forehead. 

━ Yeah, the intel was shit, we’re gonna take care of it later. Now, we have different targets. Gather up. Everyone in one piece? 

The man in his forties looked at each one of you – from head to toes. Obviously, his eyes were locked with the bandage over Soap’s arm, but MacTavish quickly assured him it was only a scratch on the surface. 

Which it wasn’t, yet he wasn’t bleeding, so for the sake of peace you nodded your head to assure Price.

━ Alright, the real fun can begin. We got ‘em outnumbered, this is going to be a quick and smooth operation. No slip ups from now on, understood?

The whole team agreed and began to mentally prepare for what was coming. Captain patted Gaz on his shoulder, before slowly walking away.

━ No more flying corpses? ━ Alex whispered, leaning towards you. It seemed that only the two of you heard the conversation. 

And maybe Ghost who was standing on the other side of Sergeant Keller, because he looked at you with amusement. 

━ We’ll see about that. Just try to get on my bad side, American boy. 

Price whistled in a high pitched tone, announcing that all of you should gather up. 

Once again you had that feeling in your guts, that it was going to be a long, exhausting night. And at the end of the day, your hand would be covered in blood, like a butcher (which you swore you wouldn’t be).

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 - 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

additional notes: Joel is 36 and since I saw Tommy's age nowhere, I decided to give them a five-year age gap which will make Tommy 31 in this story. Reader is in her late twenties.

word count: 1.2k

chapter summary: Joel gets a new neighbor.

warnings: none for now!

a/n: thank you to my dearest @pedrito-friskito for editing and allowing me to scream at her over this as always, love you to the moon and back ❤️❤️❤️

chapter one

Joel sits with Tommy on the porch, surrounded by the brilliant warmth of the sun. The sky is a canvas of blue, with a few fluffy clouds lazily drifting by. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle breeze feels soft and tender over his sunburnt skin. A car passes by their house and comes to a stop at the next. Sarah is at school, and for the first time in weeks, Joel feels that he can fully relax. He’s speaking to Tommy, but as always, his brother only half-listens, nodding absently as his gaze remains fixed on the woman emerging from the vehicle.

Joel observes the woman stepping out of the car. She looks young, likely closer in age to Tommy than to himself. She carries a box with her as she makes her way into her new home. Her expression is in complete contrast with the bright sunshine and blooming flowers. He knows why. Losing a family member is never easy.

"We should go say hi," Tommy suggests, pulling Joel out of his contemplations. "And maybe help her with the rest of her stuff."

Joel raises an eyebrow, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth before speaking. "You do know how she got the house, right? Her grandpa died. Not exactly a happy occasion."

"Maybe they despised each other—" Tommy counters, but his sentence is cut short as Joel smacks him on the back of the head. The younger brother rubs at the throbbing pain, shooting a glare at Joel, who remains unfazed.

Joel’s eyes drop to the green grass, observing each and every green blade, “The old man talked about her all the time. I doubt there was nothin’ but love going on between them. Have some respect will ya,” 

“I feel like that’s all the more reason to go help,” 

Joel releases a heavy sigh, loathing the fact that his brother is correct. Without a word, he rises from his seat, the short wooden stairs groaning beneath him as he descends. Tommy is quick to follow, a little too enthusiastically, Joel observes.

Joel approaches the door and gives a short, booming knock. He takes a step back when the door opens, the woman looks at the two men with a confused expression, her eyebrow raised in question.

“May I help you?” she asks, eyes flitting between the two. 

Tommy takes the lead, which surprises no one. 

"Hi there, we're your neighbors," Tommy says, his eyes briefly scanning the inside of the house. "Thought we might offer some help?"

"Oh," the woman gasps, realization hitting. She quickly extends a hand, a nervous chuckle falling from her chapped lips. She introduces herself, squeezing Tommy's hand first, then Joel's.

Joel notices the way her gaze seems to see right through him, which makes him feel at unease. He clears his throat and points at Tommy, "He actually doesn't live next door, I'm your real neighbor, me and my daughter Sarah," he says, his hand still cradling hers. "Nice to meet you,"

Tommy shoots Joel an exaggerated look of offense, which he ignores but she laughs at. "It's nice to meet you too," she says, her laughter circling them both.

 It’s a pleasant sound, one that leaves both men speechless. 

“I’m actually done with all the boxes,” she says with a hint of pride. “But I would love to have you and your family over.” she addresses this part to Joel, then she adds as an afterthought; “After I get everything sorted, that is,”  

Joel opens his mouth to answer but Tommy beats him to it, “You got it, sweetheart. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on our door,” 

“My door,” Joel grumbles, his eyes digging holes into Tommy’s skull. 

Luckily his new neighbor doesn’t hear him. The only evidence that the words actually left his mouth is provided by the sharp elbow Tommy digs into his stomach. 

Bastard. 

He winces in pain, hand shooting to his stomach with a cough caught in his throat. Joel doesn’t know how to react when she reaches over and places a soft hand on his shoulder, his pulse skyrockets, crimson red peppering all over his skin. 

“Are you alright?” she asks. “Do you need me to get you a glass of water?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Tommy says. “He’ll be fine.” 

When Joel manages to catch his breath, her hand is still on his shoulder. His body reacts impulsively, taking her hand and holding it between his fingers. Blood tingles under his fingernails. He doesn’t know why, but in that moment she reminds him of stained glass; beautiful, mesmerizing, delicate. 

What the hell is going on with him? 

“I’m fine, don't worry,” he croaks, letting go of her hand. She seems just as flabbergasted as him. “Well then, we’ll be off.” 

Tommy chirps next to him, his voice like nails on a chalkboard, “Are you sure you don’t want that water, Joel?” 

“I’m sure,” he answers, his brows furrowing. “Let’s not trouble our new neighbor any longer,” 

If Tommy wants to object, he doesn’t. Just as they’re about to leave, her voice calls out to him. He turns, and the world around him shifts into slow motion. Your eyes are glossed over, not looking at him but down to the pavement underneath. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Did you know my grandfather?” she asks, stunning him further. Joel finds the strength to nod but his mouth is drained of all moisture. “If—If you don’t mind, could you tell me about him sometime? What his life was like living here. I…I hadn’t spoken to him for a while. I didn’t even notice a month had passed since…” 

Her voice breaks and trails off. Joel’s heart beats slow and steady. He looks at her with a sympathetic smile and when he turns to Tommy he sees that his brother is looking at her the same way. Grief is a cruel teacher, they both know.

“Of course,” Joel replies and your face lights up.

With that the brothers walk away from the house. The brief exchange replays in Joel’s mind in a constant loop, lingering on the memory of her smile and the tears that threatened to fall. 

“She’s quite somethin’ isn’t she?”

“Huh?”

Wide-eyed, Joel turns to Tommy. His stomach drops when he sees that same love-struck expression he’s seen his baby brother make since they were youngins. He sharply sucks his bottom lip through his teeth and bites it, he’s feeling anxious all of a sudden. The clear oxygen around him feels polluted, somehow.

“I said, she’s quite somethin’, isn’t she?” Tommy repeats, agitated. “You never listen to me do you? Anyway, you think she’d say yes if I asked her out?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Joel answers with a forced shrug. “Y’re not a complete eyesore which is a plus,” 

“Yeah?” Tommy grins, throwing his arm over Joel’s shoulder. “I think I will.” 

Joel doesn’t have anything to say to that. He allows Tommy to drag him back to their home, the subject has already changed to something mundane. 

But his mind is left at her porch. Wondering when their next conversation will be. 

[e-dubbc11]

For a summer activity, how about Billy and you in battle of the water guns. It would give Billy a chance to do things he never got to do as a kid. 🩶🩷

My dear sweet Katherine,

Thank you so much for participating in my summer sleepover, for reading my fics and for being such a good friend to me. I love you to pieces and I hope you like what I did. I wasn’t exactly sure if you just wanted a moodboard or a fic so I just did both for you. I hope you like it! 💜

Splish Splash

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, smooches

Word Count: 1.1K-ish

Summary: You surprise Billy at work and help each other cool off with something fun.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The walk through the park to get to his office wasn’t necessary but you couldn’t resist on a day like today. The fluffy white clouds were latched to a sky that seemed unending and behind those cotton-like clouds, the early afternoon sky was the brightest of blues.

You could feel the sweat gathering at your hairline and at the back of your neck and beads of perspiration slowly trickled down your chest and disappeared behind the V in your crisp white t-shirt.

You wanted to surprise your boyfriend Billy with something fun.

Briefly, you glanced down into your purse to make sure you had packed them. You couldn’t help yourself when you saw those cheap little plastic water pistols in the window of the toy shop on your way home from work last night. This will be a fun surprise for Billy.

You pictured his childlike smile, the smile that would don his face every time he was able to do something he never got to do as a kid. His childhood and innocence taken from him so abruptly, forcing him to grow up when he wasn’t ready to and to constantly look over his shoulder is something no child should ever have to go through.

And there was nothing you wouldn’t do to help him cope with that.

With each long stride along the sidewalk path was a step closer to getting to see that perfect Billy Russo smile which made your heart soar and flutter with excitement.

Fresh cut blades of grass looked soft as silk and the myriad of scents from the summer flowers floated through the air above their petals which were as soft as satin. The sweet aroma of the summer air was the work of the honeybees that were dancing from flower to flower and they continued to hum at a very low frequency, almost hypnotizing you as you walked.

On their break, construction workers wiped the sweat from their brow as they hid under the trees to escape the heat. Park benches lined with well-dressed people, eating their lunches and letting the sun kiss the high points of their faces before they had to go back to work.

You were getting close to Anvil so you texted Frank. You had given him a heads up about what you planned on doing when Billy was finished with his meeting with Homeland Security.

Please tell me he’s not back yet.

You texted.

Frank’s reply came quickly.

Not yet, kid. You got time and one of those water guns better be for me.

He said with a laughing emoji next to it.

Of course I have one for you too! Be there soon!

Outside Billy’s office was a small table for papers and forms that needed his signature but today there was only one piece of paper that read…

“Choose your weapon, soldier. XO”

And you left three water guns on top of the paper, already filled and ready to go.

You waited patiently under his desk for him to walk through the door. His voice carried into his office, complaining to others about the heat, and to not disturb him until after lunch.

Grabbing the door handle, you heard him pause as he read the piece of paper on the table and if you knew Billy at all, you knew he would take two of the three water guns, leaving one behind for Frank’s taking.

The office door opened slowly but only a little bit, you knew he was sweeping the room for you. Then you heard his firm silvery voice.

“You in here, sweet girl? Come out, come out, wherever you are, my love. I know you’re here somewhere.” He said.

You could tell he was smiling.

Carefully and slowly, you pushed the chair away from the desk and peeked above the large wooden desk plane. You took a blind shot in his direction and hit him in the hand with a stream of water.

Not wanting him to get too close so you would be trapped under the desk, you popped out from under the desk and started shooting but so did he. Every shot he took, he hit you somewhere.

The ice cold water actually felt refreshing as it splashed against your warm skin. Billy’s dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his arms were outstretched as he continued to shoot in your direction.

Suddenly, Billy felt cold water hit him in the back.

“Ah, SHIT!” He exclaimed.

Frank had a wide grin stretched across his mouth as he yelled out, “You shoulda been watchin’ your six, Bill!”

And he let out a laugh.

Billy had two guns so he could shoot at you and Frank at the same time.

“Billy Russo, I knew you would take two of them!” You said with a laugh.

And there it was, that childlike smile you had waited all morning to see, it finally happened. Water from your pistol hit him in the face and water from Frank’s left water marks on his dress shirt.

“Well, I’m outta ammo and I gotta get back to work. You two kids have fun.” Said Frank, shutting the door behind him.

With your arms outstretched, you aimed your water gun at Billy.

“Hands up, lieutenant.” You said with a sly smile.

Raising his hands, Billy let the water guns dangle from his forefingers by the triggers.

“Two against one is hardly fair, baby.” He said with a devilish grin.

You started to walk toward him.

“But you had two guns, handsome.” You stated.

Still smiling, he hung his head in defeat.

“You’re not wrong, beautiful. How ‘bout you come claim your prize.” Said Billy, playfully.

You both dropped your water guns on the floor as he cupped your cheeks and claimed your lips like it had been weeks since he had seen you last.

The bristles of his beard gently scraped against your soft cheeks as his tongue parted your lips, gaining access to your mouth so it could entangle with yours. Smiling against your mouth, his kisses were hungry as they moved up and down the sides of your neck.

“Y/n, my love, you always seem to know exactly what I need at the right time, don’t you.” He said. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

Billy never talked a lot about his childhood. He hated it, made him angry, but out of everyone, he chose to talk about it with you.

“You’re welcome, Billy.” You replied, along with a gentle kiss on his cheek.

The bad memories had been replaced with good ones, like today, and they’re memories he’ll never forget. You strived to give Billy the experiences he missed out on when he was young. In your eyes, he’ll always be good enough and he never failed to thank you every single day for telling him that.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialend @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[daryltwdixon]

Part IV

Warnings: only slightly nsfw, overall pretty angsty

word count: 6.3k

The next day, the sun beats down mercilessly as you make your way through the yard, the air heavy with heat and dust. Saviors bustle around, stacking crates, hauling debris, and organizing supplies. It’s chaotic, as usual, but your eyes land on Daryl almost immediately.

He’s hunched over a pile of rubble near the fence, his shoulders taut with exertion as he shovels the debris into a wheelbarrow. Sweat drips from his brow, streaking through the grime on his face. His movements are mechanical, his gaze fixed downward, but you can tell he’s aware of every pair of eyes on him.

Including yours.

“Mrs. Smith,” one of the guards– Joe–says, nodding in acknowledgment as you approach. He’s leaning against the fence, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. “He’s been workin’ hard. Barely said a word.”

You glance at him briefly before looking back at Daryl. “Good. He’s supposed to work hard.” Your voice is steady, cool, but your chest tightens as you watch him. “You’ve got other things to do, don’t you? Get over to the loading dock. I need those crates inventoried before sundown.”

The guard hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave his post. “Negan said to keep an eye on him.”

“And I’m saying I’ll keep an eye on him,” you reply sharply, your tone brooking no argument. “Go. Now.”

He nods quickly, straightening and heading off toward the dock. The other Savior who had been watching the scene follows without a word, leaving you and Daryl alone in the yard. The air feels heavier now, the silence stretching taut between you as you watch him work. His movements are stiff, his body worn down by exhaustion and sweat, but he doesn’t falter. Doesn’t stop.

You don’t call out to him right away. You just watch, your chest tightening as the seconds drag on. He’s changed, and yet he hasn’t. That same quiet strength is there, the same determination, but it’s buried beneath layers of pain and fatigue that weren’t there before. And it’s your fault. Not directly, maybe, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been standing on the wrong side of this for far too long.

“Daryl,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He straightens slowly, the deliberate way he turns to face you making your breath catch. His blue eyes lock onto yours, piercing through every shield you’ve spent years building. They’re darker now, stormy and turbulent, filled with anger, exhaustion, and something else you can’t quite name.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Y/N?” His voice is low and rough, like gravel, but there’s no mistaking the bite in it. 

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. His gaze feels like a spotlight, exposing every choice you’ve made, every line you’ve crossed. You’ve faced Negan’s enemies, his critics, even the people you’ve condemned to their deaths, but none of that prepared you for this—standing here, face-to-face with the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“It’s complicated,” you finally manage, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

He’s silent, like he’s waiting for more, a real answer. One you’re not sure how to give. 

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been here for a long time,” you say, your voice faltering under the weight of the truth. “For nearly the whole time, Dare. It was how I survived.”

His bitter laugh cuts through you like a blade. He shakes his head, his jaw tight as he takes a step closer. “You call this survivin’? Standin’ next to a guy like him, lettin’ him do whatever the hell he wants?”

“Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, the anger rising unbidden. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve had to do to keep myself and others alive.”

The words feel weak as they leave your lips, but you press on, desperate to justify something you’re no longer sure can be justified. You want to tell him that you built the Sanctuary to save people, to give them a chance when the world had taken everything. But the truth is more complicated than that. You’ve made sacrifices, compromises, and somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. What started as survival turned into something else, something darker.

“Then ya must know what he’s done,” Daryl retorts, his voice dropping to a growl. His eyes burn into yours, and you can’t look away. “He killed my friends. Good people, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a blow, and your resolve falters. You knew about the people Negan killed—he’d told you himself, not with smugness or bravado but with a weariness that night. He’d been tired, frustrated. He justified it as a necessity, part of the rules, part of keeping order. And you let yourself believe it because it was easier than facing the truth. But hearing it from Daryl, seeing the pain in his eyes, makes it feel heavier. Realer. Like a wound you thought had healed but never truly closed.

Your stomach churns, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides. What can you say to him? That you’re sorry? That you didn’t know? That you thought it was the only way to survive? None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

“Daryl, I—” you start, but the words stick in your throat. What can you possibly say to undo the weight of this moment? To undo the choices that led you here? “It’s not that simple.”

“Never is, huh?” Daryl steps closer, his voice low and sharp. “You jus’ stand there. Defend ‘em. Like ya don’t give a damn about the people he’s hurt. The people he’s killed.”

“I do care,” you snap, the words bursting out of you before you can stop them. They hang in the air, trembling, brittle. “You think I don’t? You think this is easy for me? Seeing you like this?”

“Then why the hell are ya still here?” he demands, his voice cracking. He takes another step toward you, his eyes blazing. “Why’re ya standin’ by his side?”

“Because I love him,” you blurt, your voice rising with the frustration bubbling over. He flinches at the statement, and your chest heaves as you struggle to keep your composure, but the words pour out like a dam breaking, “When I lost you—when I had to leave our house that day—I thought it was over. Everything was gone. The world had fucking ended, Daryl. And then I found Negan after a while, and we built this place. Together. The Sanctuary isn’t just about him—it’s about the people here. The workers, the families. The ones who don’t have to starve because of what we’ve created.”

Daryl stares at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. “You really believe that, huh? That you love that asshole? That all of this is for some greater good or some shit?”

Your voice trembles as you answer, “it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s better than wandering out there, waiting to die. It’s safe here.”

“Safe?” he growls, his voice rising. “For who? For you? For Negan? Sure as hell ain’t safe for the rest of us.”

You flinch at his words, your chest tightening as his anger crashes into you. “I know it’s hard to see–” you start, your voice quieter but no less sharp, but you take a steadying breath, “That the decisions we’ve made have been for something bigger. You think I don’t live with it every day? But what he’s done– what we’ve done–it’s for a reason. I’m still here, Daryl. I have to be.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re here, alright. Standin’ right next to him. Like the people he’s hurt don’t matter.”

“They do matter,” you say fiercely, your voice breaking slightly. “But this place isn’t just about Negan. It’s about our people too. It’s about all of them. And those at Hilltop, the Kingdom and beyond–they’re all a resource.”

Daryl’s eyes burn into yours, his hands twitching at his sides. “And what about me?” he asks quietly, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. “Do I matter?”

The question takes the breath out of you. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, and you open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. What could you say that would make any of this better? Of course he matters, more than anything, more than maybe you’re ready to state. So, instead, you just stare at him, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

Finally, he shakes his head, turning his back as if distancing himself from the wreckage. “You ain’t the same,” he mutters, his voice soft but full of hurt as he throws his shovel into more rubble. “The person I knew—my wife, goddammit. She’d never stand by and let this happen.”

You want to tell him he’s wrong, to make him see the person he remembers is still here, buried beneath the choices you’ve made. But the truth is, you don’t even know if you believe that yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper finally, the words hollow and inadequate. “I’m so sorry, Daryl.”

He doesn’t respond. He just stares at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you like a chasm too wide to cross. His eyes bore into yours, wild and hurt, and it feels like he’s waiting—waiting for something you can’t give him.

The weight of his gaze becomes unbearable, and your chest tightens as you take a shaky step back. “I have to go,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I can’t—”

Your words falter, and you turn sharply on your heel, walking away before he can see the tears threatening to spill over. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the distance between you and him is sinking into the pit of your stomach, twisting like a blade.

You don’t dare look back. You don’t know if you could handle what you’d see if you did—whether it’s his anger or his pain, or worse, him watching you leave like you mean nothing. Like this means nothing.

Your legs carry you toward the main building, your pace quickening as you push through the ache clawing at your chest. By the time you reach the door, your hands tremble against the handle, but you force yourself to pause, to take a breath, to pull the mask of composure back into place. The Sanctuary’s walls feel cold and unyielding as you step inside, their familiar chill a stark contrast to the fire still burning in your chest.

You’ve made your choice. You’ve told yourself that over and over again, but for the first time in years, you’re not sure you believe it.

You don’t stop walking until you reach Negan’s quarters. The sting of Daryl’s words still lingers, cutting deeper than you want to admit, and your chest feels like it might collapse under the weight of it all. You need to feel something else—something that doesn’t hurt.

Negan is lounging in one of the leather chairs when you push the door open. Lucille leans against the wall nearby, and a half-empty glass of whiskey rests on the table beside him. He glances up at the sound of the door, his grin lazy but sharp as his eyes sweep over you.

“Well, don’t you look like hell warmed over,” he drawls, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Rough day, baby?”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you stride across the room, your hands going straight to his shirt as you climb into his lap, your lips crashing into his with desperate force. He huffs a laugh against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist to steady you.

“Damn,” he mutters between kisses, his tone shifting to something softer, though still teasing. “Someone missed me.”

You don’t stop, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers digging into the warmth of his skin as if grounding yourself. His grip tightens, his body responding instantly to the need in your touch, and for a moment, you lose yourself in him, in the way he feels, the way he always makes you forget everything else.

There’s a sharp knock at the door, and you freeze, your breath hitching as Negan lets out a low growl. “Who the hell is it?” he barks, his voice laced with annoyance.

The door opens hesitantly, and one of the guards steps inside, his expression tense. “Sir, we’ve got a problem with the prisoner.”

Negan sighs, his hands leaving your waist as he leans back in the chair. “What kind of problem?”

The guard shifts uncomfortably, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Negan. “He was left on his own. When we went to collect him, he fought back. One of the guys got hurt pretty bad.”

Negan’s expression darkens, his grin fading into something more dangerous. “Left on his own?” he repeats, his tone deceptively calm. “And why the hell was that?”

The guard hesitates, his eyes flicking to you again.

You swallow hard, “It was me,” you sigh, your hands now resting against his chest, no longer playing along his hot skin but out, supporting yourself up, “Something came up, I didn’t think–”

“Fat Joe?” Negan interrupts over your shoulder.

“Yes, sir?” Joe says eagerly.

“Get the hell out.”

“Yes, sir.” he turns tail as quickly as he can, shutting the door behind him.

“You ‘didn’t think’,” Negan snaps, standing and setting you back on your feet as he towers over you. His tone isn’t loud, but it carries enough weight to make you feel cornered. “What the hell was goin’ through your mind, leavin’ our newest prisoner—our greatest asset against Alexandria—on his own?”

You flinch, your shoulders tightening as you meet his gaze. “I made a mistake,” you admit, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” he says, stepping closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. He lifts your chin with a single finger, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re better than that. You know this place doesn’t run on mistakes.”

There’s a beat of silence before he exhales, the sharpness in his gaze softening slightly. “We’re takin’ a trip to Alexandria tomorrow,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And you’re stayin’ here this time.”

Your head snaps up, your expression hardening. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he replies, his tone clipped, the sharp edge of authority unmistakable. His fingers remain under your chin, holding your gaze firmly as his eyes bore into yours. “You’re stayin’ here, end of discussion.”

Your chest tightens, heat rising as you step closer, your jaw tightening against his hold. “I should be there, Negan,” you argue, your voice low but unwavering. “I’m your second. If this is about Alexandria, I need to be part of it.”

He huffs out a short laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “You don’t need to be anywhere but right here. The Sanctuary runs smoother when you’re around, and I’m not riskin’ that. It’s not up for debate. You’re stayin’ put.”

“You’re not ‘risking me’,” you bite back, your voice sharpening as you take another step forward. “You’re keeping me in a box.”

“Maybe I am,” he counters, his voice calm but weighted with finality. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been stretched thin, the way you’re actin’ all… distracted lately.” His hand shifts slightly, the grip on your chin softening, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “You’re thinkin’ too much about things that ain’t your problem.”

Your stomach churns, but you keep your expression steady, your glare locked on him. “This is my problem. Everything here is my problem. You can’t shut me out of it.”

Negan sighs, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly as he leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Baby, I ain’t shuttin’ you out. I’m keepin’ you right where I need you—alive, safe, and in one damn piece. Is that so hard to understand?”

For a moment, you don’t respond, the weight of his words settling between you. His grip on your chin doesn’t falter, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your jawline. You hate how it disarms you, how the frustration inside you starts to fray at the edges under his touch.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice quieter now. “I can handle myself, Negan.”

“I know you can,” he murmurs, his tone softening. “But you’re not goin’ this time.”

The tension lingers for a moment longer before he exhales, his hand shifting lower, fingers trailing down the column of your throat. You stiffen as your back presses against the wall, his palm settling against your neck with just enough pressure to keep you rooted in place.

“Always gotta argue, don’t ya?” he mutters, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he leans in closer. “Drives me crazy, you know that?”

You can feel his breath against your skin as his mouth brushes the curve of your jaw, then your neck. The heat from his touch seeps into you, his fingers firm yet careful as he holds you there. The shift in him is palpable, the earlier sharpness giving way to something deeper, something primal.

“Negan…” you murmur, but whatever protest you were about to voice dies on your lips as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear. His teeth graze your skin, drawing a soft gasp from you that you try to swallow back.

“Yeah,” he mutters against your neck, his voice rough. “That’s more like it.”

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips trail lower, pressing firm, possessive kisses along the column of your throat. The tension between you melts into something else entirely, the heat of his body against yours grounding you, consuming you.

His lips trace a deliberate path down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that spreads through your body like wildfire. The wall at your back grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“Always pushin’ me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice low and gravelly. “Always gotta make me work for it.”

You gasp softly as his teeth scrape over the hollow of your throat, a mix of pleasure and tension coiling in your chest. Your hands find their way back under his shirt, your fingers curling against the heat of his skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You love it,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly, and his responding chuckle sends a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I do,” he murmurs, his mouth moving lower, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “But you still drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

His knee presses between your thighs, urging them apart, and the pressure is enough to pull a quiet whimper from you. His lips return to yours, claiming them in a kiss that’s as demanding as it is consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who’s in control.

Your hands tighten on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in him—in the way he feels, the way he takes and gives in equal measure. But just as the heat threatens to overwhelm you, the door creaks again, a faint sound that yanks you back to reality.

Negan’s head snaps up, his glare shooting over his shoulder. “I swear to God,” he growls, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air, “if it’s Fat Joe again, he’s gettin’ a date with Lucille.”

The door doesn’t open further, the silence outside heavy as whoever it is clearly rethinks their timing. Negan’s hand stays firm on your waist, his body still pressing you into the wall as his attention shifts back to you.

“See what you do to me?” he says, his tone lighter now but no less intense. “I can’t even have a second to myself with my wife without someone interruptin’.”

“Maybe they’re scared of you,” you tease, though your voice is breathless.

His grin returns, wide and wicked, as his thumb brushes along your jaw. “They damn well should be.”

The hand at your waist slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip as his lips find yours again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“You’re stayin’ here tomorrow,” he mutters against your mouth, the words a reminder of the conversation you’d been having moments before.

“No, I’m not,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous, and his hand tightens on your thigh. “We’ll see about that.”

You want to argue, to push back again, but the way his mouth trails down your neck, the way his hands grip you like he can’t let go, makes it impossible to think straight. You don’t want to think about Alexandria, about Daryl, about anything but the way Negan is making you feel right now.

For now, you let yourself give in, your body arching into his as his name falls from your lips in a quiet, breathless plea. And for now, that’s enough.

In the end, you had convinced him to let you come. 

“Hot diggity dog, this place is magnificent!”

Negan's voice booms as your caravan is let inside. You have to admit, he’s right. The suburban community of Alexandria is picturesque—trim lawns, pristine white houses, and quiet streets. Of course, the quiet likely has more to do with terrified parents pulling their children inside.

The leader—Rick, now that you can put a face to the name—stands at the forefront, his icy blue eyes locked on Negan.

Negan struts forward, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “An embarrassment of riches, as they say! Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You step forward, keeping close to Daryl. Your thoughts spiral as your gaze flickers to him. These were his people. Never before had you considered the full implications of taking from the communities Negan had subjugated. You always justified it as survival—a necessary evil for the greater good of the Sanctuary. Protection. Resources. Options. But now, seeing Daryl’s averted eyes, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself invisible… something inside you twists painfully.

Rick’s attention shifts to Daryl, his expression flickering with something you can’t quite place. 

“Daryl—” Rick begins, stepping forward.

“No,” you and Negan growl in unison. Negan’s tone is chipper and mocking as he echoes the word again.

“Nope!” He steps between you and Daryl, his leather jacket glinting in the sunlight. Lucille rests casually on his shoulder as he faces Rick with a smirk. “He’s the help. Tell ‘em, honey.”

Negan’s grin slides to you, his tone light, though there’s a hint of steel beneath it. His arm loops casually over your shoulders.

“You don’t look at him,” you say, your voice cold and deliberate. “You don’t talk to him.”

“And in return,” Negan adds, leaning in close to Rick, “I don’t make you chop anything off of him.” He chuckles, then pulls you into a rough kiss. “Pretty sweet deal, huh?”

You shove him off, ignoring the way his smile widens at your annoyance. “Let’s get to work.”

Negan straightens, turning to face the group of other Alexandrians, “Same goes for everyone!” he sings, his voice deceptively light as he zeroes in on a young woman nearest to him, her dark hair up in a tan hat. Her lips are full, pulled into a disgusted scowl as she looks at him with arms folded tight across her chest. Something burns in your chest, how much you’d like to rip at her ungrateful face.

She doesn’t answer, just glares harder and stalks off.

To your surprise, Negan doesn’t stop her. Instead, he looks delighted, his grin stretching wider as he turns back to Rick. He exhales dramatically. “A lotta suspense there. I don’t even think she knew how much!”

“Alright,” you say, cutting through the tension as you look over your shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road. See what they’ve got for us.”

“We set aside half of the supplies—” Rick starts, his tone controlled but biting.

“No!” Negan snaps, Lucille’s tip tapping against the asphalt. His voice is no longer playful. “No, Rick. No. You don’t decide what we take. And you sure as hell don’t talk to my goddamn wife unless she speaks to you first!”

He shifts his gaze to you, a proud grin spreading across his leering lips, “Shall we?”

“You heard him,” you bark, turning to the group. “Let’s go!”

Eventually, you find yourself inside one of the houses, scoping out the place for furniture to take back. The house is pristine, a quiet luxury in the apocalypse that feels jarring. The walls are lined with family photos, smiling faces frozen in time, untouched by the horrors of the world outside. The smell of lavender lingers faintly in the air, likely from the carefully placed diffusers still sitting on the side tables. The people who stay here have built something warm, something safe. And now you’re tearing it apart piece by piece.

Your stomach churns as you glance at Daryl. He’s in the living room with Dwight, silently dismantling the carefully curated space. Paintings are taken down, tables and couches examined for worth. The atmosphere is tense but quiet, the only sounds are the occasional creak of floorboards and the shuffle of furniture being moved.

Daryl’s movements are slow but deliberate. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched, and though he doesn’t speak, his disdain for all of this is palpable. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance your way, but you can feel the weight of his anger like a shadow between you.

You steady yourself, drawing a deep breath before turning to Dwight the next time he walks through the doorway, arms full with a framed painting and a decorative lamp.

“Leave us,” you say curtly.

Dwight stops mid-step, his brows shooting up in surprise. He glances between you and Daryl, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“Need me to repeat myself, D?” you enunciate his nickname with sharp mockery, your tone daring him to question you.

Dwight’s lips press into a thin line, and his gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, his discomfort clear. He knows better than to argue, but the tension in the room is unmistakable, heavy like a storm on the verge of breaking.

“No, ma’am,” he mutters finally, his voice subdued. He shakes his head, setting the painting and lamp down by the door before stepping onto the porch without another word.

“Then get out,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. Dwight doesn’t look back, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening in the quiet that follows.

Daryl’s eyes track Dwight’s retreat, his posture tense as he slowly turns to face you from the threshold. You glance outside, taking stock of the Saviors milling about, their arms full of furniture and boxes, before shutting the door firmly.

“Get in,” you order, jerking your head toward the staircase. “We have to check upstairs.”

Daryl doesn’t respond, but he follows you without question.

Once upstairs, you set your gun down on the edge of a dresser, the weight of it making a dull thud against the wood. You watch as Daryl begins rifling through drawers and cabinets, his movements mechanical, avoiding your gaze.

“Daryl,” you say softly, the sound barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look up.

“Daryl, please,” you repeat, your voice louder, a tremor breaking through.

His hands still, though he doesn’t turn to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.

Daryl’s scoff is low and bitter, his head shaking almost imperceptibly as he turns back to the drawer in front of him. His fingers scrape against the wood, rummaging aimlessly. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, like the word is a bad taste in his mouth. “Don’t mean much now, does it?”

The sharpness of his voice cuts deep, and your chest tightens. You take a step closer, hesitant, watching the way his shoulders hunch as though he’s bracing for something that won’t come.

“It means everything,” you say quietly, barely able to trust your own voice. “At least, it does to me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, low and humorless, his hands gripping the edge of the dresser. “Yeah? Meant somethin’ back then, too. What the hell happened to you?”

Your throat tightens as his words land heavy between you, full of hurt he won’t name. You glance down, your hands trembling at your sides. “I didn’t mean to run, Daryl. That day… everything went to hell so fast. I thought—I thought if you were gone, that if somehow you did manage to live, you’d be safer if I got out. To find Merle. I didn’t know how to—”

“Safer?” he growls, spinning to face you. His eyes are dark, full of something too raw to name. “You left before I even made it home. Blood all over the floor, walkers still there. Thought you were dead.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. The memory of that day—the day everything fell apart—burns fresh and vivid in your mind, clawing its way back to the surface despite years of burying it.

“I thought you’d find me,” you whisper, the words trembling on your lips. “I waited, Daryl. I waited as long as I could.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and jagged. “Waited? Don’t sound like it. Don’t look like it now, neither.” His knuckles whiten where they grip the edge of the dresser, his body taut with barely-contained anger.

Your chest tightens, and your gaze drops for a moment, the weight of the memory crashing over you. You can still see the living room as it was that day—your living room, once filled with warmth and life, now smeared with blood. The shattering of glass as walkers broke through the windows. The metallic tang of blood in the air. Your own shaking hands as you grabbed what you could—your bag, your knife, Daryl’s jacket off the hook by the door—and bolted.

“I tried to fight them off,” you say, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze again. “I did everything I could to keep them out. But they were everywhere, Daryl. The house wasn’t safe anymore. I thought—” You stop, your throat tightening. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“Time,” he repeats bitterly, shaking his head. “You had time to run, didn’t ya? Time to leave blood all over the damn floor.”

“I thought you were dead!” you snap, the words exploding out of you before you can stop them. Tears sting your eyes, but you press on, your voice rising with the emotion clawing its way out. “I thought—I didn’t know if you were coming back! There was blood, there were walkers, and I panicked. I was alone, Daryl. You don’t know what that felt like.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glares at you. “I made it back,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I made it back, and you were gone. I searched that house, Y/N. Looked for signs—tracks, somethin’—but all I found was a mess and no damn clue where you’d gone.”

The image of him searching the house for you, calling out your name to silence and ruin, twists your heart in a way you can’t describe. “I thought you’d find me,” you whisper again, weaker this time. “I thought you’d know where to look.”

His blue eyes blaze as he takes a step closer, his voice trembling with barely-controlled anger. “You thought wrong.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, cutting deeper than you thought possible. The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I never wanted to leave. But that day… I thought it was the end. I thought if I stayed there, I’d die.”

You pause, swallowing hard, then shake your head, your voice gaining strength. “I never thought it would end up like this, that this is how we’d find each other again. God, i’d dreamed of it for so long, Daryl. But then…I had to let go, I had to move on. Didn’t you? After I left, after I realized I couldn’t go back, I had to keep going. I had to do something, make something out of the mess I left behind. That’s why I kept moving, why I ended up here. I thought—” You falter for a moment, your words catching.

“I thought if I could build something strong enough, something that mattered, maybe it would be worth it. Maybe it would mean I didn’t run for nothing.”

Daryl’s expression hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And this is what you wanted?” he growls, his voice low and sharp. “This? Workin’ for him?”

“I don’t work for him, Daryl.” you say softly, “It was him and I that created this. Together. We found a way to survive, to protect people. To keep the world from swallowing me…us…whole. I didn’t realize what it was costing me until…”

Your eyes lock on his, the weight of everything between you heavy in the air. “Until I saw you again. Especially like this.”

Daryl shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “So now what? You just decided it don’t matter no more? That you’re gonna fix it all like none of it happened?”

“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” you say, your voice steady despite the crack in your chest. “I’m saying it doesn’t have to stay this way. I’m saying I’m going to do what I should’ve done the second I saw you.”

His eyes narrow, his breath coming sharp and shallow as he glares at you, his walls still firmly in place. “And why the hell should I believe that?”

The question slices through the air, his voice rough and filled with doubt. You hesitate, the weight of his distrust pressing against your chest like a heavy stone. Then, tentatively, you step closer, your hand lifting but stopping just short of his arm.

“Can I touch you?” you ask quietly, the words trembling as they leave your lips.

The question hangs between you, heavy and uncertain. For a moment, you think he’ll push you away, that he’ll turn his back on you completely. But then his eyes flicker, something soft and hesitant breaking through the anger, and he gives the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Your fingers brush against his hand, and though his body stiffens, he doesn’t pull away. The contact is electric, a spark against the cold distance that has grown between you. “I know I don’t deserve your trust,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve made choices you can’t forgive. But I swear to you, Daryl—I’m going to make this right. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll keep you safe. No matter what it takes.”

His gaze drops to where your hand rests on his arm, his shoulders sagging slightly as some of the tension begins to bleed out of him. His jaw works, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, tinged with disbelief. “You say that like it’s so damn simple.”

“It’s not,” you murmur, your hand inching upward to brush a strand of his matted hair from his face. He flinches slightly at the touch but doesn’t move away. “None of this is simple. But neither was surviving without you.”

His breath hitches, the sound barely audible but cutting through the quiet. His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, they’re unguarded—just a moment, a fleeting crack in the armor he’s wrapped himself in. The pain is still there, raw and visceral, but there’s something else, something fragile and aching.

You don’t dare move, don’t dare breathe too deeply, afraid of breaking whatever tenuous connection you’ve managed to grasp. Your hand lingers on his arm, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the icy walls between you. His eyes, stormy and unrelenting, search yours as if looking for the person he used to know, the one who used to stand beside him, not against him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and bittersweet, and you cling to it, desperate for him to see the truth in your words. To see the part of you that’s still his, even after everything that’s been shattered.

Your throat tightens as the moment hangs precariously in the air, fragile and fleeting. Slowly, you take a deep breath, pulling yourself together. You force your hand to drop from his arm, the loss of contact like a cold gust against your skin.

“I’ll give you a signal,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache clawing at your chest. “It won’t be today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll know.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the weight of everything between you is too much to bear. But then he nods, just once, and it’s enough.

You turn and leave before the cracks in your composure can spread too far. Grabbing your gun from the dresser by the door, you steel yourself, forcing the cold, unyielding mask of leadership back into place. It’s a shield, one you’ve worn so long it feels like a second skin, hiding the turmoil underneath.

You’ve made your promise. Now you just have to keep it.

[tommys-little-writing-corner]

My doctor says I’m ill and the only thing that’ll cure me is if you write something about Shang Tsung

Note: If you're ill, then my recommendation is simple--

Another Note: KIDDING!!! Love ya lots, Mango!!!

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Shang Tsung Headcanons -- A Huckster's Love

》 Just a little ramble about our favorite huckster, Shang Tsung. The little meow-meow... what went from being simple to now possibly just a whole oneshot fic in the form of bullet points. 》 Notes: Gender Neutral Reader, Typical Canon, Broke Ass Hoes, Fruitier Than Fruit Cake, Mortal Kombat 1 Spoilers Ahead-- You've Been Warned 》 Word Count: 700+ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

Meeting the man himself, before he became a sorcerer thanks to Damanshi's help, was rather interesting

While Liu Kang deemed that Shang Tsung would live a life of misery, to pay for the pain he had done in previous timelines, he did not consider the possibility of someone changing what he had planned

Shang would live life begging for coin, in rags, and maybe die in the streets with no coin to his name

As Shang finished his daily beatings from the local angry villagers (with pitchforks no less), you came along to drag his worn body back to the shop-- creating a sort of companionship neither one could put a name on

Before meeting Shang, you also struggled much like he did-- no family to your name, always on the run from officials and Umgadi alike

He didn't trust you at first, hesitant on your kindness from making sure he wasn't getting beat up in his sleep or continue sleeping outside

Shang did not trust you until you both agreed on a deal-- with the two of you clearly struggling, maybe there was a way to help one another

With your skills as a thief, you could steal not only high-quality materials for Shang to use for his false medicines to give them truth-- but other high value items as well such as jewelry and books

Shang would use whatever you found and give you a portion of the money he made, since you would keep some of the valuables you've found for yourself

This was your relationship for the next few years-- two people using tricks to meet end's meet

You would both wake a little before the sun rose, preparing yourselves for the day ahead

Sometimes you'd catch Shang trying to pull his long hair back into a bun, eyes examining how his hands-- covered in small cuts and bruises-- brushed loose strands back as he looked in the small mirror the makeup box offered him

Sometime's he would watch you get ready, admiring your bare back as muscles rolled and flexed while you put on your clothes for the day-- he admired your strength and tenacity, as you admired his cleverness and deceit

You both complimented and contrasted one another, almost balanced with one another as you would head out to collect more items for Shang to use or sell and he would use his charms to take money from those who would have it

Feelings for one another did not come about until things started to become... more casual with one another

The back of your hands would briefly brush up against one another more often, mumbling apologies whenever it occurred

Sometimes, though, those "accidents" would happen more often and sometimes linger, beckoning you to try another taste of his touch-- to feel his thin hand in your own

Other times came to sleep, whenever it got too cold during the night, Shang would suggest sharing the one bed to preserve warmth the best you two could

Sometimes, when your back is turned against him, you can feel the slow and steady breathing of his lungs in the state of sleep, a sign that he was alive.

Sometimes you could feel him shiver, and if he was asleep, bring him closer to you to help with the cold or was he simply faking it for attention, hmmm??? *(eyebrow raise and wiggle)*

When feelings began to become more obvious, as did the more accidents

But you both seem to understand that something was growing, something was blossoming beyond simple companionship

How to say it in words, you didn't know. Shang didn't know either.

It was something that neither one could ignore for long

So after years of it being "business" only to friends to now... whatever this was now

Everything felt right

Even though you were not rich like the kings of old, constantly remained on the move from village to village in Outworld, occasionally beaten by villagers

At the end of the day, when the moon stood high in the dark sky, pale light shining on the carriage, you two still had one another

Tending to one another's wounds, making light jokes about what happened, reminiscing about the past

The last thing you both would always see is each other's faces as you both lied down and dimmed the candle that served as light for the small room-- tired, exhausted, but happy

This was the huckster's love, before something much grander than your own home-- your own world-- intervened

[alicedopey]

Random thought: Harald pulling you close on a cold morning, asking if you're willing to spend the day keeping each other warm under the covers. - Zombie

In Bed with the King

(gif credits to its creator)

Fandom: Vikings Pairing: Harald x (Wife) Reader Genre: Smut(-ish) Words: 614 (Drabble) Warning(s): It's a little bit smutty people so don't like it, don't read it. A/N: I wanted fluff but Harald would not cooperate so it turned naughtier than I thought. Hope you will like it @thezombieprostitute

Your eyes fluttered open as the soft hues of the morning sun lightened the royal chamber. The snowstorm that has started yesterday evening was apparently done. It was still very cold though, you thought as you slid out an arm to rub the sleep from your eyes. A faint shiver ran through your body and you quickly put your limb back under the furs, meeting the hand of your husband resting possessively on your middle. You smiled and tenderly stroked his skin, enjoying the contrast between the two of you. He grumbled but pulled you closer and kissed your neck. The tickle of his beard made you giggle and you tried to get away from him. 

“Stay still, woman. Let me enjoy my morning kisses”. His lips followed a path down your neck and along your shoulder, sending shivers of pleasure through your whole body. His hand slowly glided along your upper body and stopped on your breast before kneading it.

“Harald, we have to stop”. You whispered though you did nothing to stop him and your body even started oscillating against his. 

“Why is that, my Queen?” Harald asked between kisses, never ceasing his sweet torture. His hand left your breast to travel down your body and you found the strength to stop him just as he was about to reach your sex. 

“Because, my King.” You inhaled deeply, fighting your own lust. “We have some duties to attend.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“No, we don’t.” He intertwined your fingers and kissed your shoulder again. “In fact, we are going to spend the day under those furs and keep each other warm.”

“Must I remind you there was a snowstorm yesterday and that our people…”

He cut you off with one of his hoarse and seductive chuckles. “Who do you take me for, woman? I’m not a heavy sleeper like you. I have been up since dawn with several of my men.” 

You let out a mock outraged scoff and managed to turn around so that you were facing him. “Really? An old man like you?”

Harald laughed heartily. He did not take any offense on this recurring banter between the two of you, especially because he only was a few years older than you.  “You did not think I was an old man last night”. He pulled you close and rubbed his nose against yours. “You even praised my stamina, if I remember correctly.”

“I admit you are insatiable.” 

“Only with you, my Queen. Only with you.” He kissed your nose tenderly. “As I was saying, my men and I checked the surroundings as much as we could. Most of us are stuck inside because of the snow. There is nothing we can do for the moment but keep each other warm. What do you say, dear Queen of mine? Shouldn’t we take advantage of this opportunity to work on our most important project: making an heir for the throne?”

His hand under the furs traveled down your body and hooked one your legs on his hip. You could feel his leaking tip against your dripping center which clenched around nothing. Letting go of your leg, he grabbed his cock and rubbed it against your cunt. A needy whimper left your lips and you slid your hand between the two of you to grab his sex and put it inside of you in a swift motion. He groaned as you let out another whimper, this time filled with want and need. Your breaths mingled as you got even closer and put your forehead against his. Your eyes met briefly, full of lust and naughty promises.

“Anything for you, my King.”

Tagging (feel free to ask to be added or removed): @naaladareia @gearhead66 @flowers-in-your-hayr @medievalfangirl @girlonfireice

[callofdudes]

Celebrating your birthday with the boys.

A/N: Guess whose birthday it is today. Definitely not mine 😉 so I'm breaking from requests for a day to give myself, and yourself, a treat. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This was written on the day of even though I tried to start before. 😅

Celebrating your birthday with them. (Platonically)

Word Count: 3.3K

"Do you really want to see? It's a mess there." Ghost grumbled, walking the halls with Alejandro and Rudy. "I'm sure it's fine." But Rodolfo's face contorted in horror when he saw it. Gaz and Soap were messing around while the cake was sagging and there was flower everywhere.

"¿¡Qué estáis haciendo todos!? ¿¡Queréis hacer de este sitio un puto granero!?" What are you all doing!? Do you want to make this place look like a fucking barn!? Rodolfo stormed in and grabbed Soap by the collar. "Alejandro help me get them out of here."

"Si." Alejandro rushed in and pushed the two men out. "Oh but we were baking-"

"No! This is not baking! This is a disaster! You leave the baking to the professionals while you go decorate or something!"

"Rudy-"

"¡Si vuelves a entrar en esta cocina empujaré esta espátula tan lejos que no brille el sol!" If you come back into this kitchen I will shove this spatula so far the sun doesn't shine!

They had no idea what he said but he was getting louder and angrier so they quickly slipped away.

Alejandro grabbed an apron and quickly threw away the saggy cake and wiped the counter. They emptied all the bowls and got out the ingredients they really needed. "Now we do this properly." Rodolfo huffed.

Ghost stepped down from the office wall and looked at the banner across the front. He hummed softly, and then he noticed it. "The tac is almost a centimeter off."

"Good graces Ghost, leave it alone!" Soap demanded and grabbed Ghost away before he could go back again. Let's fix up the table and add the table cloth. Ghost grumbled but left the banner alone. For now.

And Price was stuck writing a birthday card since he'd been so busy with meetings as to forget.

And all of this was happening at two in the morning.

It was around 4AM that Gaz slumped against the couch and passed out. Soap was too tired to go to his room and stole a pillow to use for the floor, and Price relaxed in his desk chair. Simon was still awake so he went to check on Alejandro and Rudy who were still awake surprisingly.

They were bustling around the kitchen like a machine at work, the second he appeared Rudy turned with a spatula. "¡Cabrones, os dije que os mantuvierais fuera de la cocina o me ayudaríais!" Fuckers I told you to stay out of the kitchen or so help me! He paused. "Oh. Hi Ghost."

"Parra. How is the cake coming along?"

"Much better than before." Alejandro peeped from the back where he looked to be layering icing onto a finely cut and well cooked looking cake. "Good. They're all passed out there so…"

"Serves them right. Me and Alejandro will clean up when we're done. Thank you." Ghost nodded and started to head towards his room. He had a long day tomorrow.

Birthday's in the military were a normal thing. Usually recruits would celebrate with each other and spend the day trying to get away from their drill sergeants. But once you have been serving for a while the idea of your birthday becomes almost numb. You have bigger things to worry about than your birthday. That was you. You had a stressful year and the idea of your birthday was out the window.

You just felt like laying in bed all day. You rolled out of bed and started to slip on your loose uniform. You looked briefly at your clock and cursed yourself. You were supposed to report to lieutenant Riley for today. Which would have been an hour ago. Hopefully you could get off easily, Ghost wasn't harsh with you unless you really acted out.

You yawned and slipped out of bed and to your door. The hallway was quiet and it almost felt empty. You looked around for any noises. Usually Gaz would be clattering by the kitchen and you could hear Soap blasting his music from the shower room. But it was dead silent.

"Ok..?"

You closed the door and started to walk down the hallway when you saw Simon. You smiled, finally, a familiar face. But your smile faltered when you realized how fast he was walking. His steps were usually silent but he was making a point to announce himself. His shoulders seemed more firm than usual. And he was headed right for you.

"Ghost?"

He looked down at you downright angry. "What is you're problem? Did you think you'd actually be able to get away with it?" He growled.

"I- Ghost I don't know what you're talking about-" He grabbed your wrist and pulled you close. "Don't play games with me sergeant, it will not go over well."

"What did I do?" You looked down at Simon's grip and attempted foolishly to pull away. "Come with me. Price wants a word with you."

You gasped when he turned and started back down the hallway. "I don't know what I did! What's going on!?"

"Mhm. Tell that to Price and Laswell."

"Laswell is here!? Ghost what is going on-"

"Quiet sergeant!"

You shut your mouth and bowed your head. Guess you'd have to learn the hard way of whatever Ghost thought you were doing. But Ghost seemed very serious and you weren't going to test him with questions. Surely Price would be much more understanding.

As you walked the hall you looked around but everything was dead quiet. The kitchen was empty, other barrack doors were closed tight and not even the recruits made a noise. You felt your heart start to pump when you neared Price's office.

You just had to calm down. There was no way you could have done anything. But the way Ghost was walking he looked beyond pissed with you. So you kept your head low when Ghost opened the dark office. It was pitch black, all the lights cut and you could barely see the edge of the desk. Ghost shoved you inside and closed the door behind him.

"Ghost..?"

"You honestly thought we'd forget, didn't you?" His voice was a downright growl. You gulped. What in the hell was going on.

Ghost reached over and flicked the lights. You hissed and covered your face as Alejandro, and Rodolfo jumped out from behind the desk and Price, Gaz, Soap, and König jumped out from behind the couch. How they all fit back there must have been a miracle.

"Happy birthday!!"

Simon hugged you around the neck and smirked under his mask. "Thought we wouldn't remember?"

You blinked slowly and sighed. "So in not in trouble..?"

They all burst out into laughter and crowded around you. "The top tier acting was brought to you by Ghost- over there Alejandro and Rodolfo slaved over your cake." You briefly looked over and saw the three tier cake decorated in your favorite color fondant.

"And decorations were brought to you by us three." You looked over at König and smiled. "So when did he get here?"

"Oh he flew in yesterday when we called. He had about a four hour notice and has had no sleep." Johnny pronounced.

König drooped. "Happy birthday. Didn't want to miss it y'know?"

"Oh, guys." You felt tears in your eyes. You smiled and opened your arms. Johnny was the first one to sweep you into a warm and very tight hug. "We love you so much. Another year of awesomeness eh?" You chuckled. "If you say so, sergeant."

Price was the next one who managed to squeeze in. He wrapped you in his arms and patted your back. "I've known you for so long and yet I keep seeing you grow and grow." You held that hug for a minute before Gaz was able to hug you. Followed by König who slumped over.

"Hey big guy."

He hummed.

"Long flight?"

He nodded and bent down to drape himself against you. "I'm glad you came. It means the absolute world to me." He hummed and squeezed you tighter. And then Alejandro and Rodolfo bugged In. "Amigo!" Alejandro greeted you.

"Alejandro!" They slammed you between them and sandwiched you between them. "We are proud of you." Rodolfo whispered so the others couldn't hear. "So proud, friend." Alejandro whispered after.

They pulled away and you smiled up at Simon, who nodded softly. You turned around and smirked. "Come on! I'm not letting you off that easily!" He scoffed, but hugged you anyway. "Happy birthday." He whispered.

Soap grabbed your hand and pulled you away. "Alright! Enough of the greetings, we need to open presents- please!"

"Soap. We talked about presents after cake and games." Price spoke.

"Oh pleeeease! I really want them to see what I got for them!!"

Price rolled his eyes. "Let's ask Y/N then. Y/N, what do you want to do?"

Both men looked at you and you shrugged. "Games and cake?"

Soap slouched. "Oh come on!"

"Birthday rules son. Go get the games."

"Fine." Soap muttered and trudged off toward the closet where the games were being stashed for the time being.

You chuckled as Soap rummaged to through the closet and came back with four separate games. Twister of course, a classic around the base. Battleship, Ghost always kicked your asses. Uno, a classic Gaz game. And regular cards which Price was pretty good at in all the games. Soap was good at Twister and that was about it. He was a good sport about it until he lost battleship to Ghost 24 times in a row and now he doesn't like the game anymore. Ghost still teases him about it.

You sat down at Price's desk as Soap brought the games over and you jokingly chose to play battleship.

"No! I'm not playing! Ye 'n' ghost wi' yer glaikit radge games!"

"Oh come on John, don't be upset." You teased.

"i'll shaw ye pure upset ye twa faced birthday con. Th' lot o' ye!"

"Soap that's enough." Price said.

You only chuckled. "I think he's upset. What do you say Ghost? Are we on?"

The man uncrossed his arms and walked over to his seat. "Don't expect me to go easy on you just because it's one silly day in the month."

"Never."

Anyway. Skipping the detail, half an hour and four games in you and Ghost were 4-0… and you were about ready to cry.

"B-4!? Where the fuck did you hide this thing!!?" Ghost chuckled at your fury. "Yes."

"Wait- I hit something?"

"Yes."

"What did I hit!!?"

"I'm not going to tell you until we're finished."

"Ghost-"

"And considering my last two guesses vertical along the board were correct I'm going to guess A-6."

You whined as Ghost had sunk your last ship. "You win…"

And then you played Twister with Soap and König. Now you have a fair chance.

Price spun the dial and looked down at his paper. "Y/N, left hand red."

You reached your hand over and planted it on the closest red to you. You were stretched out almost in a plank with Soap hunched over diagonally. König was off in the corner stretched out comfortably between yellow, yellow, blue and green. Curse his long limbs.

"How are you doing down there? Feel like giving up?" Soap teased.

"In your dreams!" You cursed back.

Price spun again. This time it landed on red. "König, right hand to red." König moved and was now converging on Soap and your two person tower.

"Soap. Left foot green."

The man complied and shuffled awkwardly to the closest spot.

"Y/N. Right foot yellow." You groaned as you were now almost starfished across the board.

"You look mighty comfy over there!” you yelled at König who still looked very peaceful. "Yes. I am."

Price spun and sighed. "König, left hand Yellow." König winced. His feet were already set on yellow. He stretched his hand over toward Soap and slowly crawled his way further up the board. Your arms were shaking by the time König was almost trying to maneuver on top of you two as well.

"König, right hand to green."

König tried to move but his feet slipped from under him on the mat and he came crashing down on top of you two. You cried when Soap plummeted on top of you, followed by an even heavier König.

"König!!! Off! Off! OFFFFF!!!"

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" König rolled off and rushed to help the two of you. Soap groaned. "You're heavy dude…" Once Soap was off of you König hesitantly reached to help you. But you were now a flattened starfish.

"Just leave me here for a bit."

And so you watched from the floor as the boys all played Go Fish.

Rodolfo ended up winning.

Once you'd sufficiently recovered you played Uno. You played four rounds in which Alejandro won, then you, then Gaz, then Price…

"Ghost! You're not making this easy!" You pleaded with your game partner who frowned at you before silently trying to reinact his game card. "Princess?? Royalty??" He pointed and nodded, meaning you were close. "Uhh, long hair- stick??" Ghost smacked his forehead. He tried again and made a small shape with his hand. "Mushroom?? Ghost what are you talking about???"

Next to you Rodolfo was rereading his card before looking back up at Alejandro. He raised his hands high and spread his arms. "Oh! Oh! I know what you're talking about!" Alejandro gasped. "The statue of the Redeemer!" Rodolfo jumped, able to break his silence. "Yes! Yes!"

You slumped. "That's not fair! You guys are like twins! Ghost, what were you?"

"Princess Peach. Gosh, you're stupid."

"How was I supposed to know!? Price, get over here you're my new partner." The man stood from his chair and placed down his coffee. "Alright, give me a card, König, Soap, you two are up next."

Price looked down at the card and sighed. When Soap and König were ready he got down on his knees and looked up at you with the best eyes he could.

"Oh! Puppy?"

"Yes!!" You cheered when he stood.

"How did you get that!?" Ghost scoffed. "I'm starting to think you're just bias."

"König, you try." Price urged. The taller man sighed but grabbed a card from the box. He looked down at it and whined. But fine.

He stood in front of you while Ghost and Soap teamed up. Soap started to make motions and the two of you got to guessing.

König stood tall and brought one arm up above his head and the other to his side at an angle.

"Uhh…" You gaped.

He sighed and started to move the head to his side around him. "Oh! Clock?" König nodded but he kept going. It needed to be specific. "Grandfather clock?" König shook his head. He tapped the top of his head and pointed upward.

"Oh! A big clock!"

He nodded. "Ok… what big clock? Is it famous?" He nodded. "Oooh, ok… where is this clock?"

König bounced. He took a new position and got down on his knees and pointed above him. "What??" You looked over at Soap who was trying to show he was riding a bicycle while Ghost just sat there utterly defeated by the sight.

You looked back at König who was standing and pretended to open a door. He stepped into that door and pressed his knuckles to the side of his face with his thumb and pinky out.

"Phone- phone booth?" He nodded.

"What does that have to do with the clock??"

König slumped against. He started to spell words by dragging his fingers through the air. R.E.D

"Red? The phone booth is red?"

He nodded.

"Red phone booth and clock??? Oh! Big Ben in London!"

"Yes! Thank goodness!" König gasped.

"Oh finally."

Soap sighed. "I was on a bicycle." He confessed.

"Bicycle?? You looked like you were having a stroke sergeant!"

"Alright everyone. Cake and presents." Price motioned over to the table where Rodolfo, Alejandro, Gaz and he were sitting.

You took your seat at the head of table where Soap snapped a party hat onto your head and Simon brandished one of his lesser valuable knives. "I can't believe such a a blade is demoted to this." He grumbled and cut you a piece of the top.

Your smile grew so wide when you saw the inside and how your favorite fruit had stained the compote.

"Compliments to the baker's: Rodolfo and Alejandro worked all night. It originally was going to be made by Gaz and Soap but…" you laughed. "I wouldn't eat that If it was my last meal!"

Ghost chuckled. "Told you both."

König sat next to you and nudged a small box toward you with a shy gaze. "For later, ok?" You nodded and tucked the present into your pocket.

The cake was wonderful. Those two were as good of bakers as they were cooks.

You all told jokes and talked as you are until presents went around. Ghost went first, naturally because that's how it always went. He slid over the package and you were surprised by how nice it was wrapped. When you opened it you weren't surprised to see a throwing knife. The blade end was jagged and the tip was freshly sharpened. On the handle your initials had been carved into it. "Thank you, Ghost. As lovely as always." He shrugged it off but was secretly happy you loved it. Even if you loved the knife he got you for Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and Easter, and your last birthday. You loved each one.

Soap was next to shove his gift. I'm your face and practically squirming when you opened it.

"Soap…" You looked at the giant metal briefcase with a large WARNING label on it, and a CAUTION label underneath it. "I'm scared to ask…"

Soap squealed. "It's an experiment kit. You can make your own concocted explosions!!"

You blinked. "Thanks. I guess." Soap giggled and sat back down. You were about to move on when you saw Soap still looking at you expectantly. "Yes Soap. I will let you use it. ONCE!"

"Yeeeesss!"

Gaz got you a shirt from your favorite band, Alejandro got you a chain necklace and Rodolfo gave you a collage of several photos you took during your time in Mexico with them.

"Thank you guys. These are wonderful."

Price got you more comic books from your favorite series since he's always hearing you talk about how you have to read the same ones over and over again, unable to leave base to get more until your next leave.

You all hung out for a while longer until Price and Ghost were ultimately called away to tend to their duties. You hung out with the others until it was getting late.

"Well, this was amazing." You yawned. "But I should be getting to bed, it's late and I have training in the morning." They all waved you off to bed with your new gifts.

You were walking down the quiet hallway, smiling all the way as you thought about what a great day you'd had. You placed your gifts safely in their assorted places and flopped into bed. Something knocked into your hip and you gasped in pain. You pulled the thing out of your pocket and looked down at the small package. König's gift. He usually didn't like you opening his gifts in front of others.

You smiled and pulled off the plain wrapping and twine. It was a little more with the bright orange words "Thanks for being my best friend!" On it. You chuckled and opened it. Inside was a small Polaroid photo of your first mission with him.

You had been downed and he was forced to carry you on his back to the helicopter with a bad knee. You were both bloody and covered in dirt. Your clothes were ripped but you were smiling bright and you could see the excitement in his eyes. You were on his shoulders and both of you were flexing your muscles, back safely on base.

You held the photo to your chest and felt a tear slip down your cheek. You really did have amazing friends.