#haunted blessings au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clowningaroundmars · 6 days

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damnit i thought about Separated At Birth morales twins too hard and now i went and wrote this whole thing about it 😔

pls forgive me.

but also. uh. enjoy lol

- normie au (no powers)

- milo is aaron's adopted child, and he lives with aaron and his gf in their apartment. aaron didn't adopt milo with her tho, milo's actual adopted mom died when he was young unfortunately

- miles is still rio and jeff's son and neither boys know their bio parents. jeff and rio know a bit tho (they still have the adoption agency papers but havent looked thru them in a while). aaron lost the papers and info in a house fire

- jeff and aaron are not brothers in this au. i... havent decided whose last name is whose but yeah

- aaron does sketchy stuff to provide for milo, he does. milo doesn't get involved whatsoever tho, aaron's p overprotective in like a chill way and would never endanger his kid like that. milo doesn't even really know the details. he just knows his dad stays out late working often, and then when he comes home he brings enough moolah back to buy his son an expensive silver wristwatch :)

- the twins do not know that the other exists. like at all. they've always felt like there was smthn missing in their lives tho... like an incomplete puzzle waiting to be finished

- the parents... know? that their kid has a sibling somewhere out there? but the details were left vague when they finally picked up their child and they all kinda assumed the other was just like lost to the World Out There. aaron most def did not concern himself with trying to look for the other child, one was plenty enough for him lol

- the twins discover each other when miles wins the lottery to study at visions and milo is just enrolled str8 up (thank you aaron's money!) but they dont even find each other for the first time at their school. they actually see each other in the windows of passing trains that they're taking in nyc one random day. its a weird dream-like moment for both of them

- milo, once he gets home: hey aaron do i uh have a secret twin somewhere out there or what (half-joking) (but not really) (ahaha) (👁)

- THEN they find out they're both enrolled in visions academy. milo was already p well adjusted by the end of the 1st day but became curious abt this weird nerdy kid everyone seemed to avoid anyhow. when he found out it was the kid with his face at the train station, they both flip out in the hallways!

- (insert spiderman x2 pointing at each other meme here)

they circle each other a couple of times like dogs meeting in a park, sizing each other up with squinted eyes and knitted brows. miles' mouth was hanging open.

after a bit, they stopped and met eyes, green against brown.

"you... you have got to be kiddin' me," miles breathed. "you look exactly like me!"

milo's eyes are still roaming, pupils bouncing around and scrutinizing his mirror-self standing right in front of him.

after a beat, he spoke slowly, sounding like he was trying to choose his words carefully. "... yeah. yeah, that is weird. you're like me, huh."

miles sucked in a breath. "i-i mean yeah? i guess?"

the bell rang suddenly, cutting the hazy dream-like atmosphere in half like a knife. the boys startled.

"gimme your number," milo demanded quickly, stepping to prop himself up against a wall and move out of the way of the incoming crowd.

miles swallowed and dug around into his pocket hastily, fumbling his phone a bit as he pulled it out.

milo laughed, and it was-- so weird!-- to hear miles' own laugh coming out of another boy that sounded quite a bit like him to begin with. is this what the uncanny valley felt like?

"what?" miles balked self-consciously, swiping over to his contact info.

"you don't already have your own number memorized, dawg?" milo says this with all the confidence in the world, a simple crooked grin and tilt of his head just overflowing with self-assuredness. as if his own self worth really came from within.

miles bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down the feeling of envy bubbling up into his lungs. "uhhh, no? i literally just got a phone plan like, yesterday." it was hard to keep the judgemental tone out of his voice when he already felt like he had to be on the defensive.

milo's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

"oh," was all he said.

"oh?"

"lemme just give you mine," milo steps closer, eyes constantly roaming and watching the students currently walking around them, like river water being parted by a big stone in the middle of roaring rapids.

he shot off a series of numbers and miles dutifully plugged it into his contacts list. the second that miles tried to save it was when he realized: shit, he did not know this mystery boy's name!

"oh, h-hey, i didn't get your n--" but once he looked up, the kid had already disappeared into a passing wave of students rushing to get to their next classes before the bell rang again.

miles blinked, looking back down at his screen. the phone number that was punched in was the only solid proof that this mysterious interaction even happened at all.

my god. this wasn't a dream...

miles hastily tapped in "twin???" for the contact name and hit "save".

- ganke is the first to hear abt miles having a long-lost sibling, and he gets his ear talked off abt the possibility of that sibling being an identical TWIN!!!!

- milo does not dorm up at visions. miles suggests they move in together the next year but milo's slightly spoiled ass is not very excited abt sleeping in a room the size of his closet. plus, he hates bunk beds

- aaron's kinda loaded so milo's always got the hookup. he always has the flyest fits, latest shoes and coolest equipment. miles is highkey p jealous when he finds out. milo is... actually not very spoiled despite all of this tho! probs bc he's always training in mma, and aaron drills the importance of self-reliance into him often

- aaron and jeff do not like each other At All. for the kids' sakes, jeff doesnt mention that he's actually slapped cuffs on aaron for a small offense before, but yeah. they have beef. aaron is already anti-cop anyways-- probs sitting at a 9 out of 10 on the hater meter-- but after meeting jeff, he's bumped that up to a cool 15

- the twins meeting: YOU!! 😲😳🤯😄

the Dads meeting: YOU. 😠😠😠

- kid swaps are always just the twins going: YEAAAH!! SLEEPOVER!!! :D

meanwhile

jeff: aaron.

aaron: officer davis.

*forced smiles and tense eye contact as they visibly seethe while the twins chatter happily in the bg*

- milo and miles live almost opposite lives, and they're very different. but where they truly connect is with COMICS!! and other assorted nerdy stuff. they watch anime together and swap comics n manga regularly. eventually, miles gets invited along to go to comic con with milo and aaron

- milo usually keeps a cool and collected front around ppl (just like his dad!) but he is most def himself with miles. he devolves into goofy silly shenanigans when they link up

- miles meeting aaron: 🤩 wow milo your dad is so COOOOL!

milo meeting jeff: wow miles. 😬 your dad is a cop. hm.

- jeff and milo eventually learn to get along but milo feels weird abt jeff being not only a cop but also making captain soon since he's been raised on lupe fiasco, NWA and KRS one songs since infancy. milo's household is #ACAB or bust lol

- they both bring up random injuries they had in their lives and try testing the "twin connection" theory. milo randomly hurts himself to see if miles will bring it up (like purposefully giving himself a papercut or smthn). they both p much develop a spider-sense for when their twin gets in trouble too

milo suddenly perks up at the dinner table, homework sheets spread out before him in every direction. he's trying to solve a problem using an equation of motion when he gasps and sits straight up, nearly dropping his pencil.

aaron is still prepping dinner at the counter not 5 feet away. he glances at his son curiously.

"dad," milo says with all the seriousness of a supreme court judge, "miles might be in trouble."

"... huh?" aaron's brow is raised.

not a second later, aaron's cell phone is buzzing where it's propped up on the microwave, pausing the music that was playing on a nearby bluetooth speaker.

MILES flashed across the screen.

aaron wiped his hands on a kitchen rag, gave his son another sidelong glance, and hit "answer".

"u-ugh. aaron?"

this was strange. miles never called him, they usually just exchange quick and courteous texts whenever it was necessary, but never more than that. aaron joked it was a "youngblood" thing, kids these days could never just make a quick and easy phone call.

so he knew it had to be serious if miles was even bothering to not only put in a call, but put in a call to him.

"miles? wassup?" aaron replied, grimacing at the strained tone and small gasps coming in on the other end.

"u-uhm..." miles stalled.

"kid," aaron started, as serious as a heart attack, "is something wrong? you sound like you're hurt."

behind him, milo stands up quickly, homework completely forgotten about.

"... y-you have to promise not to tell my parents first, heh. they'd probably-- ngh-- a ha! they'd probably kill us both if you did."

geez. even when he sounds like he's hurt, miles still manages to get a quip out as casually as he can manage.

aaron is moving towards the coat rack now, and milo's already went ahead to his room to put his shoes on without another word.

aaron's answer is careful. "... we'll talk about that when we get to you. where ya at?"

miles sucks in a breath that hisses through his teeth and from the background aaron thinks he can hear dogs barking in the distance.

"okay, so don't freak out but i might be like... near an abandoned building. i-i think they used to be apartments..."

aaron mentally projects a map of the brooklyn-manhattan area that he knows in his head as he switches to speakerphone. but nothing really comes to mind as he racks his brain for any abandoned apartments that he knew of.

"just send me your location, kid. we'll be there in no time."

miles chuckles gratefully. "th-thanks, aaron..."

- milo and miles are actually p jealous of each other, even tho they'd never admit it out loud (altho miles is awful at hiding his envy lol)

milo is jealous of miles' parents, and how involved and loving they are. not that aaron isn't involved in milo's life, but it's just that his work often gets in the way of actually spending quality time with his son as often, so milo is left alone a lot. they also moved around a lot as well, so he didn't get the chance to become as popular and well-loved on his block like miles did. he doesn't have very many friends.

miles is jealous of milo's freedom and independence, and his seemingly dazzling life. he gets that milo can be p lonely and introverted at times, but he'd kill just to spend a day in his twin's expensive shoes! if only his well-meaning but annoying parents would just hop off his ass about things, maybe then he'd be able to just... spread his wings and fly

- rio and jeff suggest a DNA test to see if milo and miles really are brothers. they scoff at the idea at first ("i mean c'mon, we literally have the same face," milo points out.) but aaron agrees. better to be safe and 100% sure than to have even a hint of a doubt, plus it would be great to have physical proof that they were indeed twins after all.

so they took the test and waited nervously for the results. miles lamented the possibility of them not really actually being the long-lost-sibling they both had. milo would try to reassure him anyways; even if they weren't biologically related, they could just lie and say they were since they looked so similar anyways.

but they got their results in the mail and it was confirmed: they were 100% related!! miles cried. milo cheered with joy and they immediately facetimed each other.

when miles accepted milo's facetime call, his entire screen was suddenly taken up by milo's grinning face unnervingly close to the camera.

laughing and wiping his tears, miles propped his phone up on his desk. "man, you're being weird. back up!"

"oh, am i? am i being weird, bro? brother of mine? brother dearest? broski? boy who is genetically related to me?"

"ahaha! man, quit it. anyways, yeah i got my results too obviously. milo, when i tell you i ran so damn fast after going to the store-- i never ran back home that fast in my life."

"'cause i texted you, right?! your welcoooome!" milo practically hollered right into the phone.

"chill, chill, chill." miles rolled his eyes, still sniffling a bit but grinning just as wide.

sounds of items being pushed off of milo's own drafting table filled the background, and all miles could see for a second was the logo on his brother's hoodie before the camera was finally positioned correctly.

"... okay. okay, hopefully it doesn't fall. okay, cool. so!"

milo then bounces up from his chair and shoots off to go somewhere off-camera. miles can hear papers rummaging for a second before his excitable brother comes and throws himself back on his chair again.

"so, let's read this damn thing together 'cause this is just-- hold up." milo pauses, putting the letter down and squinting at his screen. "are you... were you crying?"

miles sits straight up, hastily swiping at his face. "uh! maybe? so what about it?"

milo laughs, throwing his head back. "aaron!!" he yells, at the top of his lungs.

miles cringes. "bro! what the hell!!" he shouts back.

"miles cried!! he's cryin' just like i said he would! you owe me 30 bucks!" then, milo turns back to his phone, smirking. "anyways!"

miles is shaking his head. "y'all are placing bets on me now? that is foul."

"ahhh well. y'know! nothing against you or anything, nothing personal!" milo has a cheesy, apologetic grin plastered on his face, and then he suddenly gets serious.

"but anyways, miles. c'mon, we gotta read it together, it makes it more real."

"what is this, a whole ritual you had planned or somethin'?"

"dude, humor me. this is a big deal!"

miles bobs his head and laughs. "yes. okay! fine, you start. you can read one paragraph and then i'll do the next,"

and together, they read off the results again, placing emphasis on the final result: a 99.995% likelihood of a full sibling relationship!

"99.995% yooooo!!" milo crowed, pumping a fist in the air.

"so yeah, that's all she wrote," miles sighed contentedly, folding up his piece of paper. "mamí already said she's buying a frame for this so i'm putting this somewhere safe."

then, they sat there together and smiled at each other.

"you know what this means, right?" milo asked suddenly.

"... no. what?"

"we always talked about, like..." milo sighed and leaned back in his chair, screwing his face up in thought. "like. that feeling? y'know, like something or someone was missing in our lives, right?"

miles chuckled. "uhyup, like that one time when i was on a field trip years ago and i randomly reached to hold someone's hand but he wasn't there? before we got all partnered up, obviously."

"and that other time when aaron recorded me when i was like a damn toddler talkin' about 'i need another toy for my friend' at the store once. he insisted it was an imaginary friend that i made up just to get more stuff. but looking back now, i didn't have no imaginary friend... no, i was looking out for you back when i didn't know you even existed..."

"yeah. that's... that is pretty weird."

"well yeah, but now it's not. 'cause we were right. turns out we were right the whole time! and we got scientific proof to prove it!" milo jumped up and ran a quick victory lap around his room, throwing punches into the air as if he were taunting his opponent in the ring.

"ooh, now i see what you mean. these results mean the two pieces are finally put back together, like officially. no more weird empty feelings anymore..."

miles leans back in his own chair, fingers clasped together on his stomach as he thought back to all those times where that strange, tugging feeling kept cropping up in small moments of his life. on field trips, on the playground, at school, on daytime trips with his parents.

and then he thought back to how that aching feeling just vanished after meeting milo. in all of the excitement of meeting a long-lost twin, he didn't even really notice how that longing simply just... went away. he couldn't even remember the last time he felt that specific feeling now.

"exactly, exactly!" milo whooped, before crashing back down into his chair again and jostling his drafting table. his phone fell in the process and he cursed loudly when it clattered onto the floor.

"milo, cool it!" miles cackles, but he feels the same swooping triumphant joy filling his chest nonetheless.

#mine #miles morales #miles g morales #aaron davis #wait. how do i tag jeff.#is he jefferson davis or jefferson morales?#oh well.#anyways #these are just some random ideas i've been having ever since the Twins have started haunting me recently :)#just a quick thing i banged out in a night. hope yall like it!#also.... not sure that i'm ever going to do anything with this #if anyone out there is reading this and is inspired to do a fic or a little doodle or whatever based on this au #you have my blessings 🙏#i'm just In My Feels about the Boys :') and i needed to get it out there lol

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celestie0 · 2 months

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choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]

in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow

ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!

alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”

present day. summer.

“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.

Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.

You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”

You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.

Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.

“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”

Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”

The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.

“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”

They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.

The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.

“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.

“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.

“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.

You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.

You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”

“Um. Both of them?”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.

“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”

“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.

“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”

He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”

You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”

“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.

His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.

But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.

“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.

“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”

“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”

You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”

“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.

“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.

“And you love him?”

“So much.”

“Was he your first love?”

Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.

You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”

“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.

“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.

You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”

The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.

“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”

“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”

seven years ago. summer.

chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.

“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown.

“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”

Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.

Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.

The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.

“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!”

The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!”

Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.

With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music.

“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”

A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic.

“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”

There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex.

The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair.

The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours.

His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.

“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage.

“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”

She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”

You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.

You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”

As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.

“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder.

“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”

Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”

“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”

Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.

There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage.

Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”

The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”

Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”

“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”

“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.

You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it.

“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.

“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.

“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants.

“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”

“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”

Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.

You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.

“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”

Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”

Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”

Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there.

Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.”

Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.

“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”

She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”

You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.

Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”

Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”

Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”

Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?”

His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”

Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”

Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex.

“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.

Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.

You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.

“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.

He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface.

“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”

Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.

“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”

Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”

“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”

Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

“Take me,” you deadpan.

She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”

“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition.

“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving.

The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.

Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”

You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”

“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”

“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot.

Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering.

Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.

Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of.

His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest.

He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”

You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.

“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”

He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”

“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”

“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.

“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”

He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”

“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.

You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in.

When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.

“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”

Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast.

You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.

“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.

“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.

You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment.

You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.

“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”

His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”

Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.

“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all.

His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again. His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”

It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.

His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”

His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.

“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.

But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.

“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”

The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you.

You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”

“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.”

Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous.

“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.

“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough.

You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.”

“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”

Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.

“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.

Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.

The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush.

present day. summer.

“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out.

“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”

The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”

There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.

“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”

“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”

“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”

You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.

“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day.

“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”

You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.

“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized.

“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”

“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”

You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.

You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”

seven years ago. autumn.

chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.

[to be continued]

a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.

taglist: @joemama-2 @sweetpo1son @lilluna12 @polarbvnny @4y3sh4 @sedona-the-l0bster @horisdope @ilovenana88 @thexmistress @atsushirolll @flvrrg0d @strawnanamilk @nighttwingg @indieotterxoxo @pirana10 @bakuhoethotski @tvdumarvelhpsimp @lavender-hvze @whereflowerswenttodie @alwaysfreakingout @kaitoluver @3xv5s @wrenabbadon @erwinslut @winsga18 @ynishalee @yungbloode

love u all so much!!

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comfortless · 3 months

Text

Only Other

chapter three of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, smut (piv), sliiiight breeding kink, violence, as always König is horribly in love and says ridiculously worrisome things, reader feigns ambivalence but is equally unhinged and smitten.

notes: eternally grateful to @wordsbyvani for reading over my shoulder and genuinely being the sweetest throughout every part. ^^ and again to @writersdrug for giving me the idea to begin with!

wc: 9k.

<- previous.

König’s men arrive sometime in the afternoon, a few hours behind but carrying hoards of supplies. There are weapons you recognize to be from your city stuffed into bags, pelts and silks and twinkling stones, meats and fruits. They had not forgotten to bring along wine, either: two barrels to either side of a gray mare led along behind one of their rugged steeds by a length of thick rope.

You don’t ask how they found her, let alone how they managed to actually tame her down enough to follow amidst the chaos that broke out the night prior. A weak string of “thank you”s leaves your lips when you press your nose to the horse's snout, sobbing into her silver fur. She seems less bothered, huffing impatiently as she’s tethered up with the others against broad trees.

You’re not convinced that here or anywhere is safe anymore, and you don’t assist when the men begin to set up their camp. They’ve enough supplies and arms to do it themselves, anyhow.

Guilt, trepidation and confusion, haunt you: cast out for all to see by your forlorn stares and the tremor of your lower lip as you continuously fight an internal battle to keep yourself sane. And how could you? You’ve only come to reason that this has all come to fruition because of you, because of the things that you could not help. Your curiosity, fascinations, and impiety had all led you to be here, now, while everyone you once knew sleeps eternally.

You have condemned yourself to the life of a slave girl, and later to the darkness of the Orcus when you do die.

Though… men do not give their slaves the looks that König gives to you. You haven’t spoken to him in hours, and you do your best to avoid his glances, shoot down his smiles with the curved arrow of your own sullen frowns. Still… amidst setting up the tents and gathering wood for the fire to stave off the chill of nightfall, you catch the very stars reflected over a sea in his eyes.

There is love there, a too-uncanny and harrowing love, but a great devotion nonetheless. It burns like a fire of its own in your chest, inescapable and rampant. You know it in the spaces behind your skull, your ribs, that what he feels is another cage: roomier, softer, but you will never be free of it either.

König does not follow you to the tent when the moon rises. He sits by the fire, watching as you go with the pelt drawn up over your shoulders and curled around you. When you sink into the bed of fur that has replaced the straw mattress from before you find yourself somehow even more fitful here than outside. Sleep is evasive, leaving you tossing and twisting amidst the smell of sweat and animal fur. Not even the crackling fire outside defeats the quiet or the cold in the air.

There’s a sickly pit in your stomach, thorn seedling threatening to take root and spread the longer you stare up at the blackened abyss of the tent ceiling. If you’re to live a life torn, at the very least you could be warm; you take to König’s side in moments, joining him by the slowly dwindling flame.

The brute isn’t sleeping, either, just… lost. Lost like you the day that you met him.

“I need to look at your wound.” Your excuse comes weak and puny, doe limbs and fragile glances when you do sit at his side and speak. You’ve never been anyone’s ‘Göttin’, you don’t know what you’re doing, what blessings to grant or judgments to cast. Avoiding him only seems a punishment for you both, and you’ve had your share of those.

König is anything but small: even amidst the turmoil your silence has gifted to him, he still seems himself, all ego and cruelly cut silver, softened only by your words, your touch.

“Richtig,” he mutters, reaches out to pull you in, and you let him. Straddling his lap with only the moon above awake to witness, cast her curious gaze down and illuminate the expanse of his chest whilst you work to pull away the bandages.

There isn’t much to tend to, it’s healing well. The flesh that once seemed inflamed has only drawn back its redness to simmer to the natural color of his skin. When you begin your careful prodding, it does not hurt him. He doesn’t so much as flinch or huff at your touch.

When you dab your index in the sweet honey that serves as a salve, he grasps at your hand and brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to your index and middle without hesitation. And you see it then: a glimmer of hesitation in the way his lips pull and his eyes search your own, a silent plea for vindication.

You’ve never been cold to him, not even as he spoke with so much self-importance when you first met, not when he rutted his blade between your parted legs, not even now after all that he’s done. In his own way of thinking, these things have all been some display of courtship. There’s never cruelty toward you, not in his touch, the words that he speaks, and especially not in those somber eyes. These things break down the last fraying edge of your resolve.

You press your mouth to his, sharing the taste of honey pressed to his lips, everything sugary and warm. Over and over until the night begins to close its way in, plump clouds drifting over the pearl hanging in the sky when you finally find yourself tucked back into the tent with König curled at your side. He holds you closer than he ever has, not from a fear you’ll take off under the darkened sky, but in the honoring of something far greater. Some love comes quiet like flower blooms, his comes with fire.

“Wolves pair in winter,” he says quietly, burying his face into your hair. It’s shy, almost, as though the man has not already embedded his scent into your very skin and toyed with your most sensitive parts. It’s truer, more heartfelt, than even his confessions of love.

“Is that what you see us as being?” You laugh, a slow, gentle chime that aches your throat, face still puffy from tears and voice scratchy from those thick clouds of smoke.

“Ja…”

“You really…” The words get caught up someplace in the spaces between your lungs and tongue. You don’t want to cry, not anymore, but you find it difficult not to choke up after so much comfort with a lifetime of so very little. “You do care for me, don’t you?”

He answers your question in a grumble, a string of foreign words only meant for mountain caverns and creatures that walk on all fours and somehow they make sense. A resounding yes, in three gutteral sounding words. The frayed ends of guilt and anger finally drift off as you settle into his hold like a den of pure comfort, warm and buried in a world of fur and a man blessed by trees and the earth rather than gods and myth.

When the breeze picks up outside, rustling sprawling oak limbs, momentarily silencing the fire, its as if they answer him in your stead. You don’t cry, though it aches, but you let go of the memories of all your begging to those that never seemed to listen. Here, in the dark you’ve found the only person that seems to understand without even knowing.

You drag the pelts up over the both of you, clasp your hand over his where it rests beneath them, and fall into a haze of contentment. He draws you nearer, breath filtering through your hair from where his head lies just above your own.

The dreams that come are no longer of places you can not reach, but only of the memory of a city that was never meant to house your spirit.

You wake to König’s pawing. It begins along your sternum, hand placed flat there only to glide further up and push at your tit. It’s gentle and testing, pushes fire into your very veins when for the first time he doesn’t seem to remain entranced there. It drifts, further up to cup your jaw.

“You are awake?,” he rasps, propping himself up to inspect your face where you lie, weakened and warmed by sleep.

“Yes…”

“Are you still bereaved?,” König asks in such a hushed voice, reaching toward you again. His hand seems to tremble when it finds your face, thumb brushing over your mouth with such trepidation it seems misplaced for him.

“Partly.”

You consider your dreams again: the open street, devoid of people apart from those that face down at you with contempt building in hollow eye sockets. Where grass once sprung up beneath the cracks in the stones, there were only small flames. And you do still grieve for those that were innocent in the entire affair, those trampled by cattle when they had only just had a taste of escape. Your very mind begins to darken at the thoughts, your body only tensing further, a bowstring on the verge of snapping,

“Is that why I can not have you?”

“I never said…” Your voice only grows thin, detached almost from the way you purse your lips to kiss the digit toying with you. Your heart is only thunder, the sound of those wretched hooves: yearning was dangerous itself, your own only seemed to take further shape with each passing moment. Claws and a waiting maw, just like the wolves he speaks of.

König hums, a deep rumble from his chest as he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement.

It all becomes tree sap, a sticky confectionery bout. His mouth descends upon your own as though starved, hurried and longing as he samples you, the you who certainly yearned for the bathhouses to clean herself properly. All thought seems to dispel when his hand leaves your cheek and neck to begin its painfully slow descent between your legs, burrow between wax and honey to pull soft cries from your mouth.

He only stills his dismantling of you when you’re trembling and doughy, squeezing around his fingers so tightly you wonder how he can continue to bury them inside at all.

Just as the other gods, Sol is lost here when König crawls over you, all shadow and wretched, led here with the promise of a prey that you are not. Only another wolf… the flame in his winter eyes is the same that’s settled inside of you.

His head dips to kiss into your hair while your leg is pulled to settle over his hip. You feel a kiss, a different sort, when the pillar of his manhood reaches between your bodies to settle over your sex, probing at your slit that only seems to pulse and beg under his touch.

You had never found these silly metaphors enticing with the men of the city, even the entertainers with their pretty words could have never lured you this far down. Yet, here is different, here is cold and lonely and wild: a culmination of all that he is, incarnation of the earth and man and a desperate hunt.

“You are ready for me,” your god hums, pleased, as he coats himself in your arousal, sticky like warm sap. The sounds of his toying with you are something you should be accustomed to now, with him, but still makes your face warm. Not with shame, only a quiet desperation. “Beautiful little goddess...”

It’s summer here; winter tears its claws right out of your flesh when the sun itself sinks inside. The turning of seasons is natural, so dreadfully normal you’ve never bat an eye until you could physically feel it: the strip of your own apprehension tossed into a steaming sea, the dewy wetness all but drowning you entirely.

And it’s König who loses himself first, a sound so pitiful carving its way out of him you would almost believe him to be hurt if not for the way he throbs inside of you. He feeds it, a stuttering twitch of his hips as he slowly brings you toward him by your hips. Far too large to properly bottom out but encumbered and ecstatic by the sensation around him. Tighter than any sheath, but a weapon pushes through you all the same- inch by loving inch, until he manages to fully fill you with himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little one.“ Each word is torn from him, punctuated heavily by the shallow movement of his body and the drag of a demanding cock. Restraint is a peculiar thing hovering over him, his brow pinched as though forcing himself to concentrate on not ripping you apart where you lie.

“You’re not hurting me..,” you sigh as your hands find his shoulders, fingernails dimpling the skin there. If anything the urgency is only shared.

When your hips push back to meet him, the lead is dropped, another surrender. Too much trust for a man deserving of none of it.

His response is a breathy groan, mouth finding your shoulder as his hands drift to pull your hips upward to better meet him. Teeth find purchase along your flesh, gentle as he can be, but grinding and desperate to leave a mark, a piece of him behind.

It’s almost with a fury that he stuffs himself into you then, his jaw going slack and eyes wild, hands grasping at every inch of your pillowy flesh that he can reach.

Never could König have looked more beautiful than now, once starved and now tasked, for and now with you. His gaze trails from where your thighs tremble around him, to where the sap pools and nature builds up its own obscene choir at your togetherness… and then, to your face where his gaze only shatters into softness.

Something bubbles right against your lash line, a stray tear, overwhelmed by the feel of the giant ravishing you, pulling you down from your world of jewels and pillars to his own devoid of anything but need.

His head dips immediately, tongue running up the length of your cheek, a hand falling away to pry open your already parted thigh as he licks at and fucks into you like something truly feral. He coos his praises against your mouth, parted and whining, claims a new kingdom all for himself in you, of you.

You feel how the temples must, trodden through and left with gifts, blood and honey and fire as the muscles of your thighs begin to tense. Instinct spurs you to catch his lip between your teeth, push your hips back to laboriously furl around him.

His pace comes to a halt, settling to only grind himself so deeply within you that you feel the last of the stars begin to die out in the recesses of your skull, dim and dumbly smothered until they reignite in a blinding wave of white. König does not give you the time to settle, only spears into you with a renewed fervor as you cinch around him, furthering your rapture to a point that is almost agonizing.

He chases his own end with the same famished glare as before, stares right into your eyes as you pull iron from his lip and cast it into the fire of your waiting mouth. The sting, the bliss, only makes him whimper, a sound so small and choked its unfathomable to have come from a man who slams into you as though you were paid for.

You lick into his mouth in a way so tentative and fragile he immediately crashes down, blankets you in the strength of his arms and kisses you in turn: so soft and chaste it’s uncanny in this moment. His groan of defeat only comes when he stills fully, buried to the hilt, thrumming and shivering through his own release. Honey and seafoam, the rise of a tide touching earth to brim and spill past your joining.

He chases the feeling for several moments longer, bucking his hips sloppily as he lies atop your spent form, barely coherent when he mutters nonsensical praises into your hair, against your neck, the corner of your mouth- any place he can think to leave a kiss.

“… everything,” he mutters when he lies atop you fully, satisfied where he nestles his head into the fur below you both. “Everything I have ever wanted.”

The day passes on like this. Even as his men maneuver about camp, preparing to hunt or practice with their stolen weapons. The only thing König seems keen on doing is bringing you to ruin, repairing you with kisses pressed into your hair, along your cheek.

He leaves you only twice as the day drags onward. Once to gather you a meal of something meaty roasted over the fire, what remained of a boar, a gathering of dried fruit, and water from a small flask. You’re famished and exhausted by the thrill of being shoved down into the fur to tolerate him three times over already. The twinkle in his eye is nothing short of mischievous when you do finally tell him that you need to rest after eating.

After a bout of playfully shoving him away, you only find yourself on top of him, then. He seemed entirely unashamed, more hurried and desperate than before as he bucks at you like a wild horse, voicing his praises and spitting out such sugary sweet nonsense about how you would carry his son and only ever experience him, you almost felt shy. A curled finger hooks under your jaw to force you to look down at him, lose yourself in the vast, uneasy sea of his eyes while he floods you with his seed again. Finally, he seems sated, pulls you down to lie atop him.

König promises you that he will find your mother, that he will take care of you as no other has or ever could, while stroking along your back. He tells you of the mountains, the trees, the animals and the men who live amongst them and inside of them.

He tells you of the sea when you ask, how the sand is softer and sticks as if it never wants you to go. In turn, you tell him that he must be like the sea then, never fully parting from you, leaving his trace imprinted upon your skin with teeth rather than sand. A sea that loves instead of hungers, one that presses you onto your back to wash over you to steal the very breath from your chest and push it back with a kiss.

— — —

The wilderness is cruel. Wild things lurk in the brush and occasionally you pass by other settlements. Less friendly than the small band you have grown accustomed to. You’re always urged to shush, then have yourself tucked further against König while he speaks low and threatening to any would-be bandits. Only once has that resulted in a death, but not to one of König’s own. You didn’t watch when the man with the red hair carved a hole through the trespasser, just squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into a waiting bicep.

Days pass on horseback, your legs feel stiff and clumsy, and there are no amount of pelts serving as makeshift saddles that could ever help the ache that shoots up from your pelvis. It serves no aid at all that, when riding ahead or too far behind the other men, König takes this newfound intimacy between you two to be a liberty. Regardless of your formation, he never ceases looking at you as though his only wish is to devour you whole.

Those times are often quick, palm pressed over your mouth as he dutifully breeds you beneath the sun, in the softest patch of withering wild grass or barren land available. You melt into him, part your legs like a wife rather than some skittish woman that he himself has whisked away. Each time, he whispers his praises, professes his love in more creative ways, covers you in so many kisses you feel a bit dazed by the time the ordeal is through.

Then, you’re righted back onto the horse with König at your back, the most horribly endearing smile plastered upon his face.

It’s not much of a surprise that his men do start their caterwauling at some point during the journey to wherever— past dormant trees and approaching the silhouettes of hills so tall and vast you’re certain that they must be the mountains you have heard of, even if you had yet to properly see them. König had made it perfectly clear just what you are to him in his coarse words to his companions, but never directly to you. They do not mock your union, but they do often give you strange looks, particularly at your tummy while they discuss you with their leader.

There’s nothing there, you’re sure of that much, but you shoot them your angriest glare anyway and raise your chin to look forward instead. Their talk of the possibility of a little “prinz” does not distract you from your own thoughts, drifting up to scrape the sky just like the peaks of the mountains.

“So that is where the gods live?,” you ask, mostly to yourself as you curl your fingers into the horse’s reins. There’s subdued laughter from either side of you, and you almost shrink at the thought of making a fool of yourself before these brutes. It wouldn’t be the last time, surely. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fully commit to the idea of there being any sort of vast and ethereal field awaiting you when you die anymore; it was already here before you, painted in the color of evergreen and winter blossoms.

König doesn’t laugh, at least. Only places his palm over the front of your neck and guides your head back to look up to him, gives a toothy grin when your eyes light up just from the sight. It was difficult not to when you’ve been fed and pleasured incessantly by him. You reason that your punishment for forsaking all that you once knew must assuredly be your own mind deteriorating to feel the way that you do.

“They are right here,” he says, so quiet and sweet, gesturing between the two of you. He had no interest in your former gods, of what he seems to view as stories for children, but he listens as you tell him the significance of such lofty places cloaked in fog, mist and trees.

His hand finds your cheek, savors in the feel of your skin against his thumb while you tell him of your misplaced belief in him being some son of a war god that he’s never even known, much less prayed to. He then reminds you of the woman he seems certain could have been your mother, says that surely she must have been wed to the shallow of a sparkling lake to birth something as lovely as you.

The men regroup after some time, stilling their horses and your rowdy mare still tethered behind one of the others to speak, access the distance from here and their destination while sipping wine from leather flasks and putting weapons back in their proper places. You listen on, picking up on the few words you did understand from their language, but ultimately gather nothing from it all.

“Where are you taking me?,” you hazard as you try to push yourself forward in a subtle reminder that yes, you were there too, and woman or not you had a right to know.

“Home,” König gruffs simply in response, gathering you back into his arms and taking the reins from your hands. His chin rests atop your head, the fingers of his free hand petting your side in an attempt to snuff out any further questioning. “You will like it.”

Home. Home to the place he had claimed you would find your mother; to foreign woods and wild downs, sprawling hills and little shacks covered in sticks and leather instead of the villas with their terracotta tiles.

You didn’t even know that you had a place to return to at all, not now. Your eyes catch his, though, and you know then just what it truly must feel like to belong someplace. Never had home been Gaius, reduced to smoldering ash in some divine reckoning, but it had always been with someone you truly believe you have wanted. Had you ever even been allowed to want before him..?

Your brow pinches as you shift to rest your head against the broad back behind you, held fast by the iron grip around your waist. The clouds drift by above, the sun casts a warmth over your face and you fall into comfort, into promise.

— — —

Barbarian settlements are strange.

There are no paved streets here crowded with people and decay, no hallowed and looming temples hungry and waiting for sacrifices. The columns are tree bark and very much alive with twisting limbs and growths of green that never seemed to dull even in the winter, not the stiff and lifeless marble you had grown accustomed to.

The homes are pieced together with wood, clay, anything that could be used with no clear rhyme or reason to their architecture. Goats wander about, bleating out for food or ramming into one another for play. The children don’t sit in houses studying or wander from stall to stall snatching and scurrying off, they play and work. There is a strange contentment here, too, something that feathers on the wind as it does the same on each face that you pass,

Everyone seems to have a place, a thing to be, and you feel like the world’s most delicate and forgotten pearl amidst these people who do not even seem to pay you any mind. If anything, they only seem pleased to see the man with his arm cloaked over your shoulders. They smile to him, greet him in their strange words and dip their heads as though he truly were some king.

Maybe he was, to them, to the wild people with no true reasoning to have any sort of monarchy. They barely had land to claim, much less rule over.

You’re not paraded around as a slave: he cups your jaw and lifts your head when your gaze falls to the dirt and dust below your feet, chides you in a rough whisper about how a Königin should present herself. The people do acknowledge you then, with looks of awe and offerings of dried flowers pressed into your palms and tucked behind your ear, Roman bronze dropped at your feet. You look the part of a proper queen too, when you flash them all your loveliest smile and nestle closer to your giant of flame and earth.

Thoughts of your past in the city come to mind when you note their lack of conveniences. Even the dread of forsaking your own gods briefly leaves you halting midstep before a firm hand urges you forward. König’s warmth comes as a comfort now more than ever when your thoughts do eventually circle back to a guilt, heavy and dreadful: the picture of Juno’s altar forgotten and burned away weeks of travel behind you.

“You will like it here,” he mumbles, trailing the same hand up to the back of your neck as he repeats the words he spoke only days prior on your journey. You could, you will, but it all feels so different that your pulse seems to triple its racing.

Your fingers graze over the dried flowers in your hand, sweet smelling as you trace over each petal to center yourself, take back that prideful smile that was in place just a moment ago.

If you’re to run amok, you may as well enjoy it.

You settle, regain your pace and that forced look of utter contentment at his side.

At least, until he begins to speak again.

“I will kill them all if you prefer we be alone,” König whispers into your ear, has the audacity to nip at your lobe, and does not even bother drawing back as if those words were meant to make you wet and pliant for him. All sense of reason must have left you entirely, because a shiver rips its way up each knob of your spine. “Would that please you?”

“No… Do not jest,” you grit out, staring only forward and not offering so much as a glance toward the beast at your side, even as his hand drifts down to palm at your breast.

“I am not.” He laughs, breathy and low when he finds your nipple already hard, thumb grazing over it as though this act of exhibitionism was as natural as any of the other things his madness compels him to do. “I will give you anything. Even blood, meine Göttin.”

Surely… you should be flattered that his loyalty is reserved only for you, but there’s no appeasement held in the glare that you shoot him as you pry his hand away from your chest. He gives you the look of a kicked stray then, even a pout so foreign on a face so scarred, you may have even chuckled if you were in better spirits, but he does relent. His hand drops back to his side and he detached from you after pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You’re led to a shack larger than the others, but more or less in the same state. It’s simple, built solidly with thick carved wood and packed to prevent weather seeping its way in. It’s humble in a way, far more humble than any ruler’s you’ve only imagined. A bench, a table, a mattress likely stolen away from some Roman soldier’s tent. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it smells like König, like the trees and the earth in a way that is comforting.

It takes a moment for it to fully register that this is what he had meant by home, not the people and their affairs outside, only this place. Only him. A temple all your own that you imagine he must wish to fill with love and children and an abundance of gifts he may steal away all for you.

His men bring in what little of the supplies remained, stuffed away in a corner and voluntarily relinquished; even if it means they’ll be fending for themselves like the others in the village rather than feasting on stores, they only seem happy. The red-haired one even flashes you a contented look of admiration on his way out, as though you just being there was enough to soothe and patch some void here.

That may have been the case.

When the door is shut and all falls to silence, the barbarian king kneels before you. His hands find your hips, thumbs grinding gentle circles along them and further down to your thighs, your calves, to everywhere that aches. A gentle sort of worship that coaxes soft sighs and a buzzing of flesh from you.

König brings you to the mattress when your eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion settling over you in full when you’re lifted and brought toward his chest. You could fall asleep in his hold alone, but you settle to only rest your head there and reach up along his vastness to rake your fingers through his wild hair.

Your voice tells him that you do like it here, with him, in this strange place circled by withering ferns and trees so infinite that you could never hope to find your way away without him taking your hand and navigating through. Your touch tells him the words that you dare not speak, a kiss to voice that you too would burn away everything if it only meant that you could share in this at his side, a mimicry of his massage along his own shoulder to whisper a great confession of adoration and boundless promises.

— — —

When the ferns and flowers begin to grow again throughout the spring and into the summer, you find yourself accustomed to everything. You aid the women in caring for their children, though you begrudgingly swear that it is not for practice whatsoever. The stitching and cooking that is done here feels far less harrowing— you do not put it off and leave it in a heap upon the floor as you would have in the city. There’s no looming dread of what’s to come when you perfect your work: you’re gifted only smiles, blessings and gifts.

Though the woman König had claimed to be your mother is not here, you ask him to recount the way she looked and spoke to you often on quiet nights, where his hands drift over you and his voice comes in a whisper. She may not have even existed at all, some lost spirit amidst the trees that wails and cries and leads men like him to their destinies. Your heart only tears when you begin to wonder if Juno herself had imparted such a quest to him. Save the lost woman that she favored so much, grant him some divine luck and intoxicating charm to ensure your safety and happiness.

He does not understand when you gather up honey and blossoms to pray over, but he does sit at your side and listen when you whisper your thanks to this new altar. Kisses the crown of your head when you’re through and lures you back into an embrace where he reminds you that he knew what he needed to do the moment that you met at the stream. No other woman could have swayed him the way that you have.

His offerings are only to you, even after such a length of time has passed. There’s no goddess that he kneels for other than the one that sleeps at his side and tells him of her dreams.

The day he gifts you his seax is one that resonates more than even the necklaces and gowns of silk and linen. It feels heavy in your hands, the blade almost as soft as gossamer when your fingers trail along it, though it does not yield. It’s only well polished and freshly sharpened. The handle bears a strange carving in it now, one of two wolves staring up at a broad moon. It breaks something inside to know that even he does find some things sacred: beasts, the glow of an untouched paradise and you.

“Why are you giving me this?,” you manage to whisper as your diligently ghost over the carvings in reverent repetition. “Don’t you need it? For hunting and fighting…”

“You like it?” It’s impossible not to notice the cocky expression on his face that tells you full well he’s recounting that experience. You liked it then, certainly, but it wasn’t as if you had any use for it in such a way when he kept you satisfied enough with himself.

“Yes… but it’s yours.”

He shrugs then, a great lift of his shoulders as you’re pulled to him with a careful grip to the wrist holding the weapon.

“Will keep you safe,” he huffs against your neck, leaving a kiss there when you sheath the seax at the strap you had also been gifted pulled taught along your hip.

You didn’t even know how to use the thing properly, and you were not quite fond of the idea of chasing down rabbits or puncturing another human with it. Your concerns fall on deaf ears when you’re led out into the surrounding forest to a thicket of wild raspberries. Your wrist is steadied by a firm hand as König diligently teaches you to carve away limbs heavy with fruit without actually bringing any real harm to the plant itself.

There are many things to forage this season, some you had never even heard of before he explains their significance to your wonder-filled face. You hadn’t thought him stupid, not truly, but it still comes as a surprise that he seems to know so very much.

When you find yourself seated beside a slow-moving stream, a ripe berry crushed between your teeth, you’re finally allowed to put your new blade away and set it aside on moss-covered stones.

“You should keep it close. A bear might want to eat you, hm?,” he playfully chides behind you, lifting your drab little gown up and over your head. As if to further his point, his teeth rake over your pulse, applying just enough pressure to draw a whine from your lips.

“You are not a bear,” you huff and turn to pull away his tunic, pressing a kiss over the scar he now dons just above his heart.

“Ja…” He lowers his head again to kiss along your neck, trailing a heat up to your ear as he maneuvers you into the water to bathe.

Your foraging and banter go forgotten, and a different sort of howling fills the air shrouded in tree limbs. There are no wolves or wind, only two so feverishly desperate and in love that any other with their dowries and arrangements would find it even more compelling than the Empire itself.

He sinks into you when you’re brought to your knees, bellows his contentment when he brushes your wet hair away from your face and dives forward to cover you fully, bury you in a world of love and sweetness. Even when the act is done, König does not pull away, only lies you back along to shore and tucks you further against him.

You remain chittering and laughing until the sky begins to reflect the very stars you see in his eyes, glittering constellations that seem to flicker and echo the steady beat of his own heart as you lie against his chest.

The summer wedding that the fortune-teller had once spoken of seemed to already take place here. There’s no need for a lectus or some grand display to reveal to others that you’ve united, it comes in the stillness and shared contentment when your voices begin to quiet, and at last you resign yourself to tell him that you belong to him just as much as he belongs to you.

The final flurry of surrender comes out as a soft whisper, one that only leaves you with your knees folded back to your chest and an insatiable giant hugging his gratitude and love into your ear with each graceless snap of his hips.

He drags you down to your own ruin, spells his own with haste and what comes as a twist between a dispatch of tears and a sigh. You can’t recall ever seeing him cry, not even now as he burrows against your neck and shakily breathes against your shoulder, muttering such nonsense about how he would still take you up and into the sky if only you would continue to let him stay with you like this.

“Always,” you murmur fondly, cradling him as closely as possible. Inside, outside, embedded into your very flesh you feel him near. He does not pull out from you this night, only falls asleep in your embrace, cloaks you from the breeze over the water with his own heat. You follow suit, petting at him as though he’s far smaller than his massive weight suggests. He shifts just enough to not fully crush you beneath him, just as you begin to drift off.

When morning does come, König is already stood at your side, staring off into the distance with an expression that only foretells of something you’re certain you will want no part in. He shushes you when you part your lips to speak, nervously scrounging up your gown and the strap holding your gifted weapon. There are no protests from you, and only the babbling of the stream and sounds of distant yelling break up the silence.

You don’t need to ask to know what’s occurring. Just as you had predicted before the Romans had come to dismantle the village just as they had many others before, take the women as slaves and force the children to learn and take up arms for their empire. You had never thought of the violence before when it occurred, when you saw the faces of those miserable women at the sides of people they could never afford to feel any fondness toward. You had always been lucky and blind.

König, however, must have only known wraith. His fingernails dig into his palms, nostrils flared and expression pensive.

“Wartet hier.”

He does not even hesitate as he begins to move, leaving you behind along the peaceful shore. As if to spur you forward, the shallow water rises to lap at your ankles, and still you do not budge. Your hands feel heavy, encumbered by the seax still set in its sheath, and only then does it dawn on you that König had not even had a weapon his person. What good would he even be without one? When so many men armed with sharpened swords and spears had come for his head…

Though fear creeps in, subdues your limbs with its stiffness, rakes fangs of pure ice along every pulsing vein held within you… you can not bring yourself to flee or stay put. You follow, quiet as a wood mouse as you walk along the forest with trembling hands clutching a weapon you almost hope is not too late to save your home, your heart.

There’s no clear trail, no sign of König, not even a shadow or a whisper that may belong to him. Instead there are shouts and the heavy smell of smoke. The gray billows up, more imposing than even the oaks and pines. The only comfort you will yourself to take is the fact that the words you can make out are Germanic, not Latin. Not all is lost, not yet.

You steel yourself and push your resolve to the forefront of your mind, creeping ever closer with careful but steps far more swift. You wind past throning brush and sprawling vine, past trees but familiar and not until you finally cross over from forest to the tall grass lining the edges of the village.

There lies chaos you expect, and that which you do not. Some of the cabins have gone up in flame, fire that coils and spreads to set your nerves alight with memory and dread. There are men fighting at the heart of it all, weapons slick with blood dripping down to the fallen at their feet. The women and children have all fled or have been taken captive, you couldn’t be certain amongst all that was already occurring around you and beyond. You couldn’t even count your enemies, a smaller army no doubt, the arrogance of the Empire knew no bounds. Twenty men to take down one was substantial enough when the others could be used for further conquests.

And there is no sign of König.

You feel numb when no matter where you look you can’t seem to catch sight of him, and how easy a task that should have been given his stature. The seax is pulled from its sheath when grief begins to settle, and the tears that threaten to spill are forced back with a grimace. There was still some hope, you knew. The village was not so small that you could map all of it from the small lump of a hill, but that desire to find him, bare your own teeth and fight at his side to protect what was yours brims up and chokes back the fear harbored in your chest.

Lady or wolf, you cared not. You would lose your titles just as he would if it came down to it. When the histories speak of how that city burned, how a king without a name brought the Empire to kneel if only for a moment before they sought revenge, you would be written in ink alongside it. A devotion so strong echoed in each page, as a barbarian queen that chose to keep her heart and lose her head.

But it doesn’t come to that. There’s another woman stood at König’s side when you do find him, wielding a stolen sword from one of the opposing soldiers as sweat and blood paint his face.

Unharmed and unknowing of the presence at his side, a mirage carved of smoke she was, his eyes stared out towards where the blade struck while her eyes only settled over you. Your breath catches when your gaze moves from König to her and you do find a resemblance: the way that her hair, the same color as your own frames her face, her frame, the way that her nose shapes, even the expression upon her face.

The mother he spoke of, the feral love and protectiveness outspoken and proud in her eyes. You do not recognize this woman, even amidst the cluster of sparse memories in your mind. Not until now had you ever seen her, but the feeling you’re gifted then… a roaring settling in your chest to extinguish all apprehension tells all.

As the last of the Romans is struck down by König himself, a blade sunk so deep into the other’s stomach as the other man spits out a gurgled wail, the woman only seems to fade out into nothing, replaced by the backdrop of the trees surrounding. Nothing left behind in the wake of the place she once walked apart from fallen soldiers and a trail of blood and König, safe as he could be.

When you come to him, teary-eyed and fretful, your roaming fingers do not catch on a single gash. The blood painted over his face, neck, chest is none of his own. He’s well, just as the other men from the village as they rush to snuff out the flames and clear away the bodies.

Though König pants heavily and his eyes are still wild, mind momentarily lost to the thrumming adrenaline in his veins, your touch seems to settle him greatly. The sword falls from his hands to clatter in the dust and muck, curling around you to pull you in. You think he should be angry that you hadn’t listened when he ordered you to stay, but he only seems as grateful as you to find his other half alive and longing still. Always.

You tell him of the woman as you sob into his chest, describe her and her vanishing as best you could in your own muffled voice. He grins, strokes your hair as though he truly believes every word even with how ridiculous it all sounds. There are things far more demanding to focus on now, and eventually you fall to silence as he holds you there.

Your home still stands, built just far enough off from the rest that its managed to avoid the battle entirely. Untouched, except from inside. The altar you had dedicated to Juno is gone, vanished just like the woman you had seen before. The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air, misplaced and unannounced, but a comfort all the same. You smile to yourself, bittersweet but comforting, with tears drying upon your face.

— — —

The village takes time to rebuild.

You lose time just as much as you lose sleep helping out with the endless tasks. König, thinking himself chivalrous, or perhaps hinting at what your future may entail if he continues to ravage you as though he would die without your warmth, never allows you to carry anything heavy. Even clay pots filled with water from the stream are swiftly taken from your hands. Gods forbid you even attempt to aid in cooking over the fires, either. He pulls you away with a hand clasped over your mouth and nose, delicately caressing your face and reminding you to be careful.

Something has changed. What you knew to be love before only seems to double with each passing day. He fusses and dotes over you endlessly, ensuring that you’re well fed, trailing behind you to bathe and it isn’t even just for the chance to sink into your cunt.

Often, he sits with you in his lap, guiding a wet cloth up to gently wash you, toys with your damp hair beneath his fingers, tells you stories of his own adventures and the people who traveled alongside him. Not of the hundred wives his men had boasted about him having, a ridiculous statement only meant to make you pine for him more than you already had, you supposed. He even tells you, sheepishly, that most women seemed afraid of him, but never you.

When you do make love, it’s an act of endless desperation. Along the bank of the stream, your shared bed, against any tree he deems fit enough to not budge beneath your shared weight, and even once in a field of wild blooms you two had found along a foraging trek. The floral aroma had kissed your skin each place he had, left you more doughy and sweet even as you took to conquer him, straddled over his hips with your head thrown back to the wind. You laughed with him when it was through, curled your hand beneath his chin to you with the rough feeling of his unshaven hair.

Everything— each new thing you learn and see with König as your guide only seems to melt away any wall you put up. Your life before only seems to fade from memory, that lonely bitterness consumed by the well of love he’s pushed you into.

When autumn comes and the trees begin to turn, each wealth of green faded and given way for yellow and red, your mare has finally become more docile and tame. You’re not even sure who to thank for it, for the way she struts about with giddy children on her back and doesn’t fuss when even you will yourself to settle over her saddle.

The saddle like all else in your life only seems softer, stitched together with leather, a cushion made of a rabbit’s pelt and stuffed full with straw and down so soft you don’t even dread the idea of the long ride to come.

The mountains, here, surrounding the valley and the village are wild and beautiful, still layered near to their peaks in abundant fields of late-blooming flowers. The stars still hang above, twinkling and glittering as if only to silently deliver their blessings for your coming journey. It is only the sea that you’ve yet to venture toward, the last on the list of honeyed promises König has made to you.

Your luggage is packed and spread between the two horses, your mare and his stallion. There are blankets and preserved food, light posts to set up a tent someplace a distance from the shore, even a pearl dangling from a thin chain that König dutifully places on your neck. It’s no exchange of rings, but you clutch the little gem tight as you will yourself not to cry. There was no need to be so sentimental not now, not after you’ve already shared so many moments far more tender.

The seax dangles at your hip, catching the glow of the sun above when you pull it free and polish it alongside König as he does with his pilfered sword. He shows you how to use a whetstone, delicately maneuvering your hand to sharpen the blade before dousing the thing in oil, makes you swear not to accidentally nick yourself when you’re inevitably dragged in the throes of some hunt at his side.

You’ve yet to use it for that purpose, but going alone means you’ve no choice but to offer your support… even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t actually allow you to do much at all, frustrating as that was.

When morning comes, you say your goodbyes to the village. You’re thrown flowers both pressed and new, petals latching to the fur of the pelt tied over your shoulders. König receives wine, far more useful than the delicate little blossoms that you brush away with shy smiles and glassy eyes.

The language is easier to understand now, when the others offer you great fortune on your travels, the women speaking greatly of your fertility despite the way it makes your nose scrunch in distaste. They call you Königin, only that, never any name you’ve offered for them to use. Perhaps even above the name the people of the city called you by it is more fitting.

You settle into the saddle with König atop his stallion next to you, reach for the reins when he flashes you a wary look, tells you that you will ride slow and he will keep you safe in case anything does happen to occur. You only think to remark the same, gesturing toward the weapon strapped to your hip, smirking when he snorts in amusement.

“Are you ready to depart?,” you ask him as you reach a hand out to trail along his arm, heart thumping wildly when his gaze only begins to further soften. You almost fear he may begin to cry, just as overwhelmed and sweetly pacified as you feel now. “We can stay a while longer if not.”

“Nein… we still need to plan for the stars after,” he whispers as he takes hold of your hand, interlocks your fingers and brushes against each knuckle with the pad of his thumb before bringing it toward his chest.

The moment is broken when the horses begin to huff in anticipation. You don’t get the chance to remind him that you still see each constellation he’s shown to you in the glimmer of his eyes, but you know well enough by now that he would only tell you the same in turn.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #okay i lied two hours early but i’m tired of looking at words today #f: only other

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 6 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 42

Part 1 Part 41

Steve doesn’t realize they’re not heading toward the Munson’s trailer until they pass the gaudy Loch Nora sign.

Despite what he’d argued, he’s tired – zoning in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. He can still hear the voices bouncing off the lockers in the hallway, echoing after the strange solitude of the Upside-Down. And then the hospital. And then the Munson’s trailer.

His gut writhes as Eddie pulls into his winding driveway, putting the van in park with a world-weary sigh. His bimmer is still parked in the driveway, dusted with fallen leaves slowly turning to mulch on his windshield.

The house looms dark and empty. Just like the last time he’d been here; a mad dash from the Demogorgon. Alone.

Steve Harrington is always alone.

“What are we doing here?” he asks.

Eddie, having already opened his door and gotten halfway up and out of the van, levers his whole body back into his seat and closes the door behind him.

Eddie looks over at Steve. Steve doesn’t look back.

“We don’t have to go in.”

Steve sighs, running his hand over his head again, pushing hair back out of his face that he no longer has.

“What are we doing here, man?” he repeats, soul gaping, eyes dead.

Eddie sighs. “I thought you might like some of your stuff.”

Steve looks up at the looming specter of his childhood home. The windows are as dark as they always are. “And then we’re going back to yours?” Steve asks, scratching the back of his head, trying for nonchalance he’s not sure he ever pulled off in Eddie Munson’s presence.

When he glances over at Eddie, he’s looking up at the house, eyes focused on the dark front windows, porch light off, curtains drawn. His eyebrows are pinched together. Steve wants to smooth it out with a thumb. Doesn’t.

What does he see? Classmates and teachers alike always see it as a blessing – big house, no parents. Eddie’s not like anyone else he’s ever met.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless, looking up at the second floor like it’s haunted. “You hate this house.”

The thing is, Steve does. Always has, since he was small, tottering around after a physically present Mother, but feeling the absence like a wound.

He saw that wound reflected back at him from Tommy and Carol, dogs begging for scraps of love.

Maybe it’s in Eddie as well.

Steve gets out of the van, Eddie following his lead, walking at his side close enough that their elbows brush. He digs the hid-a-key out of the bush in the planter by the front door.

“Dude, rich people are so easy to rob,” Eddie says, looking around like he’s casing the joint.

Steve snorts, slotting the key in the lock, turning it left and pushing the door open. The sound rings hollow, like the mouth of a cave swallowing them.

Steve leads the way inside.

Eddie follows him up to his bedroom, grabs his backpack off the where he’d ditched it that last day. Steve grabs his duffel bag from the closet and stuffs clothes in at random.

Steve grabs the teddy bear off his bed. Tommy had won it for him from a claw machine on his last birthday. It was sky blue and soft. He couldn’t leave it behind, no matter what Munson said.

But he didn’t say anything at all, just stands there patiently as Steve looks around his bedroom, a pit sinking deep at how little he’s taking. How little there is that he wants at all.

He swings the bag across his shoulders, clutches the bear to his chest and walks back down the stairs at a brisk pace, Eddie trotting along at his heels.

On instinct, Steve heads to the pristine kitchen. There’s a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet, a handful of twenties stuck behind it.

They’d come and gone, and hadn’t noticed he was gone at all.

Steve plucks the note from the fridge, letting the twenties flutter to the ground, the magnet clattering on the pile loudly. Eddie bends down to gather them up as Steve reads:

Steven,

Your Father and I are off to Berlin, and will be gone for three weeks.

You’re on thin ice with your Father. We were both very disappointed by the state you left the house in. We expect better from you.

It’s left unsigned.

Eddie rips the note out of his hands and shoves it in his mouth, chewing. Steve stares, transfixed as Eddie chews and chews.

Grimacing around the mouthful, he says, “I don’t know why I thought this would work.” It’s muffled and warbling around the masticated paper on his tongue.

Steve bursts out laughing, watching as Eddie runs to the sink and scrapes the paper mache monstrosity off of his tongue.

“What the fuck?” Steve says, still laughing.

Eddie shoves his mouth over the faucet, lets the water pour onto his tongue messily and dribbles back out.

“10/10, do not recommend,” he says, voice muffled as he scrapes his tongue off with his fingers. “That tasted disgusting, dude!”

There’s something light and airy bursting from him, like the first rays of sun cutting through the darkness. No one’s ever been willing to make a fool of themselves to cheer Steve up. But the bashful slant of Eddie’s smile tells Steve exactly why this newest bit came about.

“You’re such a fucking freak,” he says, fondness leaking out at every seam.

He wants to hug Eddie, so he does. His arms slot perfectly around Eddie’s waist, pulling the other boy in. He freezes for a moment before wrapping his own arms around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him in tightly. Eddie’s fly-away hair tickles Steve’s nose.

Eddie’s digging his nose into Steve’s shoulder like he’s trying to make a home in there, whiskers scratchy, lips wet. Steve sinks in, breath shuddering out as Eddie takes more and more of his weight.

They stand, wrapped up in each other in Steve’s endlessly quiet kitchen. Together.

Steve Harrington is not alone. And when Eddie asks, “ready to go, sweetheart?” he nods, disentangling reluctantly from Eddie’s arms.

And when they drive back out onto the road from his long, winding driveway, Steve doesn’t look back.

Part 43

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic

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oobbbear · 1 year

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✨The Seven Mysteries AU✨

Long post warning

These are the twins who haunts an elementary school janitor’s closet, story inspired by Hanoko San the classic Japanese urban legend

In this school it consists of seven mysteries, one of them is the ghost twins, legend says that if you go knock on the fourth floor janitor’s closet four times while calling their name, one of them will appear to greet you. If you’re a good person, Sun will appear and grand you blessings and treats.If you’re a bad person, Moon will appear and haunt you till the end of your days.

The twin went to a regular elementary school when they were 7, unfortunately they got bullied and isolated by the students there.

It was the last day before summer vacation, the two got beaten and locked in a janitor’s closet, Sun was hit on the head and died not long after due to blood loss, Moon was able to stay alive for an entire week before dying due to starvation and dehydration. They were not found till 2 months later.

After that, they haunt the school.

Both were very much hurt but Moon struggles more than Sun because of what he witnessed

………………………………………………………..

The 6 other mysteries hopefully I will introduce them one by one, they gonna be the rest of the pizzaplex crew (rn I only have music man’s design, the rest I’ll come up with something somehow)

#my art #fnaf au #the seven mysteries au #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #tw blood #tw child death #also damn it it really is ‘responding’ not ‘responting’#I’m not sure why I thought it’s a ‘t’#I’m just been staring at it for days instead of actually go and search for it #tw eyes

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uyuartik · 4 months

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bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)

tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier

a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

enjoy!!!

word count: 5.4K

chapter one: see you tonight?

“…Fuck, just like that-“

That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.

Ehem. Lord Kenobi.

And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.

Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.

Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.

You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.

“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.

Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.

Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering.

And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball.

"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though.

Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight.

"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”

You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you.

You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you.

“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.

Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?

You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.

"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.

"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."

Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”

“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.

“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you.

You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."

He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others.

"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"

He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"

"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.

"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.

It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."

"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.

"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"

"Just like now."

"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?"

"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"

"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?"

"I could never claim otherwise."

That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.

That was it. That was the turning point of the night.

“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?”

You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”

Now that’s, how you ended up here.

However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.

(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)

It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)

“You’re taking me so well.” He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.

“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.

When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.

“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.

“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.

“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.

He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.

You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.

He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.

In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.

His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.

“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.”

Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.) But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.

You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”

He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets.

"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.

You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.

He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.

He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.

“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”

“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”

That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.

“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”

He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.

Remember when he said “ruin”?

He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.

“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”

Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.

He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.

Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.

“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.

This is why you ended up here.

“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.

“I want this to last, dear.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.

Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.

You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.

Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –

His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.

Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.

Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.

“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”

You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.

“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.

It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.

When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.

Your limb stays in the spot he left it.

He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.

“Obi Wan-I’m c-“

He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”

Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend.

That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people.

He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”

You giggle. “I agree.”

“We should’ve done this before.”

Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.

But he has a point, too.

In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.

“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.

He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?

“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face.

"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Lord Kenobi.

"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs."

The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear.

In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion.

Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.

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kishibe-kisser · 2 months

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Wish I never met you (Ghost)

A/N: It's finally here. I'm really proud of this one. Sorry it took so long to finish. Life really spiralled out of control. But if you still want to take the time to read this I would greatly appreciate it.

Tags: Zombie Apocalypse au!, Ghost x afab!reader, mentions of blood, death, mentions of suicide, Soap, Price, yelling, arguing, enemies to lovers, smut

Smut tags: kissing, p in v, oral (reader receiving), nipple play

Word count: 13173 words

Tag list: @mildlyhopeless @twdhtgawm @lilliumrorum

No one ever mentions how heavy a dead body is, not when the topic arises. The dead weight of someone in your arms, with absolutely no help. No it’s not something that crosses someone’s mind when thinking about death. You had never thought about it until now and well, he was so heavy, between all of the gear and the size of him, it was nearly impossible to pull him further than a few feet at a time.

Tears blurred your vision, dripping down your face and making it hard to identify where you were. It wasn’t something you normally had to pay attention to, he did that enough for the both of you, his head always on a swivel. Trying to pull him along from under his arms, your feet dug into the dirt and you put all your strength into it before falling over. His body laying on your legs as you couldn’t find the strength to move anymore. Blood filled your mouth as you bit your lips to stop the screaming, the familiar metallic taste making the tears fall even harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You apologized softly, cradling his head in your arms as you gave up. “I can’t do this.” You said even softer, refusing to look at him and looking up at the dark sky. Screaming wasn’t an option, screaming meant losing both of your bodies forever and you were damned if you were going to let that happen. You were going to bring him home, you had to bring him home, you owed that to him. “Damn you.” You cried, smacking his still chest. “I wish I had never met you Simon Riley.” You meant every word, more tears falling from your eyes with each syllable. In a world like this it was better to be alone and before him, you knew that… before him, it was the way you survived.

Pressing your ear to the door, you listened diligently for shuffling or any other signs of life. There wasn’t a sound and while that would have been enough for someone else, it wasn’t enough for you. You absolutely didn’t trust it, it wouldn’t have been the first time that you walked into an apartment expecting to find it empty only to be rushed at by one of those things. No, you couldn’t be reckless like that.

Gently you rapped your fingers against the door, loud enough to create the softest sound but not loud enough for any other apartment to even catch a peep. You pressed your ear to the door again, once again not hearing a sound and only then did you decide it was safe enough to try. So far, your apartment building had been a gold mine. The apartments on your floor having had enough supplies to keep you alive this long. It felt seemingly unscathed aside from the few undead stragglers, it was nearly empty. It had been a blessing and a curse to you, thinking about your neighbors that were most likely long gone. The building had been full of families, parents who worked and children who went to school, families who simply were living their lives when the world ended. The outbreak hitting the big cities the hardest towards the middle of the day, no one had been home, well almost no one. It was hard to believe a simple cold was what kept you alive that day, having decided that morning that it wasn’t worth the fight to go into work.

Guilt filled your body each time you broke into someone else’s home and saw the life they had left behind. The pictures on the walls, the vases filled with dead flowers and children play room’s with untouched teddy bears, they haunted you as you tried to sleep every night.

You sighed stepping into the empty apartment, a sigh of relief that nothing had come running at you the second the door opened and a knowing sigh that this apartment would soon also become a location for your nightmares.

This apartment wasn’t familiar to you in the slightest, never having it’s residents before and that made it a little easier. Looking around you took in the décor and the details as you shut the front door behind you. Your hand gripped your knife tightly, just in case as you wandered around. You nearly passed the old photo hanging on the wall, a wedding photo of the couple that most likely lived here in their old age. A stinging sensation filled your chest and you shook your head. “Don’t think about it.” You mumbled to yourself, brushing past it quickly to make your way to the kitchen. “Don’t think about it.” You repeated to yourself as you rummaged through their cabinets and took any canned item you could find. While this was the new normal, stealing from people never felt normal.

However you weren’t against the little joys in life, spotting a can of cherry pie filling that made you smile. This was going to be your treat and those were few and far between. Rummaging through the drawers, you found a can opener and sat down on the couch. Was it your most shining moment, no, did it matter? Absolutely not. The sweet cherry taste made you damn near moan as you spooned them out of the can.

You pulled your knees under your chin, still eating the pie filling as you pretended life was normal for a moment before nearly jumping out of your skin at a sound. It wasn’t the sound of zombies or an animal, no it was the sound of people and those were nine times out of ten worse than the undead.

Shuffling around to your pack, you left your treat behind. This was stressful because there was no way to tell what category they fell into, meaning you had to get out before you found out. That was just what you were trying to do as you gripped your knife, slowly and carefully opening the front door again. You hadn’t however, anticipated the three guns trained on you or the heavily armed men staring you dead on from your crack in the door.

“You bit?” The one with a thick mustache asked and you shook your head, knife still gripped in your hand but out of sight from them. You could swear they could hear your heartbeat, through your clothes and through the wood of the door. Your pause in answering was for two reasons: one, you were taking in their appearance, military uniforms on, heavy gear and vests and one wearing a skull mask and two, you were trying to keep your voice steady despite your whole body shaking. They seemed like military men, but the mask was throwing you off…that and the way his intense eyes were staring at you.

“No. Could ask the same thing.” You said, all your efforts to keep your voice from shaking out the window. “As that is your right, no we’re all clear.” The man said with a smile, but you didn’t feel at ease, not quite yet. “Put the knife down.” The man in the skull mask said and your eyes shot to him with fear. How did he know? “I don’t think that’s fair. There’s three of you and one of me.” You admitted and watched the smallest of the three let out a laugh. “Honest, I like it.” He remarked but laughter was the last thing on your mind. “I understand the caution especially in times like this. We’re from the military base near by and we have been trying to clear buildings and get civilians a place of refuge. We aren’t here to harm.” It was true, times like this were hard and a little extra caution wasn’t an excessive luxury.

Maybe it was your lack of social interaction or maybe it was the sugar rush from the pie filling you ate, but you pulled the door open and maybe misplaced some trust into these men. It was also partially the idea of refuge. You hadn’t spoken to anyone but yourself in months and while you were absolutely terrified and outnumbered, your gut wasn’t yelling at you.

The second the door opened more, the man with the skull mask pulled you forward and knocked your knife out of your hand. “Just a precaution.” Skull mask grumbled, hands roughly tracing over your body. It wasn’t in an invasive way of any sort but in a protective way, just to make sure you weren’t hiding anything. His touches nearly knocked you over, not quite steady on your feet and you braced yourself on the wall for a moment. “Easy, Ghost.” The man with the mustache said, raising his hand to calm the other man’s movements. “Yeah, easy. I don’t have anything to hide.” You said, feeling venomous towards the man. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” He said in your ear, finishing his pat down and moving to your backpack.

You stood against the door, watching them go through your things. It felt invasive, them taking the cans of food from your bag and looking through the change of clothes you always had with you. The book you were reading even fell to the floor and you sighed, bending over to pick it up.

“I think it’s fair, considering I’m outnumbered and you’ve held my underwear in your hands that I know your names.” You said, fidgeting with your book in your hand. The way these men searched your things and conducted their business had you convinced, that and the closer look to their badges and uniforms. “Captain John Price.” The man with the mustache told you, extending his hand to you. Hesitantly, you took it and watched as the man with the skull mask made sure you didn’t make any sudden moves. He hadn’t eliminated you as a threat just yet, nor did he appreciate your attitude.

“I’m Soap and our cheery friend here is Ghost.” The smaller of the three clasped his hand on the man’s shoulder. Ghost wasn’t one for situations like this, which made him the best one to take on jobs like this. While they were all good at paying extra attention in situations like this, he truly excelled at reading the room. When it came to character judgement however, he was still learning and he always would be. A rough childhood would do that to you, it made you see people a little darker than the average person. So your attitude didn’t spark any warm feelings in him, all he saw was a nervous doe in wolves clothing.

“You live here?” He asked, handing you your bag back but not your knife. “Haven’t left the building since this all started.” You admitted, looking to your shoes and avoiding the eyes on you. “Haven’t talked to anyone since this all started.” You added on and shook your head at your own sad admission. “Are there a lot of people? Where you guys are?” You asked suddenly, a wave of hope filling your chest only to be shot down instantly. “You’re in no position to be asking questions.” Ghost interrupted, watching the temporary light leave your eyes. They had a nice haven going, with families, a community and self sufficient living. There was a lot to lose by bringing in the wrong person.

“There are. We have a community all living in the base barracks.” Price told you, raising his hand to Ghost to tell him to lay off. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into his lieutenant, but something had sparked an immediate dislike towards you and he didn’t understand why. Besides, personal opinion in international crisis was the last of anyone’s worry. Everyone deserved a chance to survive, everyone deserved a chance to be protected. It was why they had all joined the service in the first place.

You didn’t tell them about your apartment, or that you had a lot of things still left there. You figured should their refuge not be what you expected, you could always come back. At least that was what you were telling yourself. It wasn’t that you wanted to come back, you didn’t want to need to, you wanted this to work. Even if Ghost was staring at you like you were seconds committing a crime at all time, if you had to live like that it was fine. You wanted to live, to survive and who knows how long you still would have lasted in that building. If the military were the ones to find the building, you were lucky, it could have been a lot worse and ended very differently.

That was what you were telling yourself as you were pulled out of their armored truck. It was clear you were in the base by all the stiff government buildings and the cement walls surrounding them. But it wasn’t conducting as a military base anymore, at least not officially. Sure there were men in uniform wandering around but what really surprised you was the amount of kids running around, playing. It had you stopped in your tracks, watching with a little smile.

The cherry pie filling had been your treat for the day, but seeing all these kids gave you hope and that definitely trumped the sweet treat.

“Haven’t seen kids in a while?” Soap asked, passing you your backpack. You shook your head, trying to make the tears disappear that you hadn’t realized had formed. “Not any that were alive.” You admitted, pushing back the less than pleasant memories that had formed in your mind. Your apartment building was home to families, of course you stumbled across awful sights and had to take care of things you would have preferred not to.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your bed and then off to the showers.” Soap smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and your eyes went wide. That was a word you hadn’t thought about for a long time and you found yourself tearing up again. “Did you say showers?”

Once you’re isolated for an extended period of time, it’s hard to adjust to be around people again. Ghost knew this, so his eyes were plastered on you as you walked through the base. You looked better now, less like a cornered animal and that put him a little at ease but he was still weary.

“I don’t think she’s anything to worry about.” Soap said, unloading the canned food they had found on their trip. “I have a bad feeling, Johnny.” Ghost said in return, ripping his gaze from you to help. Soap shook his head with a laugh before turning to him. “What are you really worried about? Think she’s hiding something?” He asked him and Ghost shrugged for a moment. “Could be, just find it hard to believe that someone like that can survive so long without help. We’ve lost plenty of good people to less in the last months. What if she was just separated from her group?” He unloaded, letting his feelings towards this situation out. “We’ve brought back a lot of people under the same circumstances and you haven’t acted this way. Besides, you know as well as I do that people will do anything to survive, even if it seems unlikely. Look at differently, she’s strong. She has to be to have survived so long alone, she might even be an asset.” Ghost knew he was right, he knew he was just being paranoid. He couldn’t ignore that feeling in his chest when he looked at you though.

“How have you been adjusting?” Captain Price asked you, sitting at what you assumed was his office even before the world went to Hell. You fiddled with the fabric of your shirt as you thought of an answer. It didn’t help that Ghost was seated on the couch in the room, watching you think of something to say. He didn’t like you and that was clear, not that you were the biggest fan of him either. Adjusting hadn’t been easy but you didn’t want them to think you couldn’t handle it. You didn’t want to be turned away.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” You said softly, avoiding Price’s eyes. “If it’s the cots, they take getting used to. The barracks weren’t made for civilians.” Price said with a sympathetic smile. You shook your head, raising a hand to stop him. “It’s not that- it’s-“ “It’s being around so many people. It’s too noisy, right?” Ghost asked and your head whipped around to him. How did he know?

“You get used to being alone so long, being around so many people can be overwhelming.” You admitted and you felt absolutely pathetic. A solid roof over your head, people that want to look after each other surrounding you and you couldn’t get a night’s sleep? You hated your body and mind for being so ungrateful.

He knew the feeling well, better than most. He struggled with this when they brought the first batch of survivors on base. They were strangers to him, sleeping a few feet away from him and they were loud. They weren’t really loud, he knew that. But you never quite realize how loud people are in general until it’s all taken away, it takes getting used to and he felt somewhat… sympathetic towards you. Being in the military equips you with coping mechanisms for things like this, it was harder for the average person.

“You’re not the first one to experience this. Which should be comforting, you’re adjusting normally.” Price told you and you feigned a smile. “If you need anything let me know.” Price added on and dismissed you. You didn’t feel comforted really, but you knew you needed to fight through it. It was a safe space and you hadn’t met anyone yet that made you uncomfortable, Ghost aside. You could do it, you had been through worse than a sleepless night.

You had been dreading the night and doing anything possible to avoid thinking about it. Oddly enough, there was plenty to do. You helped organize some of the canned food, looked into the farming system they had set up and helped cook dinner. It was a community and helping out made you feel better.

“There you are! Was beginning to think you were never going to show up.” Christine smiled as you entered the barracks. She had been kind to you from the moment you walked onto base, though it was clear she had been well socialized already. She never seemed to have an awkward moment with anyone and well, you were filled with them. It was nice to know she was worried about you though, it was dark outside and you had to sleep at some point.

“Yeah, was just doing a bunch. What’s up?” You asked, slowly walking together towards your cot. “One of the Lieutenant’s asked me to pass this along to you. You know, Ghost, the one with the skull mask.” She smiled, showing you the items in question. Earbuds and a historical fiction novel. “Did he say anything?” You asked, accepting the items with hesitation. He hadn’t said one kind thing to you since you got there, whatever this was about it couldn’t mean anything good. “Nope, just asked me to pass it along.” She said and you nodded in understanding, despite not understanding anything at all.

“Can I ask you something.” You said, mouth speaking before you even realized. “Of course.” She beamed, brushing her long blond hair behind her ear. She seemed eager at the chance of getting to know you more. “What’s his deal? Ghost’s. Like I’ve only seen him in the mask.” You asked, watching her smile pull even wider. “And that’s the only way you will see him. It never comes off. He’s a good guy though, I think. The most he’s said to me was asking me to give you that. He takes good care of everyone though. Just not with a lot of words. The kids think he’s a superhero.” You found yourself smiling at the way she talked about him and you could totally see the kids seeing him as a superhero.

The mask thing didn’t become anymore clear to you and well, you definitely weren’t going to ask him about it. You simply took his token of kindness and kept your mouth shut.

It wasn’t unusual for some of the guys doing security checks to wander through the barracks to make sure nothing was wrong. Ghost was lucky enough to be the one to have to do it this time, much to his own dismay. However duties were duties and while he’d definitely complain about it, he’d do it. He was curious to see if you were awake anyways.

With his gun tucked into his arms, he stepped lightly into the barracks. Wandering in between all the beds, he made sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Head on a swivel as he double checked perimeter until he reached your bed. The book he had leant you was nothing special, some boring historical novel he had lying around. Each time he had tried to read it, it lulled it right to sleep so he thought it might have the same effect on you. As for the earbuds, they worked better some days more than others. He didn’t know why he cared about if you slept well, he just knew he did.

By the looks of things it worked, the book lay open on your chest and the earbuds were tucked snugly into your ears. You were out cold and looked peaceful. From the moment you had been here, he had his eye on you and it always looked like you were going to run. This was the first time you had seemed okay, normal even.

Your chest rose and fell softly, your lips slightly pursed together as you slept deeply. Ghost sighed while looking at you, reaching out to take the book off your chest and folding a corner of the page you were on to keep your place for you. He then placed it next to your cot, taking another moment to look at your face. He was starting to understand it, the feeling he always had in his chest when he looked at you. This would have happened in the normal world too, had he have seen you. You were the prettiest thing he had ever seen and while pretty things didn’t normally make him weak, times were different and so was he.

They hadn’t been wrong about the time it took to adjust, it wasn’t long until you were fully on your feet and used to life at the base. One thing was sure though, you were itching to see how things truly were on the outside. Between the apartment building and the base, you had lived a sheltered life compared to most. You liked being able to fend for yourself and that was a quality you felt slowly disappearing. If something happened you had to know how to protect yourself again, how to exist in this world.

“Hey Y/N!” A small voice called as you walked across the base. You knew exactly who it was and it took no 2 seconds for small hands to tug at the edge of your shirt. You scooped the boy up in your arms, tickling him as you did and enjoyed the laughter that came out of it. “Jackson does your mom know you’re running around like a wild child?” You asked, still walking but now with the child on your hip. Christine’s son was an absolute ray of sunshine and you would do anything if it meant keeping that joy safe.

“Ghost is going to get supplies. I wanted to go with them but they told me I wasn’t allowed until I’m older.” He rambled, ignoring your question meaning his mother didn’t know. You were just glad Ghost and Soap had enough common sense to tell him he couldn’t come along. “Is that so, well how about I go talk to them about it?” You said, placing the boy back on the ground and looking towards the car that was being loaded up. “Yes! I want to go.” He pouted up at you and you ruffled his hair. “And I’ll let them know.” You promised, pink swearing with the child before making your way over.

“That little con artist convince you to talk us into taking him with us?” Soap asked, both of the men having seen the interaction between you and the child. “You have to admit for a six year old he can be quite persuasive.” You fired in return, smiling as you looked at Ghost. He wasn’t rude to you anymore and you could appreciate that. His presence around you felt overwhelming like he was always there, watching. The least he could do was be nice about it. “But no, I was going to ask if I can go with you guys.” Ghost’s expression, from what you could tell, drained from any amusement.

“No way.” He said bluntly, not even wanting to think about having you out there. He hated having to bring others along, civilians, but the thought of bringing you along was worse. He couldn’t focus with you around, he wouldn’t be able to be the best he could be out there.

“Jesus LT, lighten up. We’ve gone to that area a million times. Y/N’s good for it.” Soap said, not understanding the blunt response. “We can make this a civilian run, they need to know how to do this stuff too. Just in case.” He added on, hands gripping the shoulder straps of his vest. “I’d rather strip naked and dance in front of those zombies with no fence in between us, than do a civilian run.” Ghost responded, the remark making you bite back a laugh and making Soap pull a face. “I’d pay good money to see that.” You joked, watching Ghost’s eyes go back to looking at you. He was smiling, you could tell by the way wrinkles formed by his eyes but you wouldn’t let him know that you knew.

“I’d burn my eyes if I saw that.” Soap cringed before shaking his head. “Y/N go get a pack. I’ll get someone else to come along too.” He said shortly after, ignoring the way Ghost was bawling his fists.

“You really have a stick up your arse when it comes to her.” Soap turned to him, confused look on his face. “If someone else would ask you’d be annoyed but not care.” “She’s not someone else.” Ghost mumbled, needing to vent his feelings but not knowing how to do it. “Got a crush there LT?” The words already just sounded stupid. He was a full grown man at the end of the world, saying he had a crush was ridiculous. “Shut up.”

The car ride was painfully silent, an awkward air filling the car. Between you, Soap, Ghost and the man you knew who worked in the kitchen who’s name was Jack, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You swallowed the lump in your throat, looking between the 2 military men in the front seat. Ghost’s gloved hand gripping the steering wheel as you drove through back roads. There was a feeling in the pit of your stomach when you looked at him, confusion combined with frustration and butterflies. Fear was also in the mix, not sure of what to expect now that you were on the outside.

“Where are we going?” You asked, trying to cut the tension. You watched as zombies took notice of the car driving by, slowly changing their direction to the noise not knowing they wouldn’t be able to keep up. “Small string of shops. We haven’t cleared them out yet but we haven’t been there in a while, so if we haven’t someone else might have.” Soap explained, glancing back to you and you nodded. “Remember, we’re looking for preserved food. Cans, bags, things that can’t really go bad.” Ghost added on, icy blue eyes locking with yours through the mirror. He tore his gaze away first before putting his eyes back to the road.

“We’re splitting up and meeting back here in max 2 hours. Stick to your partner. I-“ Soap was cut off, as you all stood in front of the now parked car. “I’ll go with Y/N. You go with Jack.” Ghost announced, pointing the other two men to each other. It seemed Soap could sense your dread, shooting you a sympathetic look. “Right, 2 hours.” He confirmed with everyone, making sure everyone understood.

You felt uneasy, not because you were finally out of the base but because of the fact he chose to be with you. Did he really still not trust you after all this time, not after the small things he had done for you? Or the way you adjusted to everyone and tried to help out where you could. Why couldn’t he see how hard you were trying?

“I’m surprised.” You said, looking everywhere but at him as you prepared to enter the first store. “Surprised at what?” He grumbled, before carefully opening the door. It was eerily quiet out and extra caution wasn’t a bad thing. “You picked me to partner up with. Especially considering how badly you didn’t want me coming along.” You explained, following behind him. “It’s not that important.” He said and you sighed, ignoring the remark and wandering through the shop. It didn’t seem to have much else other than baby supplies. Picking up some bottles and other things some of the moms back at the base might need. It wasn’t on the list but it was important.

“Planning on getting pregnant some time soon, those weren’t on the list.” Ghost hovered over you and you looked at him with a harsh expression. “No and I know these weren’t on the list. But there are plenty of moms with young babies at the base. Stuff like this is good.” You said and watched him roll his eyes for a moment before continuing to look. He wasn’t annoyed at you, no, he was annoyed at himself for not thinking about that, not to mention there were a few pregnant women around too. Maybe it was good that you came along.

“I can’t believe you still don’t trust me.” You said, voice cracking for a second despite how strong you were trying to be. It was bothering you, you wanted him to like you, to trust you.

“This has nothing to do with trust.” He said in return, surprised at your outburst. “Bullshit.” You rumbled back and picked up your bag to keep going. There were plenty more stores to go through and you were so frustrated, you didn’t want to be around him anymore.

The silence was even more uncomfortable now, so much so it even bothered him. He just didn’t know what to say, he didn’t mean for things to this way. Ghost was so in his feelings about the whole thing, he didn’t notice you had wandered off which was rare because if anything he always paid too much attention. “Y/N?” He asked, not wanting to raise his voice too much. Maybe you went into the next store, he thought to himself as he wandered around with a wave of panic through his body. “Y/N?” He said, a little louder this time as he scanned the store quickly. The moan of a zombie however made him whip his head around. This store was overrun and surely you wouldn’t be stupid enough to run in here. At least that’s what he thought, until he saw your backpack on the ground.

He already saw why you did what you did, the back wall was filled with canned goods and you thought you were doing a good thing. But where were you? He couldn’t see you anywhere at first glance, until he saw you on top of one of the shelving units waving at him to not come closer. They hadn’t seen him yet or heard him.

You were absolutely panicking, your heart pounding in your ears and you were looking at Ghost with nothing but pure fear. Of all situations you could have ruined, you really mucked this one up and now he was going to have to save you, which you hated even more.

Ghost gestured for you to carefully grab your knife from your belt and you listened, trying not to move too much or make too much noise. He urged you to slowly come off the shelf, but you felt stuck. They would definitely see you and they were no 2 feet away from you. Just as you were gathering the courage, lifting your legs off the shelf, a zombie crossed right next to you and your heart nearly stopped. Covering your mouth, you couldn’t let it hear you breathe. When it wandered further you looked back to Ghost, who gestured for you to hurry up, his other hand gripping his gun. Surely he wouldn’t let you die like this? Right?

Gathering all of your courage, you pushed off the shelf and listened how the metal sang under the pressure. It was like the whole room came to life, roars and hisses chasing after you as you made a run for the door. You avoided the arms coming towards you, the smell of rotting flesh drawing nearer as you held back a scream. The last thing you needed was to draw more of them to you from other areas. God you felt like you needed to throw up and the second you were out of this situation you would.

The door was in your grasp and you were so close, until you realized you forgot your backpack. Now, the smart thing to do would have been to leave it behind. Well you were dumb enough to get into this situation and you were dumb enough to go back.

You looked at Ghost before turning around, narrowly avoiding the grasp of a zombie. “What the hell are you doing?” He almost yelled, no longer staying quiet before diving into the store after you. He fired shots, taking down the one closest to you as you grabbed the backpack. Ghost reached for the back of your shirt, pulling you harshly as he used the hand holding his gun to bash another zombie that was charging you both.

With the backpack in your hands, you both ran for the door and slammed it shut the second you got outside. The door shook on it’s hinges as Ghost held it shut, urging you to find something to keep it shut. You found a thick chain on the ground, wrapping it around the door handles. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would hold for now.

“Are you guys alright, we heard shots?!” Soap called, running to you both and ready for a fight. You were about to respond when Ghost grabbed your arm and made you look at him. “Are you suicidal? Or just that fucking stupid?!” He yelled in your face, the grip on your arm strong enough to leave a bruise. You were in shock, not at the zombies or the near death experience, but the way he yelled at you… the way there was nothing but pure hatred in his eyes. “Your stupid fucking decisions are going to get you and other people killed. Going back for your backpack?!” He continued, Soap putting his hand on his shoulder to stop him only to have it get shaken off.

“I-I-I couldn’t leave it behind. People need that stuff.” You said softly and Ghost shook his head, damn near laughing at you. “Everyone get in the fucking car, we’re going back. Don’t want to deal with this shit today.” Ghost commanded, snatching the backpack out of your hands and pushing you lightly towards the car.

His blood was boiling, how could you do something so stupid? Were you really the type to act on your emotions like that? Wandering off because you were annoyed, you could have gotten killed and he would have felt even more guilty than he already did.

“Hey, cool down.” Soap grabbed his shoulder again, watching as you got in the car. “You like her but acting like this? One sure fire way to terrify her.” He added on and Ghost just shook his head. “Can’t believe she’d be that stupid.” He mumbled and his friend simply shook his head. “Can’t believe you think everyone’s a soldier.” Ghost shook his head at his friend’s words, feeling a lot of emotions. “Let’s just go back.”

You sat on your bed, aimlessly staring out in front of you. If things weren’t awful between you two, they definitely were now and it was making your stomach hurt. The overwhelming feeling of anxiety sat on your chest like a brick and you felt restless, your hands playing with your blankets as you thought about what to do. The matter of the fact was: you fucked up earlier and you had to face it. Maybe Ghost would be understanding, maybe he’d appreciate the apology.

It felt odd being around the soldiers rooms, like you were in restricted territory. Which wasn’t entirely wrong, but it seemed to general rule that no one really went back there. Another rule you were breaking.

You reached his door, knocking with a gentle hand only to receive no response. Repeating the action, you knocked again and gently tried the door handle. When you found it gave way, you did something even more stupid than what you had done earlier, you went into his room, only to instantly regret it. You intruded his space and well, now you did a whole lot more.

“I wanted to apolo-“ You were frozen, looking at his face. His scarred, handsome face without his mask. “Fucking leave.” He grumbled, hardly even making eye contact with you. He simply stood in the middle of his room, furrowed brows looking at you. Nothing but anger and hate filled his voice. “I’m so sorry.” You rambled, trying to leave again and tripping on your way out. You wanted to scream and cry, yell and hit yourself all at the same time. You felt like a bumbling idiot and now you even saw Ghost without his mask, something you weren’t even sure anyone else on base had seen.

Ghost was speechless as he stood in his room. He wasn’t insecure in his looks at all but he had made it a point to keep himself “faceless”. He wasn’t even that mad that you had just seen him like that but still angry with your recklessness. It wasn’t your job to put your life on the line for everyone else, yet you did it anyways without hesitation. Part of his anger was admiration, not that he understood it. Maybe he was too hard on you, maybe Soap was right. Just maybe, if he wasn’t so harsh on you, you wouldn’t try so hard to be accepted by everyone else.

“You want to go back to the apartment building?” Price looked at you with a confused expression as you played with your hands. “I know, I know it sounds stupid. Especially since I mucked things up so bad the last time.” You paused taking a deep breath to look at him. Price had become a true leader to everyone around and to you, you felt like you could talk to him. “I’ve been thinking about my place here within the group. I want to do more. I just know that building is loaded with supplies, I know my apartment still has a lot.” You finished and watching his face contort in contemplation. “If it’s about letting me back out there, I know I shattered the trust there.” You added on and Price shook his head, raising his head to stop you. “No, no it’s not that. Soap cleared that situation up to me.” Price said and you gave a half smile, Soap shouldn’t have to clear things up for you, it was your own fault.

“I don’t like it when there is conflict in the community. It’s small and fragile here, so everything needs to move smoothly. Like a well oiled machine.” Price was rambling, looking at your questioning expression as he did so. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ll let you go but only if you go with Ghost.” He truly was like a father, forcing his kids into the same room to get along. It wasn’t like you and Ghost were winning any teamwork awards before the incident, though you liked to believe he at least tolerated you then. You had absolutely frozen each other out since it all happened, he didn’t shoot one glance your way and you tried not to think too much about it. “I’m okay with that, as long as you ask him.” You said in response and watched him hold back a laugh.

His hands were gripping the steering wheel, it was noticeable even through his gloves. Ghost hadn’t said one word since you had gotten into the car together. There was no readable emotion in the air or his eyes, but there was a silent agreement to not say anything unless it needed to be said. Making amends in silence would be better than not making amends at all.

Stepping out in front of your building, you looked at him before bracing yourself to ask a question. “What’s the plan?” You asked, prepping yourself before going in. “It wasn’t crowded the last time we were here and got you, so I’m assuming it’ll be about the same.” He paused, finally looking at you and his expression wasn’t what you expected. Now that you had seen his face you could fill in the blanks. His expression was soft and almost gentle. “Top to bottom seems like the best way to go.” He added on and you nodded in agreement. This meant your apartment would be up quite quick. You weren’t sure if you were ready for it, but you weren’t going to let your emotions win today. Ghost would have to kill you to get rid of you and you weren’t sure he would be able to do that.

The first few apartments were near empty, a few stray cans and not one zombie in sight. It took no hour to clear the top floor and make your way down one, to your floor.

“You’re awfully quiet today.” Ghost remarked, checking a door before opening it. “Thought it would be better to not say anything, so I can’t say or do anything stupid again.” You explained as he checked the rest of the rooms briefly, leaving you to check a few of the cans left in the cabinet. “Smart.” He remarked and you nodded at him in agreement. “I’m sorry for how I behaved that day, my attitude was bad and it nearly got us both killed.” You said softly, trying to not make the situation anymore awkward than it needed to be. “I’m even more sorry for invading your personal space, Ghost.” You finished your apology, your eyes meeting as he watched you pack your bag.

“Any good cans in the mix?” He asked, making the choice to not embarrass you further as he could see it written over your face. “Canned ravioli. Seems we’ll be eating like kings.” You smiled in return, appreciating his courtesy.

Ghost watched you wander through the hall, closing his eyes for a moment to imagine this scene without all of the decay. This used to be your home, he couldn’t help but think about this scenario in a different time. Like coming home from work after a long day with groceries in hand, even exhausted you probably looked pretty. Hell, you looked pretty now.

You paused in front of the next door and took a deep breath, Ghost standing next to you. “Know the people who lived here?” He asked and you snorted slightly. “You could say that. This is my apartment.” You said, watching his eyes widen. You kicked the welcome mat to the side, revealing your spare house key and unlocked your door. “Welcome to my humble abode, Ghost.” You said, even kicking your shoes off out of habit as you entered. The action was endearing, especially watching you drop your bags to enter like you owned the place which in all reality you did.

“Call me Simon.” He told you, redirecting your attention to him fully. “Simon?” You asked, not anticipating his calm tone. He closed your front door behind him, carefully dropping his bags too and decided to take this moment for a break. “Yeah, you’ve seen my face after all. Maybe you should know my name.” He told you and you shook your head with a smile. “Thought we silently agreed that we were going to let that go.” You joked and he laughed, a real laugh. The type that comes from your stomach and bubbles up. “That’s what you thought. I’ll hold it over your head for a while.” Simon looked your way through the mask.

“I’m going to grab some of my clothes to take back with us.” You told him and he nodded. “Not a fan of the cargos we supplied?” He asked, watching you disappear into what he assumed was your bedroom. “I know I’m not in a position to complain but, No.” Your response made him smile.

While you were in the back, he wandered around your living room and taking it all in. There were pictures of you and your friends and family, making him once again picture what your life was like. For a moment, he even tried puzzling himself into it. Would he have met you at a super market? Or out for a run in the morning? Would he have ever made it back to your apartment if it wasn’t for the given circumstances? He shook his head as if it would get rid of the thoughts. He had gone from channeling all of his emotions into anger, to now thinking about what life with you could be like.

“Simon, you okay?” You asked, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. His back was facing you and it seemed like he was in deep thought. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He said and moved away from the pictures to sit on your couch. “You look really pretty in those pictures.” He remarked, watching your face get flushed at the sudden compliment. “Thank you?” You said, not meaning for it to sound like a question but you couldn’t help it. Joining him on your couch, you instinctively tucked your knees to your chin and looked at him. It was comical, seeing this large military man sitting on your couch. Never in a million years did you think this was something you would witness.

“You’re staring at me.” He remarked and you laughed. “Nothing you haven’t done to me. When I first got to the base you watched me like a hawk.” You retorted and he nodded his head, getting comfortable and sinking into your couch cushions. He spread his legs, muscular thighs taking up more space on your small couch and definitely not going unnoticed by you. Knowing what he looked like under the mask made it impossible not to be attracted to him, that matched with his sudden kindness to you, you had to press your thighs together.

“I didn’t trust you and well, it’s not like we see beautiful women every day. It was refreshing.” He admitted, getting comfortable enough to reach up and pull off his mask. You had seen him already, this was okay. It didn’t matter anymore. You had to bite back a gasp at his sudden actions, just looking at him with wide eyes again. His hair was all messy from the mask, all tousled and you just wanted to grab it.

He looked at you, really looked at you. Showing you his whole face again, this time without an angry expression but a relaxed one. It was making you swallow thickly and look away, looking to your window instead of at him.

“Is that why you were so mean to me? Because you didn’t trust me or because you thought I beautiful?” You asked and you listened to him laugh again, shifting his weight closer to you. “A little bit of both. Why do you want my approval so bad?” You nodded at his question, still not looking at him and debating how to answer. “Curiosity.” You replied shortly. The tension that had disappeared earlier was back and now you could put a name to it, sexual tension.

“Look at me. It’s been a while since someone has seen my real face.” Simon’s gloved hand grabbed your chin, his weight shifting on the couch a bit more to get you to look at him. Your heart was racing in your chest, his face so close to yours and his large hand holding your chin. You looked at him, swallowing your fear and lifting your hand. He winced slightly, your soft fingers touching the lines on his face. “I thought you hated me.” You mumbled, tracing over one of his scars as his hand moved from your chin to leg. “I hear that a lot.” He admitted, squeezing your thigh gently before using his grip to pull you closer. You could nearly feel his breath against your face, getting closer to you before simply pulling you into his lap.

“So you don’t hate me then?” You asked, heart pounding at the position you were in as he looked up at you. Straddling his thighs, your hands settled on his shoulders and he shook his head. “I hate how stupid you can be, throwing away your life for others you hardly know when it isn’t even your job. But I don’t hate you.” He held your waist, his hands moving up slowly as you cupped his face. He cared and that’s why he was always angry with you. “I think you’re stubborn and annoying, but I definitely don’t hate you.”

Simon’s hands squeezed your sides, the motion making you rock over his thighs gently. You never know how touch starved you are until you’re touched again and Simon’s fingers were lighting fires over your body. He hadn’t even touched your skin yet.

“Simon-“ You shut your eyes, not being able to handle the way his eyes were watching you and taking in the way your body moved under his touch. “God you’re so pretty.” He said, more for himself than for you as he moved to hold your face. The rough fabric of his gloves made you wince, opening your eyes and grabbing his hands to take the gloves off. “I wanna feel your skin.” You mumbled, leaning forward as his bare hands found your waist again and slipped under your shirt. He massaged your skin, feeling something so soft for the first time in a long time making him close his eyes for a moment. Your forehead pressing into his before finally closing the gap between you two.

His lips were rough against yours, pressing his chest into yours as he tried pulling you even closer to him. His breath heavy as his tongue dipped into your mouth, using everything in him not to just flip you both over and take you. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not for anyone even before the world went to shit. He wasn’t going to ruin it now because he was horny, he could be patient.

You started to pull away, wanting his vest off, at least some of the layers separating you both. You fumbled with the closures and he watched with amusement before helping. He pulled it off easily, making you sigh with annoyance as he could have spared you a little bit of time. Simon smiled and cupped your face with his large hands. “Listen beautiful, I’m in no rush so you shouldn’t be either.” He said in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before. It was soft and reassuring and made you need him a whole lot more than before.

He kissed you again, one of the hands holding your cheek sliding down to grab your ass through your pants. He used this grip for leverage, flipping you onto your back on the couch and making you moan against him. Simon was straining against his cargo pants, cock painfully hard and he wanted you to feel it. You nearly bit his lip as you felt his hard on pressing into you, whimpering at the contact and throwing your head back into the couch cushions. He took the moment to kiss down the expanse of your neck and his hands to the chance to roam and squeeze every part of you. Simon wanted to memorize all of this.

“I know you said no rush but God Simon if you don’t touch me soon I’m going to explode.” You told him, sitting up slightly to pull your shirt off. “Needy, needy, needy.” He tutted, taking his own top off before connecting his lips to your collarbone. Marking you up wasn’t something that he needed to do, he would make sure everyone back at camp would know that you were his from this moment on so he simply focused on kissing your skin gently. Your hands moved over his bare arms and shoulders, loving the feeling of his skin under your fingers before tangling in his hair. You guided his kisses, moving them closer to the edge of your bra and needing more stimulation.

He took your bra off smoothly, tossing it to the other side of the room before letting his rough hands play with your breasts. Rolling your nipples between his thumb and listening to every little noise coming from you. God he was going insane. His lips latched onto on of your nipples, sucking and licking the nub as you pulled his hair. “Fuck I missed touch so much.” You moaned, eyes screwed shut as his fingers danced over your stomach and travelled lower and lower. “Being touched been on your mind a lot?” Simon asked, tongue flicking over your nipple while undoing the button of your pants. “Only when it came to you.” You admitted guiltily, looking him in the eyes at the confession for a response. His cock practically twitched at your words and he decided that his self control only extended so far.

“Fuck.” He grumbled, tugging your pants down harshly together with your underwear. “What happened to no rush?” You asked, looking at the practically mad man between your legs. His thumb brushed over your clit making you gasp before he leaned down, kissing the bundle of nerves. “Out the window because my pants are on the verge of ripping.” He stated and licked a stripe over your slit before settling on your clit. His muscular arms were wrapped around your thighs, fingertips sure to leave marks and pulling sounds from your lips you forgot you were capable of making. You tangled your fingers in his hair again, watching him eat you like a starved man as you tried not to scream. “Oh my god, Simon.” You moaned, thighs squeezing his head slightly as his tongue traced circles over you. “That feels so good.” You rambled, the stimulation being so much for having not been touched in so long.

His tongue lapped up every bit of you, humming at the taste and the sting of your nails scratching his scalp slightly. Your babbling was cute, moaning at rambling about how good he was doing. He couldn’t help but grind his hips into the couch, his briefs clinging to his hard on uncomfortably. You were bucking your hips against his tongue and he opened his eyes to watch your face for a moment before pulling away. If you were going to cum it was going to be around his cock because he couldn’t wait anymore. You were wet enough, you could take him.

You sat up the moment he let you go, hands reaching for his belt and undoing the buttons and zipper. In the process, you looked at his tattoos and muscular build, thinking of all the way he could use it against you. You had a little taste of what he was like and now you couldn’t get enough. He helped you push his pants and briefs down, his cock practically letting out a sigh of relief at being let free.

Simon pushed you back into the couch getting back in between your legs, placing one of them over his shoulder to get a better angle as he teased your entrance for a moment. “God forgive me if I’m rough but I can’t wait anymore.” He spoke, apologizing not necessarily to you but for how he knew he was about to fuck you into the couch cushions. His self control was gone and your heart was pounding with anticipation.

Wasting no time, he slipped himself into you fully. The stretch made you cry out and your hands looked for something to hold onto as you adjusted. His shallow slow thrusts doing a good job of stretching you out before leaning over you and pressing your knee into your chest. “I need more.” You whimpered, his face close to yours again. He kissed you roughly before slamming into you harder now, the angle making tears spring into your eyes at how good it felt. You knew for sure you were going to find bruises on your hips later but it was worth it, it felt so good you could hardly contain yourself. Your pussy squeezed him tightly, holding onto him every time he fucked into you. “Christ-“ He choked out, nearly whimpering himself as he made sure to keep his pace up. Simon could tell he was going to cum soon already and he needed you there with him.

His sounds had you absolutely seeing stars, cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you like he was made for you. You watched his hair cling to his forehead slightly, the veins in his arms holding him up over you, the way his abs contorted with each thrust and the way his cock was stretching you out. “Simon-“ You moaned out, pulling his face close to yours for another kiss. “I’m gonna cum.” You moaned against his lips and he smiled. “Come on beautiful, give it to me.” He coaxed it out of you, his rough voice making your walls flutter around him. “Cum for me.” He added on, his pace getting faster and harder to chase his own high. He furrowed his brows in focus and that was enough for you.

You were about to scream, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks but Simon placed his hand over your mouth just in time. A silent reminder that despite how normal this all felt, you couldn’t be too loud. Simon’s weight collapsed on top you, wrapping both of your legs around his waist as you felt him cum inside of you. His hand was still over your mouth, your walls squeezing him and spasming as you came down from your high. You were both sweating, his chest slightly sticking to yours as you moved his hand from your mouth. His breathing was heavy and his face was buried in your neck, hips still gently thrusting into you to make sure not one of drop went to waste. Your whimpers were soft in his ear, overstimulation setting in with each move of his hips.

Simon looked at you, hands massaging your waist and hips alternating slowly as he looked at your pretty face. Your eyes were shut lightly, focusing on your breathing as you tried to pull yourself together. “I missed sex.” You said softly, disrupting the silence and making Simon laugh. “Haven’t had sex where someone sees my face in a long time.” He laughed and you cocked an eyebrow at him. “So the mask usually stays on?” You asked, genuine curiosity in your voice and he nodded. “Always.” He smirked and you slapped his arm lightly. “Might have to try that out sometime.” You remarked and you both sat up. “The mask really do it for you?” He asked teasingly, hand grabbing your chin and kissing you harshly again.

“That took a while!” Soap called out as you both exited the car. “Was worried I was going to have to bring out the body bags.” He added on and Ghost slammed one of the bags of supplies into his chest. “Make yourself useful Johnny.” He grumbled, shaking his head at his friend’s words. You smiled to yourself, unloading the rest of the supplies and handing them to other people helping out. “Think that was everything.” You told them after unloading the last bag and grabbing your own. “I’m going to my bunk.” You announced, walking away with a small smile on your face. Heavy footsteps rushed behind you and snatched your bag from your shoulder, surprising you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, looking at Ghost staring at you with your bags in hand. “What are you doing?” He said, tone stern causing Soap to watch the scene. “Grab the rest of your stuff and put it in my room.” Soap’s eyes went wide and Christine who happened to walk past, stopped for a moment. “Okay.” You said, nodding softy. He wasn’t a man of many words, so you weren’t going to ask questions. So you just walked away to grab the rest of your things.

Ghost walked the opposite direction, bringing your bags to his room and he could see questions and remarks brewing in his friend. “Best be quiet Johnny.” He said, silencing him before anything could even be uttered.

Weeks passed and the weather got warmer, Simon kept you close and made sure everyone around silently knew what was going on. He loved you and he wasn’t shy about it, though he wouldn’t utter the words out loud. Saying them made it more real and anything real in this world was taken from you in an instant. You were together but kept at a distance from each other, the fear of getting too real a silent agreement.

It was only those three words keeping the distance between you two, everyone could see it. Even through his mask, any time he looked at you too long his eyes went soft and Johnny was making jokes. Price felt chuffed about it all, like some sort of twisted match maker. Despite no one knowing just how it all started, it was clear.

“Where were you this morning?” He asked, watching you serve up food to the other inhabitants. His hands on your hips pulling your back flush to his chest. “Got an early start, decided to help with breakfast.” You hummed, feeling him pull his balaclava up slightly to kiss the side of your neck. You hummed in response, smacking his thigh to get him to stop as there were kids around. “Hmm fine.” He grumbled, pulling the mask back down and giving you a look. “What’s that look for?” You asked, undoing your apron and pulling him close again. He just held you, not answering and resting his head on top of yours. “Well?” You asked again, knowing his silence meant he was keeping something from you. “We’re going on a run today.” He said softly and you perked up. You hadn’t been out of the base in so long, it would be nice to get out.

“Good, I’ve been going a little stir crazy.” You said and lifted his mask quickly to kiss him, but he pulled away. “We, meaning me and Johnny.” He corrected and you let the mask snap back into place. The world outside was getting worse and worse by the week, if he could keep you in the base for as long as he could, he would. You were the last good thing he had.

“Oh come on, I haven’t been out of here in so long.” You pleaded and he shook his head. Despite the fact that he knew you were going to win this argument. “I want to keep it that way.” He held your face, making you look him in the eyes. “Listen if this was a normal relationship I wouldn’t be like this but nothing is normal anymore, I need you to stay here. I need something to come back to. I-“ He had to stop himself from saying it. You looked at him, knowing what he meant but having a hard time accepting it. “What about me? What if you don’t come back?” You said to him, not one joking tone in your voice. This wasn’t funny, you needed him too. He was quiet, just looking at you and holding you. “I’m going with you. Tell Johnny he can stay here and that I’m going with you.” You told him with a soft smile and he shook his head. “You’re a stubborn woman.” He remarked, voice gruff to hide the worry plaguing his mind. “That’s one of the reasons you like me.” You rebuked and he shook his head again, leaning down to kiss you. “I’ll go talk to Johnny.”

“Jackson asked me to look for some toys or something. Poor boy seems bored out of his mind.” You remarked during the drive, your hand playing with the hair on the nape of his neck as he drove. Being alone made this easier. “I just know that in a few years he’s going to cause trouble on the base.” Simon said and you nodded with a laugh. “Probably, the world ending doesn’t stifle being a difficult teenager.” You smiled and he squeezed your thigh from the drivers seat. “But yeah we can see if there’s something for him. Think all the kids could use some amusement.” This was what drew you in about him, he was secretly such a softie. “See I’m helpful to have around.” You retorted and he slapped your thigh softly. Being helpful wasn’t the issue.

“Be careful when we walk through here, some of the building structures are starting to crumble.” He coached as you walked behind him into a supermarket. “Okay.” You said and felt your stomach do a flip. You were suddenly nervous, having not been out of the base in so long, you were paranoid and scared.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, noticing your hesitation for a moment. His glove covered hand placed on your stomach, pulling you close to him. “Just nervous, suddenly. Think it’s because I haven’t been out in a while.” You clarified, looking him in his eyes to show him you were okay. “If you are hesitating, we’re turning around and going back.” You shook your head and waved your hands. “No, no it’s fine. It was just a feeling.” You reassured, patting his hand on your stomach. “Really, it’s fine.” You added on and his expression didn’t lighten up. “If you get that feeling again, we’re going back.” You nodded at his words, patting his hand again.

The supermarket was quiet, so quiet it felt unnatural. The gnawing feeling in your chest was back but this run was important, so you ignored it. Begging Simon to come along only to chicken out like this, you couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t let you live it down.

There was some rubble by the shelves as you looked for some cans or toys, books or magazines. Something to keep people fed or entertained. Simon was at the other side of the shop, having validated that there was nothing crawling around the shop. He was assigned to the pharmacy section, scanning through all the pill bottles to see what was around. It was slim pickings however, it seemed like every spot was becoming more and more barren. How was Simon supposed to even consider that he could make a future for you two with everything ending up like this. He hated hope, he hated the hope that you gave him.

“Well? Anything?” You asked, watching him walk up next to you with a bleak expression. “Barely an aspirin in sight.” He said, watching you crawl over the ground and scouring the magazines on the floor. “You?” He asked, helping you up and you shrugged. “Think some of the kids are too young for these types of magazines.” You said and walked to the next aisle. He followed you, not being able to help himself but sigh. It was all empty.

“What you thinking about?” You asked him, taking note of his almost sad demeanor. “The world has gone to shit.” You looked at him with a laugh. “Yes good morning, where have you been the last few months?” You smiled and he shook his head, he wasn’t laughing.

The rubble in this aisle was worse than the rest, bits of sky shining through the crumbled ceiling. Simon was looking at the hole, thinking about how long it would be before it all came tumbling down. He followed the cracks in the ceiling, looking at the decay before noticing the supporting pillar that was hanging by a thread. One puff of air and it would come down, taking the ceiling with it. He followed the pillar down with his eyes, watching how you completely unknowingly leaned against it.

It all happened so fast. The pillar giving in behind you, Simon yelling and the sky suddenly becoming more visible as bricks and rubble started crumbling down. You weren’t even sure what was happening as Simon tackled you, his body covering yours to shield you from any of the falling debris. You weren’t sure if you were screaming, or if he was, or if the weight of the ceiling was crushing you or just his body. It all happened so fast, that when you opened your eyes, you weren’t sure if you were alive.

“Simon?” You asked, softly at first as the realization of what had happened sank in. Your whole body ached as you tried to move, feeling over his body for a breath, a heartbeat, any sign of life. “Simon?!” You were almost yelling now, not being able to breath yourself as you shook him as hard as you could. You were crying, a sinking feeling in your chest as you realized he wasn’t moving. “Simon please.” You said again, struggling with the mask on his face to pull it off and see if it would make a difference.

A deep groan emitted from is throat as you pulled the mask over is nose and tried rolling him onto his back. You could have screamed in relief, the tears now flowing quickly and intensely, pure panic filling your body as your shaky hands grabbed the fabric of his shirt. “Simon.” You were looking down at him and shaking him again. “That hurt.” He grumbled, eyes opening and looking up at you. Everything hurt, breathing hurt, his back hurt and seeing you so upset hurt. “Oh my god, Simon.” You cried even harder, burying your face into his chest and sobbing. “I thought you were dead.” You yelled, having to hold yourself back from hitting him. Despite the pain, he lifted his arms and pat your hair, feeling some relief himself from not leaving you behind like this.

After all this trouble, Simon wasn’t going to let a ceiling be the thing that took him out.

You stayed like that a moment, Simon petting your hair as you cried, you cursing him out for scaring you like that. He had seen a lot of scary things in his life, things that would have destroyed the average man ten fold, but the scariest thing he had ever experience was seeing you almost get killed. His body moved before he could even think when he realized what was happening, protective instincts taking over without a second thought. He would have thrown himself into a fire if it meant he could keep you alive.

You had finally calmed down, finally being able to look at his face again as you steadied your breathing. His hand cupped your cheek, wiping a few stray tears as he slowly sat up. It hurt like hell, but the two of you were only getting out of there one way. “I love you.” He said, not even thinking about it anymore. Truly it went without saying, it was simply the last step. You sobbed again, pressing your cheek into his hand as his words sank in. “I love you too, you idiot.” You told him before hugging him harshly.

A rustling sound caught Simon’s attention as you hugged him, body in too much pain to react quick enough to stop it all from happening entirely. The zombie came up from behind you , most likely having fell from the ceiling when it all caved in and charged at you. Simon used every ounce of strength he had, pushing you off of him and into the ground next to him, catching the zombie and taking the brunt of the hit.

Your scream filled the air as you searched around for any of your gear to stop it but it was too late, the monster biting into his neck as he pushed him off. He yelled, finally finding a moment to pull the knife from his thigh and driving it into the things skull before pushing it off of him.

There was a ringing in your ears, no other sound whatsoever. It was like you had gone deaf, all the feeling in your body simply buzzing as if it was static on the television. You couldn’t move, cry, speak of breathe. You could only look at him and the marks coating the skin of his neck. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been.

“Y/N, I need you to look at me.” He said with a shaking voice, trying to keep it steady but failing miserably. You heard him, but it didn’t register, simply still staring at the blood and blinking. “This isn’t real.” You whispered, repeating yourself as you felt your chest starting tighten up. “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.” You repeated it like a prayer, still not looking at Simon’s face. You stood up off the ground, pacing in circles and repeating the words only for him to grab your hand and pull you back down to him.

“Simon this isn’t real.” You were tearing up again as he forced you to look at him. The features of his face, his nose, lips and those stern eyes were filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before. Fear. “Simon.” You said his name again, knowing in a few hours it would be something he was and not something he is anymore.

“Take this.” He said, not quite feeling anything anymore other than the fever that was starting to take over his body. He could hardly look at you, your pain being more difficult that anything he was feeling or had ever felt. He passed his hand gun to you, watching it slip from your fingers the moment it came in contact with your hand. “Simon I can-“ “No, listen to me, look at me.” He stopped you, knowing he didn’t have time for anything else. He needed to say it now because soon he wouldn’t be able to say anything at all. “You have to do this, you have to. You need to win this world because you’re strong. I wanted to be there with you when we did but the universe has funny ways of playing tricks on us and that’s not happening.” Your eyes pulled away from his, bottom lip quivering. “Look at me.” He grabbed your chin, holding you now to make sure you couldn’t do anything else. “I’ve never had the cards dealt in my favor, not in the real world and not in this one. Between my job, my upbringing and everything else in between, not once have I been happy, I just survived. You changed that. Never thought the end of the world would have been the place where I would find it, but it was.” His body felt hot, damn near steaming as he spoke. He had so much to say and so little time to say it.

“Now, there’s nothing we can do anymore. This is the way my cards were dealt.” He lied about his acceptance. He wasn’t okay with this, he wasn’t done yet. “I want to die as me.” He started, still holding your face and ignoring the tears covering his hand. He was looking at you and seeing you, beautiful you, in every way. “So I’m going to end it and you’re going to live.” He finished, the cry coming from your lips being enough to make the tears he had been holding back slip. “I can’t do this without you.” You uttered softly, your whole body shaking. He bit his lip, trying to fight every urge he had to hold you and say it would be okay. “You can and you will, you survived without me before. You can do it again.” He smiled and leaned forward to kiss your forehead. “Now. Grab your pack and start walking to the car. Don’t come back.” He wasn’t done yet, but the clock had run out.

The gunshot was still ringing in your ears as you dragged his body back to the car, or tried too. You couldn’t follow his orders, you never could. “Don’t come back.” His voice replayed over in your head as you wiped your tears and tried pulling him along again. You couldn’t leave him there. Simon wasn’t just yours, you couldn’t abandon him. You needed to bring him home. You were going to bring him home, you had to bring him home, you owed that to him. “Damn you.” You cried, smacking his still chest. “I wish I had never met you Simon Riley.” It wasn’t true, it was all anger and sadness, grief and fear.

You collapsed in the dirt, Simon in your arms as you looked up at the now night sky. You were so numb, you didn’t even hear the car pulling up or the heavy footsteps running in your direction. “Lt? Y/N? What happened?” Soap’s voice called out at the sight, disbelief in his tone. Price and Soap stood over you, examining the situation as you began to sob uncontrollably.

“Help me bring him home.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think. I would greatly appreciate it!!!

#call of duty x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut

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nyoomiin · 2 months

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roommates: part two.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

You don’t think your roommate likes you very much.

It’s been a week, and you’ve yet to learn his name. Hell, you’ve barely even caught a glimpse of him since he had slammed the door in your face. He seemed hell-bent on avoiding you — he leaves before dawn, locks himself in his room after dusk, and on the off-chance you do see him, he always avoids your eyes.

Though, you did catch sight of his Vision once. It was but a quick flash, but that angelic glow was unmistakable. You wonder what life he must've lived to have received Celestia's blessings. Certainly not an easy one, for sure. Maybe that was why he was so standoffish.

You harrumph, setting aside your embroidery before you prick yourself out of frustration. It wasn’t as if you had called him ugly or anything. You did the complete opposite. Shouldn’t you be the one dying of mortification instead?

Standing, you were in no mood to sew anymore. You'd finish it another day, then.

“Haitham, when did you start seeing me as a friend?”

You had gone to bother Alhaitham in his office after putting off your sewing. Anyway, that commission was due in two weeks, and you were halfway done, which meant that you still had time.

Alhaitham doesn’t even spare you a glance from his book. “Why do you ask?”

“Y’know my new roommate? I think he thinks I’m weird. But he’s so cute — I want to be on speaking terms, at least.” You wail pitifully, dramatically slumping into your seat. Tugging on his sleeve, you beam in reply when he shoots you his signature deadpan stare.

He sighs.

“You are a good friend, though whether or not you are a good roommate is not my place to judge,” he says, trailing off at the mention of a ‘roommate’, and you just know he’s cursing Kaveh in his mind. “Whatever the case, there is no point in pursuing someone with no interest in you.”

“It worked on you though,” you point out.

You had been classmates with Alhaitham before you dropped out of the Akademiya. The scholarly life just hadn't been your calling, despite your parents’ wishes. Somehow, you managed to bother Haitham into becoming one of your best friends — and you still think you deserve a medal for that.

“And I wonder why myself.”

You scowl, smacking him. Then you hiss, shaking the sting off your palm. Damn his muscles.

“I think he just needs some time to warm up to me. He has a vision, y’know, and when have you seen a normal vision wielder? I couldn’t see if it was a Hydro or Anemo one, though.”

You look at him with wide, hopeful eyes like the delusional person you were. ‘It’s not as if I can stop you,’ his face seems to say. He chuckles, just the slightest. “Good luck.”

And that was that.

( “It is quite uncommon for a person to be reborn with an appearance identical to that of their previous life,” Nahida muses. “Though, it would be best to keep in mind that while they share a soul, without their memories, they are still two different people.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps.

He knew you. Or, the ‘you’ of the past, to be precise. Of course he did — for how could he not? And if you were the person he knew all those years ago, you would’ve recognised him. Yet you didn’t. You looked right at him and didn’t even know him.

“Is this a joke?” he asks, almost snarling the words. “Or a cruel scheme?”

That shitty god giggles. “Look on the brighter side! You could think of it as a second chance. Be it coincidence or fate, to have been reunited with a loved one… Is there truly no happiness in that?”

Happiness? He scoffs. Yea, right. How fucking happy he must be, to be haunted still, by a past he thought he had completely erased.

He smiles at her sharply, dripping with nothing but malice. “I'm overjoyed.” )

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee

#—stellaronhvnters.#scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #did anyone catch the stucky reference or am i js being delulu #also idk why but haitham wld make one of the best best friend characters

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iblameashley · 5 months

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Rekindle: Soulstring Symphony

Military | Male | Gay

2,400~words Content: AU, time skips, soulmates, depression, longing, angst, bullet wound, mention of blood, bit of fluff, gay stuff, happy ending.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | John 'Soap' MacTavish

!!!SFW!!!

Everyone has a special someone out there in the world. Everyone is connected in their own way, and for John 'Soap' MacTavish, that's through song. Every time they sing, they can hear each other... until one day the songs stop and Soap is left alone and heartbroken. Thrusting himself into a military career, he eventually pushes the idea of finding his one-and-only out of his mind; until a mission goes wrong and he hears his soulmate once more. (Based on Tweet below GIF)

THE LONGING

It was difficult sometimes, to wander the world alone. To see all the soulmates around you find their perfect person. Johnny wondered if he would find his soulmate one day too.

The memory of the songs haunted him now, but he remembered the first time he had heard them, been blessed by them. He had been asleep in his bed at his family home when the melody slowly crept into his dreams. The voice was rich and smooth, with a deepness that pieced his heart.

But when he woke, he could only remember the outro of the song.

...As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Then one day, the songs stopped. He had wondered if maybe his soulmate had died suddenly; it had happened to other people, and it was a soul-crushing experience to know you'd spend the rest of your life alone. Disconnected. Halved.

Johnny had searched the library for old folks songs, and then eventually online, plugging the lyrics he remembered into search engines to come up empty. This was an original song, it seemed.

Johnny's journey began at home in Scotland. Guided by the knowledge that more than two thirds of all soulmates were born within a one thousand kilometre radius of each other.

That didn't stop people from moving away by any means, but it narrowed the search down to the Atlantic Ocean and the surrounding countries of the European Union. And he was pretty certain his soulmate wasn't in the ocean.

He travelled the misty highlands, the expansive coasts, and ancient castles seeking any clue that might lead him to his love. Town after town, and small villages were turned upside down in hopes of anything. But finding nothing that lead him closer to his soulmate, he moved on Ireland, then England; finding only a growing despair and loneliness in his heart.

Everywhere he travelled he found nothing but dead ends. There was nothing in Norway, except the picturesque scenery of the fjords. Denmark, while also another beautiful country to visit was just as barren of his soulmate as all the preceding locales. By the time he had reached the Netherlands, all he had was a dimming hope in his heart. In a quite place among the bulbs of the Keukenhof garden, Johnny took a seat under a tree and closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath and recalled the last bit of the song; not that it took much to remember, having been burned deep into his soul for so long.

In his deep voice, low as a whisper, he began to sing. To reach out to his soulmate in hopes of kindling a response.

Choking out the lyrics through the welling tears in his eyes, Johnny waited for a reply, anything to tell him that his soulmate was still out there somewhere. The maddening silence was the only answer he got in return.

“Please answer me, mo chridhe.” He whimpered.

Finding no peace or happiness among the trees and flowers of the garden, Johnny decided it was time to move on once more.

Without a reply to the song to guide him, Johnny felt lost. His heart was beginning to fracture on his way back home. Having used all of his savings, and not wanting go home to his family still alone, he was ready to enlist in the military and see where his life would take him. If he was destined to be alone now, the least he could do was feel like his life meant something. That he was doing something worthwhile. At least, that's how he sold it to himself.

But then something happened.

It was faint, almost like white noise in his head. It wasn't the song, not exactly... more like a longing that resonated deep from his soulmates heart. They were out there, close, but still far and beyond his reach. It was just an echo. A ghost.

“Mo chridhe...” He murmured into the window of the train car. “I'm here... you're not alone.”

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

It crushed him.

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ENLISTMENT & THE SAS

Prodigy is not a word tossed around so easily in the British military; but that's what Johnny was. Young, smart, motivated and able to out think and out manoeuvre his fellow soldiers.

This path left no room for distractions, let alone the notion of his soulmate still being out there and longing for him in return. Or so he lied to himself.

He was able to think outside the box and on the fly to complete tasks that most men thought were impossible. He couldn't deny that it went to his head. Johnny's mental health bore the weight of his relentless pursuit of perfection, to meet his astronomical and unreachable standards, and thrived on the positive feedback and praise from his superiors.

But added to the stress of his standards was the constant scrutiny from his fellow soldiers. While most of the enlisted men in the service became close comrades, it was something that was kept at an arms length for Johnny. No one wanted to be around the young, up-and-coming showoff – and smart ass – Scot.

Off-duty time was the only time where Johnny's focus wavered. With nothing to occupy his time, mind or hands, he was left to his thoughts; and those usually drifted to his loneliness. To dull the ache in his heart every night, Johnny would find a quiet and secluded spot on the base and would sing to himself and to his soulmate; who he prayed could still hear him.

...When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you And when I'm dreaming, well, I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you When I go out (when I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you And when I come home (when I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you...

“Mo chridhe... I wanna be the man who grows old with you.”

Another night of singing, another night of silence in return.

The turning point in Johnny's career was when he aimed at the SAS, the best of the best, the elite. What Johnny wasn't aware of at the time was that the SAS had their sights set on him as well. They recognized the potential in him and valued his abilities to think beyond the military norms.

The process to be selected for the SAS was, in a word, gruelling. Johnny pushed himself to the limits of his physical and mental endurance. Yet in the forge of the SAS training program, he was able hone his skills and discover a deeper understanding of his own resilience.

Though it nearly broke him – in a different way than his loneliness had – Johnny managed to pass the selection process and found his new sense of purpose. The long climb through the ranks of the military quickly shifted, and his career felt like something he could celebrate. Along with the accomplishment of being among the elites, Johnny finally began to find brothers in arms, friends.

MEETING THE GHOST

The hum of the engines drown nearly all other sounds out, even the rumbling engine of the approaching truck. Ghost was waiting on his SAS forces to arrive, and was not disappointed when one particular Sergeant hopped off the truck and jogged over to him.

“Save ya' a seat, LT.” He playfully quipped, giving Ghost a punch to the shoulder before darting towards the ramp to the plane.

“Fuckin' Hell...” muttered in his gruff voice. He slowly moved forward, following Soap.

Outwardly, Ghost appeared annoyed by the Scotsman, but he couldn't help but be a little amused by the man.

He was also grateful for the mask, and his ability to hide the beginnings of a smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips.

Ghost joined the rest of the men on the plane and strapped himself in for takeoff. He was unaccustomed to working with such a large team, and it made him uneasy. There was a knot in his stomach as his eyes scanned the cargo area, falling on every soldier down the line.

And then there was Soap, sitting directly across from him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“So, LT, ye ever been tae Mexico?” He asked, attempting to break the ice.

Ghost locked his gaze onto Soap and sat there quietly. He considered replying, but somehow he knew that Soap wasn't the man to just inquire about the mission. It was the smile on his face and the glint in his eyes. So Ghost sat there quietly.

“It's an awfully long flight, LT. Gotta pass the time somehow, aye?” Soap continued. “Ye ever been tae Las Almas?”

Ghost conceded and gave a shake of his head. “No.”

Soap nodded in response.

“Guessin' ye never worked with the Mexican Forces, then?”

Ghost let out an inaudible sigh. “Nothing more than intelligence sharing. But I know they are an effective group.”

He didn't understand why he was still indulging this conversation, but there was something about the Sergeant that disarmed him; threw him off balance. Ghost would rather be waterboarded than admit that out loud, though.

“Aye, I've heard they're no strangers tae dealing with the like o' the cartels. Hope Alejandro dinnae think we're here tae step on any toes.”

Ghost shakes his head firmly. “Alejandro has a solid reputation.”

Soap shifted slightly in his seat, stretching a leg out towards Ghost.

“Ye ever wonder what ye'd do if ye found yerself on the other side of an ambush?” Soap asked, knowing it was still work-related but not mission-related.

Ghost actually pondered the question for a moment, oblivious to Soaps intention to get him to open up, he finally replied. “Stay low, prioritize targets, maintain communication and adapt as necessary.”

Soap grinned and gave another nod. “Tactical tae the bone, eh, LT?”

Ghost let out an agreeable grunt.

“Favourite childhood memory. Go.” Soap said, abruptly switching the topic.

Ghosts eyes were rather indifferent to the question, but there was a part of him that wanted to chuckle at the ridiculous question. Suppressing that urge, he cleared his throat before engaging Soap once more.

“This isn't a game, Soap.”

“Aye, It's not, but no harm en' askin' ye?” Soap retorted. He couldn't help himself, he felt a deep urge to lay on some charm with the big man that sat across from him.

He wasn't going to relent. Ghost knew it, and he could see the smirks and chuckles from those in earshot of this conversation.

“Training sessions in the rain.” Ghost deadpanned.

Soaps head jutted back and he raised a brow. “That's yer idea of fun?” he questioned.

Something stirred in Soap with that reply. A warmth. Ghost was definitely a closed off man, and one of few words, but it seems he still had a sense of humour about him. It intrigued Soap to no end. Ghost had no idea what he was getting himself into now that Soap had managed to worm his way under Ghost's armour.

“It's efficient.” Ghost added in his flat tone. In his own way, Ghost was enjoying this playful banter, it was something he hadn't allowed himself in years. Though he was concerned at how easily Soap managed to disarm him, even if he didn't outwardly show it.

“Might have tae get ye to show mae sometime.” Soap declared.

Ghost could only look away, focusing his gaze on a rather unremarkable sign bolted to a bulkhead of the plane. He hated and loved the feeling swelling inside him. A feeling he saw reflected in Soaps eyes.

IN STITCHES

“The fuck ye trying tae do tae me, kill mae?” Soap whined as Ghosts hands worked to asses the wound on Soaps abdomen.

Ghost let out one of his usual, gruff grunts of amusement.

“Looks like you tried to do that all on your own, Johnny.” He replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips under his mask.

“Ach... ye've not got the hands for this, Simon.” Soap continued to complain, his voice strained with discomfort.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Sergeant. I've had worse patients." Ghost retorted, his hands working with a practiced efficiency. "Maybe if you stopped trying to catch bullets with your abdomen, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Despite the blood over his hands and the rickety table under Soap, the wound really wasn't as severe as it seemed. The bullet had passed through the right side of Soaps abdomen, and no major blood vessels or organs were hit.

Soap winced, a low grumble escaping him. "Fuckin' bullets never were good for mae complexion, Ghost. Maybe if ye stopped picking missions with so much lead flying around, I wouldn't have tae be yer practice dummy."

“Stop whining and moving around.” Ghost fired back as he worked to clean the wound. He scanned his medical supplies, and sighed in relief that there was enough there to patch Soap up and get him back on his feet. “You're lucky the bullet went through you the way it did, otherwise I'd be carrying your dead ass back to exfil.”

“Aw, ye wouldn't leave mae behind? Even if I was a gonner?” Soap teased, though his usual grin was weak and unconvincing.

“Wouldn't do that.” Ghost divulged with an unusual amount of honesty, his eyes momentarily betraying a hint of genuine concern beneath the mask. "Besides, who else would I have to annoy with my impeccable charm?"

It took Soap by surprise and left him momentarily speechless. “Jus' patch mae up and get us tae Exfil.” He grumbled, resting his head on the table. “An' for the record, I'm the charmin' one on this team.” He smirked.

As he stared up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but reflect on how this mission had gone tits up. The room, dimly lit with flickering candlelight and a few flashlights, emphasized the gravity of their situation.

The mission was pretty straight forward; infiltrate a terrorist stronghold on a dense tropical forest on an island in the South China Sea. Ghost and Soap had approached the island via stealth insertion and had to navigate the vegetation and hills until they reached the compound perimeter undetected. The objective: confirm the presence of a high-ranking extremist leader.

The mission had actually started out well, the overcast skies and foggy waters provided more cover than initially predicted, and both men were able to navigate through the shadows to the compound.

The compound itself was old and run down, with barely any power. There were very few camera's, the electric fences didn't function and the guards were spread far and wide. It was almost too easy to breach the defences and slither their way inside.

But a few wrong steps - quite literally - and a slip of the tongue alerted one guard to their presence. One guard turned in ten, then thirty and suddenly they were overrun. Apparently the compound housed more terrorist forces than intel had lead them to believe. With a few quick and desperate shots and a lot of running, Ghost and Soap made their retreat, but not before Soap got shot.

SONGS AND SOULMATES

With Soap begrudgingly resting on the creaky table, Ghost moved with his usual purpose through the small, dilapidated home. He meticulously secured all doors and windows as best he could, putting up wooden planks and chairs where he could, and using torn and foul-smelling blankets to cover the windows. There had been sounds in the distance, too indistinct to tell if it was wild animals or their pursuers, but he wasn't willing to take any chances.

Outside, Ghost stood guard under the small porch of the entryway. He scanned the darkness of the forest around them before taking a step off the crooked step and into the soft soil beneath his feet. The silence was eerie, even for him; though looking at him you'd never know it.

Ghost began to do perimeter walks, though never straying far from the small abode that Johnny lay in. It was a stroke of luck that either other them had found this abandoned hovel. If Ghost had to guess, this used to be some sort of drug smuggling port. The few buildings and dock were clearly hastily assembled, which also explained their current state of disrepair, though the one home they occupied was the only fully standing structure left.

Ghost couldn't help but also wonder; how was this place was missed during the intel gathering? Though it had been a miracle to exist and be abandoned when they needed it most, maybe it was best to not look too deeply into the matter.

Knowing they needed to get back on the road – so to speak – Ghost finished up his last lap of the area and headed back towards the home. He stepped up onto the old porch and slowly creaked the door open.

Ghost's gloved hand barely released the door handle when it hit him. A melody, soft and somehow distant, crept into his consciousness. A song, not from the dense jungle outside, but resonating within the confines of the small home and within his own head. The disparity between the reality of their situation and the euphoric notes dancing in his mind brought Ghost to a halt.

His heart, accustomed to its steady rhythm, even during combat, skipped a beat. The song washed over him like the waves of an incoming tide; soft, soothing and dangerous.

For the first time in a long time, Ghost was frozen, and there was a lump caught in his throat. He hadn't expected this, and certainly not now. He hadn't sung since he had become The Ghost, and his soulmate has stopped singing to him years ago. He had convinced himself they were beyond each others reach now, resigned to a fate of loneliness. But here it was now, in his head, threatening to drown him in emotions he has long since suppressed.

Managing to muster up the courage and strength to step inside and close the door behind him. He took a shallow breath with every step as he crept closer to the kitchen where Soap lay.

He peered through the crack in the door, still a fair distance away, and focused on Soaps lips as they softly mouthed the words to 'I'm gonna be'. His head spun with every passing line as it dawn on him that he had been serving alongside his soulmate for years now, completely unaware.

But it couldn't be true. It was impossible! They would have figured it out, certainly, right? They were soulmates, there should have been other signs!

And there were. There had been plenty, but both of them had been too lost to grief and despair and their careers to notice.

Despite the proof in front of him, Ghost needed to be certain. Maybe he was somehow hallucinating Soaps voice in his head. He had to know. He had to test.

Swallowing hard, Ghost parted his lips under his mask, and began to sing some of the song he had written when he was a teen, when he first became aware he had a soulmate out there in the world. It was low, nearly a whisper, to ensure Soap couldn't hear from from the other room.

...Through the trials and the battles, where our destinies entwine, May this song guide you to me, a soulmate undefined...

A symphony of yearning, sung from the depths within, An anthem for the restless hearts, a journey to begin. In the tapestry of fate, where threads of time align, This melody of hope declares a love that's divine...

As Ghost reached out with his song, Soaps eyes widened with surprise and recognition. It was the song from his youth. “Mo chridhe.” He choked to the ceiling above him.

And Ghost continued.

...Oh, whispers in the shadows, reach across the starlit sea, A serenade for the one who shares this tune with me. Through the trials and the battles, where our destinies entwine, May this song guide you to me, a soulmate undefined.

As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Ghost paced the small space as his song came to an end, his masked features betraying the turmoil within. The weight of years spent in solitude, conditioned himself to guard his heart against the vulnerabilities of love, collided with the realization that Soap, his annoying Scotsman Sergeant, was closer than ever.

Their shared history, and the undeniable proof of their soulmate bond, felt like both a lifeline and a precipice. Ghost's stoicism, a shield against the harsh realities of their world, buckled in the face of this revelation. The desire to retreat into the well-known comfort of silence was strong, fueled by the fear of exposing the fragile state of his own heart.

As Ghost contemplated the situation, his eyes fell once more to Soap, laying on the table. He had almost convinced himself to keep it a secret, until Soap began to sing again, this time he echoed the song Simon had written all those years ago. His heart swelled with affection for this idiot. His Sergeant. His soulmate.

For all his quirks and banter, Soap... Johnny had become an indelible part of Ghost's life. The possibility of losing him now, with their shared history and the bond rekindled, was a risk Ghost found himself unwilling to take.

The decision solidified in his mind, compelled not just by duty but by a deeper, unspoken respect... love that had weathered the test of time. Ghost couldn't deny that Soap deserved to know, deserved to understand the reason he stopped reaching out and searching.

Steeling himself, Ghost slowly walked across the room and pushed the door open to the kitchen, approaching Soap like a he would a mission objective. And then he stood before Soap who lay there and looked at him with teary eyes, and all of Ghosts resolve melted away. There wasn't going to be any “I'm your soulmate, Johnny.” or “I heard your singing in my head, I never knew it was you!” or any such directness.

Instead, Ghost cleared his throat and give Soaps wound one last glance.

“Time to go.” He commanded, already assisting Soap into a sitting position. “Gotta get to exfil before we're found, Johnny.”

As Soap stepped down to the floor, Ghost helped to steady him. “Easy there, Johnny.” He muttered, his voice low but filled with a touch of warmth.

Soap let out a grunt and a nod, and gave Ghost a few firm pats on the shoulder. “I'm fine, LT.”

As Soap found his footing, Ghost ensured all the candles they used were put out and their equipment packed up and ready to go. He could see the longing and pain creeping back into Soaps expression, and it broke his heart; something he assumed would have been impossible until this moment.

He gripped the nape of Soaps neck firmly and aimed him towards the front door. “We'll take it slow...” he began as they started to walk, “but we should reach exfil before the night surrenders to the dawn... Mo chridhe ”

Soap was caught off guard – to say the least – by the words that fell from Ghosts mouth, and felt his heart flutter. The tone in Ghosts voice carried the admission of their connection, and the immediate danger they were in felt far away.

“C'mon you muppet... gotta get you to safety, we've got a little to talk about, yeah?” Ghost understated. His fingers massaged gently at the back of Soaps neck as they continued to walk out of the house and into the forest. Soap was still grappling with the revelation that there was more to their bond, his footsteps heavy and his breath short as his mind worked to unravel what had just happened.

“Simon...” was all he was able to mutter.

“I know Johnny...” Ghosts vocie went low and was filled with remorse. “I'm sorry, chridhe. I'll make it up to you.”

Soap wanted to cry, to burst into tears and turn and hug Ghost, but Ghost was right; they had to get to safety first, and then they could talk about it. “Yer pronunciation was shite, Mo luaidh.” Soap chuckled; grabbing at his sore abdomen as he shuffled through the foliage. “We'll work on that tae, aye?”

Ghost let out an approving grunt, giving Soap a playful push forward.

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natural-idiot3 · 5 months

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Tsaritsa

⚠️Warning! contains: yandere themes, angst, gore!, not much sense! Read at your own risk ⚠️

I got this idea from character ai. A weak goddess au was made by @Altxir in character ai. And I got this idea that has been haunting me all night.

————————-

“Cut them off.”

You paused for a moment unsure if you heard her correctly but before you could ask her to repeat…

“Wings are an image of your freedom so prove your faith to me. Cut. Them. Off.”

——————

You were a weak goddess that was being hunted down by your old followers because you made a few… mistakes. These mistakes allowed hatred to brew, jealousy to take over your land and overall your people’s faith in you disappeared.

The only powers you had were flying as your wings were huge and the power of blessing rain for good harvest every year. All gods wanted your wings to hang as trophies for killing you because you were a lesser god, one that had their own followers betray them. You don’t have any power to defend yourself, you needed protection from your old followers and other gods. Unfortunately as most gods wanted to kill you, you couldn’t trust any of them for protection apart from a few…

The anemo archon Barabotes, the dendro archon Rukkhadevata and the cryo archon the Tsaritsa. The anemo archon disappeared and the dendro archon was dealing with the withering so you can’t go to them for help!

So you went to the last place you could get protection… Snezhnaya.

You travelled long distances, going over mountains, through forests and into the desert. With the bounty above your head, you couldn’t fly otherwise you would be spotted instantly. So you had to walk for miles, hide whenever someone came along and survive off hunting rabbits and berries. But eventually you arrived in Snezhnaya.

The bitter cold didn’t do any good for your wings… they could only be used to wrap around you to create a blanket of warmth. Eventually you were able to get to the frozen place. Even in the night it glowed an icy blue and glittered showing the reflection of the stars in the sky. The frozen place was beautiful but even a beautiful rose has thorns. You were granted entry to the great hall as if they already knew you were coming.

The Tsaritsa was breathtaking. A powerful aura… one you don’t wish to ever challenge. Walking further into the hall, you see all the fatui harbingers standing equal on different sides of the Tsaritsas throne.

This place was truly terrifying.

——————

“Cut them off.”

You paused for a moment unsure if you heard her correctly but before you could ask her to repeat…

“Wings are an image of your freedom so prove your faith to me Cut. Them. Off.” It was said in a commanding and intimidating voice that roared out sending fear down your spine.

“I want you to prove that you want to be my follower. You are a god. Even if you are weak… I will only accept those who prove their faith.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing… cut off your wings to get protection…

It’s … but you suppose it’s better than getting killed.

A weapon is thrown to your feet… waiting for your answer…

——————

A muffled blood curling scream echoed through the cold halls… no one breathed… no one made a single sound…

A thud was heard a few seconds later…

All the fatui harbingers were shocked while the Tsaritsa was unfazed. Unfazed of how much blood poured out your back. Unfazed of the pain smudging across your face.

One wing was off…

Your back was lighter… a horrible feeling. No longer a comfortable heaviness was there. No more extra warmth. It was cold… and painful. The wing had completely come off… but only one wing.

The fatui gazes stated disbelief and shock.

Just how bad did you need protection to go this far?

What a cruel demand…

You writhed in pain… it made you head go blank with whiteness as you had felt muscles rips apart and bones snap. The wing was completely severed from the rest of you… but this was not over.

You waited for the pain to lessen so she could move the weapon to the other wing.

———

This weapon was a simple chain with a handle and a spell that activated when you put any magic into it. You had to wrap this around you wing and put a slight bit of your magic into it… the spell activated.

The chain suddenly dug into your wing and go so tight it crushed through muscles and bone… until it had completely come off.

This time you couldn’t hold back a scream.

The scream echoed throughout the icy cold walls of the great hall.

As more blood gushed out of your wingless back, the Tsarista stood up from her icy throne, her heels echoing through the great hall. Standing above you… she kneeled down and spoke softly…

“Well done my child. I will use these wings to show a fake death… other gods will stay away. You’re safe now. Safe and… mine. My faithful servant”…

She wrapped her arms around you… not caring for the blood staining her white and light blue dress. She’s cold… colder than your now bare back. But a pleasant cold… safe and… your eyes grew heavy…

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re all mine…”

————

Well… you’re free to use this idea if you want. Goodbye!

#genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin imagines #genshin impact fatui #genshin sagau #Genshin goddess au #genshin yandere

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fancyfeathers · 5 months

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The Moon Will Sing (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader) (Normalized Yandere AU)

(TW- abandonment, kidnapping, restraints, extreme isolation, semi torture, dehydration, starvation, marking/body modification)

Inspired by this post

There is a story in Liyue about how Rex Lapis, the Lord of Geo and the Goddess of Moonlight fell in love. It is a story known by almost everyone in Liyue, a story parents tell their children before bed, a story couples remember at wedding, asking for the godly couple’s blessing on their marriage. This story is one of the most beloved in all of Liyue, you hear it on the daily as you walk past the families in the streets of Liyue harbor. You hear the children saying of how the story reminds them of their own parents, or how they want a relationship like that one day.

This makes you want to scream…

You want to tell the children the truth, tell the couples that such a blessing would be wicked on their marriage, and you felt terrified when parents would get compared to you and your husband.

Yes you and your husband…

Perhaps we should start this tale from the beginning…

The real story, not the sugared tale this land knows…

In ancient Liyue, in the height of the Guili Assembly, there was two sister goddesses. They were not strong, they were not known to many people of the land, and their power could never even match that of an archon. The two of them made no deals with adepti or gods, had no ties, but with that they had no real enemies. The goddess of moonlight and rain only had her sister, the goddess of sunlight and rainbows, and they didn’t need anyone else. For after the night comes morning, and after the rain is the rainbow.

The two sisters lived in Northern Liyue, watching over a small nameless village. This community was outside the bounds of the Guili Assembly and forgotten by it, almost like the sisters were. So now the sisters have taken mortal forms to walk among the people of the village and protect them, like parents would.

The sister of the sunlight would walk the streets during the day, singing her divine melody to bring light to Liyue. The children loved her, calling her a princess, the adults consulted with her, asking for her guidance. She was welcomed everywhere she went for she was as bright as the sun and able to see the village when it is lively and cast in the beautiful light of the day.

Your life was much different. You lived your sister and you loved your village, but you could never walk the same path they did. Your song was sung by the night, a haunting melody that gave mortals chills. You sang it alone for most of the world dreamed when you walked. The people didn’t fear you to say, well perhaps the children did, they just did not know you. They never got to see your fond smile when you sung under the stars, nor did they see you tending to the fields of glaze lilies in the night, singing to them like you did to bring light to the night. The only time the people got to see you was at dawn when your singing would stop and you would return to you home to sleep the day away, and at dusk when you would come to guide your sister home to rest and you would begin your song as the sun would set.

Which leads you to wear you are now. The sun has just set over Liyue and that means you set out into the grassy fields of your home. This time your brought a basket with you, you wanted to surprise your sister with a gift but even as a goddess you were poor so the only thing you could manage was a flower crown made out of the glaze lilies that bloom under your song of moonlight. You walk through the field, the high grass brushing against your legs. You sing your song as you do, letting the moon and stars grow bright in the night.

“Your voice is very lovely.”

You turn in surprise to see a man dressed in robes of black, brown, and gold, a clear contrast to your dress of purples and blues. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and his eyes of gold look at you with curiosity. You had never seen this man before, you knew everyone who lived here but not once have you seen him.

“Oh, thank you, sir.” You a say, giving him a smile and a semi bow. “But I am afraid my sister’s voice is much more welcomed by our people than mine.”

“Hm? But why? Your voice is beautiful.” You chuckled at the man’s confusion but your reaction only made him more confused. “Is something funny?”

“No, no, it’s just…” sigh and shake your head, taking a step towards the man so you can get a better look at him underneath your moonlight. He was beautiful, powerful, intimidating, but beautiful. “…you don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

“No, I suppose not since you’re clearly not from around this part of Liyue.” You replied, never once breaking eye contact with him like his eyes were drawing you in deeper. “I know that you aren’t because I know everyone here, I have been in this land for hundreds of years now.”

The man stares at you for an even longer moment, looking you up and down, as if trying to read something about you. “You’re a Goddess, are you not?”

“I am… but… um…” you laugh to yourself, your hands fiddling with the woven basket you carry in your nervousness. “…I’m not strong at all, I would be one of the weakest gods. My sister is the strong one between us two but even she’s not very strong either. We might as well be mortals, the only thing we’re good for are our songs but even then no one really cares, I don’t even think Rex Lapis cares we exis- sorry that was disrespectful, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re quite alright, my dear.” He waves you off with a deep chuckle. “Being forgotten by the world when you are meant to be known must be terribly hard.”

“Thank you, I- oh no“ You cut yourself off as you saw the sky grow dark, as if the moon was disappearing into the black sky. “One moment.”

You sucked in a breath and calmed yourself from the startle. You saw the man look at you with a curious look as you turned to face the moon. You raised your voice once more in song, when you did the moon began to glow once more, lighting the land in an ethereal glow. The man’s expression was taken over by pure wonder as you sang, even more so when your song gave the lilies around you light.

“So beautiful….” The man muttered, hearing you sing and seeing the heavenly glow all around you two.

“My domain…” You spoke in response as you finished your song. “Moonlight, not often something people pray for.”

“Maybe one day they will, my dear. I have a feeling they will.”

—————————

The days have passed since that faithful meeting, and the thoughts of the man slipped your mind. You would go out in the night still and sing in that same field, but now it felt as if something was changing, you just could not place it, after all things stayed the same here as they always have been for hundreds of years.

Now you sit in the field of glaze lilies, the flowers closing with the daylight. You could see your sister walking towards you through the field from the village. There was a few children following her but they stopped and fell back when they saw she was walking towards you, you sadly weren’t big with the children despite your love for them. Your sister came up to you and sat at your side.

“Good morning, my dearest (Name).” She said, brushing aside your hair with a wide smile. “You are as beautiful as ever, like the stars above.”

“Like the stars, hm?” You replied, a teasing grin coming across your tired face. “That’s a minor offense to the goddess of moonlight.”

“Oh sush.” Your sister responded, shoving your shoulder playfully. You pushed her back and soon the two of you find yourself tumbling, rolling, down the hill like two little bunnies. The two of you landed on your back, complete laughing messes. You may be goddesses but you two are sisters before that. Soon the two of your laughs calm down and you breathe, looking up at the changing sky. “You know, I wonder what would happen if we were just normal… just sisters…”

Your joyous smile fades into one of melancholy at your sister’s comment. What would be better, being a forgotten goddess or a mortal with dreams to live out? You didn’t know, but you couldn’t decide, you didn’t have a choice. “I wish, but that couldn’t happen.”

“(Name), think about it, it could! We aren’t bound by any contract, we have no ties to Rex Lapis or the other gods and adepti.” Your sister said, sitting up. Then you realize she was serious about this. “We could just leave, go off somewhere else, see the whole world. All we would need to do is sing to keep day and night alight! We have been here for centur-“

“I won’t go.” You cut her off, giving her a firm no. You stood up, dusting off your dress and your sister sat there in shock. “It’s our job to watch over this village, formal or not. We have made our home here and we just can’t abandon out people… I need to go to sleep, goodbye sister.”

“Goodbye (Name).”

…Little did you know that goodbye was forever…

When you set out to bring light to the night, your sister was gone. You asked the villagers if they have seen her before they went off to bed and a few said they spotted her walking off down to stone gate…

She left…

She really left…

The moon and glaze lilies gave no light that night, instead the world was shrouded in darkness and there was no singing only your sobbing. You were the weaker of the sisters, you couldn’t protect the village with out your sister. If something were to happen the village would all be but destroyed. You hugged your knees close as you cried, the petals of the glazed lilies brushing against your skin.

And you did something you had never done as a god…

You prayed…

“Please, Rex Lapis, god of contracts. I know I’m a goddess, but I’m a goddess that has nothing to give but myself. Please don’t let my people be harmed.” You begged, cried, hoping that he would hear you. “I will do anything you ask, just please, guard them when I can’t, I beg of you.”

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you were absolutely desperate. You lay there in the field of glaze lilies, the blooms hiding from your eyes just like the god hiding from your eyes, watching you from a distance…

Little did you know you had just signed the contract that will turn over your fate…

—————————

Since your sister’s disappearance your people had gotten used to seeing you more often and you had gotten used to sacrificing much of your sleep to watch over the day and night. The people have warmed up to you more, and don’t fear you anymore. But the opposite has happened to your sister, your people talked about her and hated her for abandoning them for abandoning you. You asked them not to talk about her, the topic of her shattered your heart.

You walked through the village streets, helping one of the older residents carry fruit from her recent harvest back to her shop. It was calm, people saying hello to you and children asking if you can play later. Is this what your sister felt like? All this love? You weren’t used to it.

“LADY (NAME)!” You heard someone yell out from behind you, you turn to see one of the younger villagers running towards you at full speed in a complete panic. He gets back to you, breathing and panting and you notice blood pouring down his arm. “Geovishaps… edge of the village…”

Your eyes widen and your dropped the crate. You glanced around till your eyes landed on one of one of the nearby adults. “Get him medical attention now, I’ll deal with this.”

You ran forward where he came from, ignoring the cries and pleading of for you to stay. You sped forward, rushing past all the warnings. They’re outside the village, ruining your field of glaze lilies at least six giant draconic monsters stood. You took your bow and arrow and aimed it at one of the monster’s head, you had killed one before but that was with your sister.

You let the arrow fly and it hit the beast right in the eye. This also caught the attention of both it and its friends. They all turned to look at you and as soon as you heard their roar you knew you were screwed over. But you could run away and give up, you had a duty to protect these people and you would do that till you die on the battlefield. You watched as the monsters rushed towards you, raising one of its large claws ready to bring it down on you. You closed your eyes, waiting for the blow to come…

But it never did…

You opened your eyes to see the beast with a spear stabbed through its head. Your eyes widened as you saw the weirder of it, you have seen him in artwork before,t he white robe, the marks on his arms…

…Rex Lapis…

…The Lord of Geo…

You could only watch as he pulled the polearm from the beast’s head and the monster fell the ground, dead. The dead beast’s companions didn’t waste a moment before running away from the god. He watched them with a cold eye before kneeling down to you…

Then it hit you…

It was that man from that night…

Those things you said…

Oh dear…

“Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He reached down, a hand on you chin, looking over you for any bruise or mark.

“I-I am… alright my lord… thank you.” You stood up with shaky legs, his hands guiding you to stand. “You were there… that night… I said you didn’t care, I am so, so, sorry.”

“Yes, but like I said then, it is quite alright, my dear.” He chuckled, after he helped you up he didn’t let go, even when you tried to step away. “After all we have a contract.”

“W-what? What are you on about?”

“That night, when your sister left, you prayed to me asking to protect your people. Your exact words were you will do anything I ask, as long as I guard them when you cannot.” Your heart sinks at those words, you remember that, between your tears you asked that. “I have made good on my end of the contract…”

“…now there is mine…” You hesitated on your words. What have you done? You should have left with your sister when you had the chance. “What do you want of me?”

“I have been alone for many centuries, I have had many a god and adeptus come into my life but none have truly caught my eye like you did that night when I heard you sing.” He looked at you, not of a gaze of malice or of ill intentions, but that of the one he looked at you with that night when you first met, a look of adoration, of love. “I wish for our contract to be that of marriage.”

There was a long moment of silence, shock, and horror…

“…no”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.” You repeated, planting your feet into the ground and ripping your arm out of his grasp. “I did not agree to marry you.”

“You said you would do whatever I ask.” The god snapped back as you stepped away from him, his hand squeezing around the polearm in his grasp. “Do you really want to go back on your word to me?”

“I cannot be bound to anyone, my role is to protect those who live in this village, those under my protection. I do not have a duty as someone’s wife, god or mortal” You answered, drawing your bow once more. “That is something I’m willing to fight for.”

“I see…” With that you feel the earth shake beneath your feet and you knew at that very moment you messed up. “Ones who break their contracts shall suffer the Wrath of the Rock."

…and that was it…

…it was over before it begun…

…you stood no chance against the Lord of Geo after all.

—————————

You sat on the hard cold ground, it felt like ice in here despite this cave being carved out by the lord of geo himself. Speaking of the lord of geo, you haven’t seen him since he locked you in here, how long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? You didn’t know anymore. Your clothing was tattered, you sat here half naked, and that was putting it nicely. You may not need to eat but it was still unpleasant not to, one of the cons of you choosing a mortal form.

That’s not the worse of it, you can forget that when you sleep, escaping to your dreams. The dreams are full of the days where you would lay in the field with your sister and watch over your people in their village. There is only one thing you can’t escape, the constant pain in your body, every time you move the searing pain that rips at your wrists ankles, even in your dreams you can escape that pain, it ruins the happiness you get from those memories.

Chains…

Enchanted chains…

A special gift from Rex Lapis himself…

The chains linked around your wrists and ankles and attached to the floor of the cave. Sure they were long and if it was just that you would be able to pull yourself to the wall to have something to lay against, but it’s never that simple. Every time you move the chains surge geo energy into your body, it feels like you bones are shifting like tectonic plates during an earthquake. Even breathing hurts now, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was due to to the geo energy literally grinding most of your ribs to dust. A mortal would be dead by now, but not you, you just went through the same pain, and it never ended. You could only lay here, on your back, and stare at the same spot on the rock ceiling as dust and dirt collected on your body. But never any water, this place was bone dry, fitting for a place meant to hold the goddess of rain and moonlight.

Then there was the silence, it was maddening. The first few days, or maybe weeks, you sang to break the silence, keep your sanity, but most importantly fulfill your godly duties. But that was Celestia knows how long ago, you could only hope your sister was doing the best she could to watch over the day wherever she was now, because now you could only guess how violent the night has become in your absence. The night was already unsafe, but without the light of the moon, it was deadly.

A soft steps echoing in the cave snapped you out of your thoughts of simply reminding yourself to breathe in an out since it has become such a task. But now there was only one thought in your mind, after all this time he had finally come to see you again in this stone cage he made for you. You could not even turn your head to look at him in fear that your neck would break from the pulses from the chain, nor could you give him one of your usual witty greetings due to your throat being as dry as sand in the Sumeru desert in summer from the lack of water or even moisture in this cave.

You could only see him when he stood right beside your broken body, gazing down at you, but you were to weak to even make out the details of his face. He stared at you for a long time before kneeling down so that he could get a better look at your limp form. You could finally make out his expression, calm as ever, but it was unsettling for you to witness. He was ever so calm as he reached out his clawed hand and ran his finger along your cheek, collecting the dust that had landed on your skin. He looked at the dust on his fingers then back at you, like how you would treat a vase on the shelf you had forgotten to dust off.

“Oh my dear…”

He sighed as he reached down with his hand to graze over your arm, down to the chain that was sealed to your wrist without a lock. Suddenly he gave it a pull which resulted in a bloodcurdling scream ripping from your throat as your felt the surge of geo energy surge from the chain into you arm and your bones began to rub against each other and snap like twigs. As he does this you can feel your arm rapidly repair itself and breaking it again as your limb begins to change, the skin turning black and where you could feel the surges, golden markings begin to form the same one the Geo Archon bares himself.

“It seems perhaps the punishment was too strong for the crime.”

Your body fell limp as the chains disappeared. He reached down and swept you off the ground as your vision faded in and out. You wanted to scream, strangle him, do something, but you couldn’t. Your body is nothing but dust compared to your fellow god.

—————————

“Then from that day on, the Lord of Geo and the Lady of the Moonlight were wed. The Goddess ever so grateful for her husband’s protection of her and her people during the perils of the Archon War. And now it is said that when ever one hears the Goddess’s song of moonlight, they will hear a love song to her husband.”

You rolled your eyes at the “historian’s” tale. What a load of lies. You could say what really happened, but no one would believe you, a seemingly mortal woman. You could tell them that his protection was him locking you away underground for five centuries as punishment for trying to break the contract. Tell them how when you returned to the surface there was nothing left of the Liyue you knew…

…Well almost…

Your “husband” was kind enough to keep his end of the contract still and leave that village standing which is now known as Qingce Village, you visit there occasionally but no one is left to remember you. All that is left there are the stories of the sister goddesses who once protected the village, one of them running away never to be seen or mentioned by name again, and the other who protected the village dutifully with the “help” of her husband, Rex Lapis.

At least there was one accurate bit in your so called perfect love story, your only good memory of your husband before all this. That fated night when you met in the field of glaze lilies, when your mind and body were still innocent to the God of Contracts.

You rolled your eyes at the sound of applause for the historian, it hurt to hear how people romanticized your life and relationships. You couldn’t do anything but bitterly walk away, going back to to your husband who was standing at the edge of the crowd listening. Much has changed since those days, for your husband no longer went by Rex Lapis, rather Zhongli. He also wasn’t so cruel to you anymore, not after the chains. You suspected this was due to how he felt seeing you like that, not about all the pain you were in, that was just your deserved punishment.

“That was a nostalgic story, was it not, my dear?” Your husband asked as he interlocked your arm with his and walked through the crowd.

“That an interesting word to use for it.” You remarked as you watched the people of Liyue Harbor go about their day to day lives. “From what I recall, you left me in that cave for five hundred years, unless they just got the words comfort and chains confused because you did not come to see me once.”

“Well my love…” He reached his hand down to yours, running patterns over where the his markings are branded into your skin are, hidden under your glove. “…History will change to give a pleasing narrative, that is something we cannot even change.”

That was rich coming from him, the man who will correct historians on any other story but this one…

This historian said you sing a love song but truth it’s the opposite, a song of mourning for the life that was taken from you, but not that you can say anything…

…there is a silent truth that everyone knows…

…history is written by the victors.

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x

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