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#i know there's a lot of options but it was too hard narrowing it down any further

pandorxxx · 1 year

Text

Search & Rescue(Chapter 2)

Lo’ak x Omatikayan fem reader (all aged up)

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, mentions of depression, fluff, oral, p in v, spitting, creampie, soft-dom lo’ak.

Synopsis: Lo’ak has a bit of a reputation that he’s been trying so hard to break out of. He just needs the right girl to come and rescue him. Looks like he found her tonight.

For the best reading experience: listen to Ozone by Chase Atlantic or Search and Rescue by Drake

“Yess lo’ak! Right there!” You whined, gripping the sheets as he sent you hard/firm strokes from behind. Clapping sounds so loud that you feared people could hear.

“Mhm, you feel me baby?” He moaned, watching the source of pleasure before smacking your ass. You nodded, throwing your head down on the cot to arch your back for him.

“Shit, just like that! Don’t fucking move!” He growled, wrapping your hair around his forearm. He sped up his pace, making sure to smash against your sweet spot with every deep stroke.

“Baby, y-you’re gonna make me fucking cum!” You screamed, muffled by the sheets beneath you. “Oh yeah? Go ahead, mama. Cum on this dick, I know you want to.” He chuckled, smacking your ass a few more times before gripping your hips, bringing you back to meet his thrusts. Your mouth fell agape, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“Mmm fuck, im cumming!!!” You let out a high pitched scream, letting your eyes fall shut…waking up from your wet dream. You sat up lazily, wincing from your pounding headache.

“Goodmorning, my little screamer.” Lo’ak said sarcastically, sharpening his knife in the corner. You grimaced, eyes narrowed from the sun pouring in.

“Huh?” You asked in a confused tone, going to shift your legs to the side of the cot. “How was your….dream?” He asked, still razor focused on knife. That’s when you realized that he heard everything, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

“Shit, you heard?” You asked hesitatingly, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “I think everyone heard. They probably think I’m in here giving you the best dick of your life.” He joked, standing to his feet. You let out a stressful sigh, hiding your face in your dainty hands.

“Umm I- I should go.” You stuttered, standing up swiftly before grabbing your cloths off of the floor. You went to walk past him and he picked you up, placing you on the table behind him.

“Not until you eat something. I brought you breakfast. I kinda figured you would miss it, and I was right.” He smiled, grabbing a price of fruit off of the plate, holding it up to your mouth. You hesitated at first, but finally opened your mouth for him to place the fruit in. You started to chew slowly, staring into his golden eyes.

“I umm- went by your hut today. Grabbed some cloths for you. Your comb and hair accessories too. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I grabbed some options.” He spoke sweetly, pointing to your items on the drawer behind you. You were shocked, never in a million years did you think he was even capable of picking out an outfit for any woman.

“You know I’m leaving, right? You didn’t have to do this.” You chuckled, watching him bring another piece of fruit up to your mouth.

“About that. I was hoping you’d stay with me again, tonight? We can even go to the party together.” He confessed, watching you lick his fingertips clean after you ate the piece of fruit. You looked up at him in confusion, chewing slowly.

“You… w-want me to stay here again? Why?” You asked, eyeing him up and down. He rolled his eyes, stepping closer to stand between your legs. So close that his loincloth rubbed against your bare cunt, shielded by his huge T-shirt.

“If it’s not already painfully obvious. I like you, dumbass.” He spoke lowly, placing his hands on either sides of your thighs. Your breathing hitched, and your core began to heat up in arousal. His eyes were glued on yours, looking at you with nothing but interest.

“I’m not fucking you, lo’ak.” You said, voice shaky as you watched his lips come closer to yours, hoping that he would close the gap in between you two. “I’m not fucking you, y/n.” He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eye contact again.

“Why not?” You asked, completely tranced by his closeness. You glanced at his large arms, engulfing your thighs. Then to his broad chest, trailing all the way down to his chiseled abs before meeting his gaze again.

“Because you’re not ready.” He replied. “Ready for what?” You spat. He dropped his head, chuckling before looking back up at you.

“I’ve gotta go. Go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be back later on tonight. Then we can go to the party.” He smiled, backing up from between your legs, walking over to his bow, placing it across his chest.

“You’re just gonna leave me here? What do you suppose I do?” You shouted, watching him walk towards the hut door.

“Just stay your pretty ass here! I’ll be back later on!” He shouted, walking out of the door before shutting it behind him.

“Ugghhh! LO’AK!” You shouted in frustration before the room fell silent. You looked around, noticing the bottle cans you missed from last night, and the drawer with cloths falling out. Probably from when lo’ak picked out cloths for himself this morning.

“He’s such a fucking pig.” You whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes before hoping off of the table. You took this time to deep clean his hut. Grabbing buckets of water and towels to wipe dirty areas. Hand washing his dirty cloths, fixing the sheets on his cot. You picked up all of the garbage on the ground, and organized all of his accessories.

After you were done, you walked to the nearby stream, taking your morning shower. Ridding yourself of all the makeup and body glitter from the night before. You spent most of the day in lo’aks hut, desperately waiting for him to come back. In your free time, you did your hair in 2 Dutch braids, decorating them with the hair accessories lo’ak brought for you earlier.

It was starting to get dark, and you were expecting lo’ak any second. You sat on the floor in-front of his mirror, doing your make up and applying the same body glitter from last night.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Lo’ak spoke in an exhaustion as he limped to the neatly made cot. You snapped your head at him, scanning his bruised body, wombs patched up and cured with yalnabark.

“Lo’ak, what the hell?” You shouted in concern, standing swiftly before darting over to him. He sat on the edge of the cot with his head hung low. You kneeled before him, taking his bow from around his chest, removing his necklace and other accessories.“You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?” You looked up at him, his hair hanging in front of his face.

“Thanator.” He replied. “You’re lying.” You spoke sternly, pushing the strands of hair behind his ear. He sighed loudly, meeting your gaze.

“I got into a fight.” He replied, clenching and unclenching his jaw in anger. You hit his chest hard, however, it didn’t even phase him.

“Why?! Why do you continue to get yourself into trouble?!!!” You shouted, eyebrows furrowed as you awaited an answer.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “Tell me, or I leave.” You spat, pointing in the direction of the door. He looked into your eyes, looking for any sign of you joking. Finding none, he finally came clean. “Some guys were talking about you, inappropriately. And it pissed me off.” He confessed.

“So you fought all of them???” You asked with a slight whiny tone, hoping he didn’t fight multiple men for you.

“You’re damn right! And I’d do it again. No one talks about you the way they did! NO ONE!” He growled, angered to the point of no return.

“Ok, ok. Just calm down, please.” You stood, wrapping your small arms around his head, bringing him to your chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in between his legs. And without a second to spare, he finally let it all out, weeping loudly in your arms.“I know. It’s ok, lo’ak. Let it out.” You comforted him, rubbing his back as he clung to you tightly.

“I-It hurts so bad, y/n. I-I don’t know what’s going on with me.” He whimpered, tears falling down to your chest. “I’m just so fucking tired. I can’t do this shit anymore.” His voice became lifeless, shaking his head in defeat against your chest.

“No, don’t talk like that. you- we are going to get through this. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, lo’ak. Always and forever, no matter what. Do you hear me?” You spoke softly, caressing his head, blinking back tears as you’d never seen him like this.

It hurt your heart to know that behind the facade, he was struggling. Struggling with his identity, struggling with his relationship with women, struggling with alcohol, struggling to find reasons to wake up everyday. And then there you were, with him every step of the way. In the past 24 hours, you’d seen more

of him than anyone ever has. Seen him at his absolute lowest. Yet and still, you didn’t run away like every other girl. Instead, you listened to him with no judgment, held him close to your heart.

“Mhm.” He whimpered, sniffling against your chest. You bent down again, wiping his face dry. “I-I’m sorry if I’m scaring you. Just please…don’t leave me.” He whispered weakly, eyes red from his emotional breakdown.

“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m here to stay.” You smiled, voice shaky as you held back tears. And that was the moment he knew that you were the one. He had a feeling before, but the way you were willing to stick by his side, flaws and all solidified it for him. His emotions got the best of him, and he swiftly picked you up off of the ground, placing you on the bed gently before he hovered over your small frame.

“I guess we’re not going to the party tonight?” You spoke breathily, heart beating at the speed of light as you waited for his next move.

“Nope.” His voice was low and deep. He shook his head with a smirk. You smirked back.“I’m not fucking you, lo’ak.” You joked, this time hoping that he would give in.

“You don’t have to. Just lay here and look pretty for me.” He said, licking his lips before bending down, french kissing your neck. You gasped, immediately feeling that tingling sensation in your core. He kissed your neck sloppily, moving down to your chest.

“You better not play me.” You moaned, throwing your head back. He grabbed both of your hands, pinning them above your head.

“I won’t, I swear on my life.” He spoke breathily between kisses. He slid down to his knees in front of you before sliding your loincloth off of your legs. Then he went for your thigh-band embroidered with gorgeous crystals. He flashed his fangs at you before attaching them to the band, sliding it off of you like he had been dying to do ever since he laid eyes on you.

“You trust me?” He asked, grabbing the band out of his mouth, staring at you as if you were his last meal. “Mhm!” You hummed, nodding your head frantically.

“Hold out your wrists.” He commanded, and you obliged immediately. He proceeded to wrap your thigh-band around your wrists firmly, just enough to securing you. “Too tight?” He asked, pulling you closer to him by your thighs. You shook your head no, desperately waiting for his next move.

He bent down in between your legs, pulling them over his shoulders. He looked into your eyes hungrily as he started off with kitty licking your clit, just to see how you’d react. You completely lost it, back bowing to the cot as you let out a high pitched moan. And that was all he need to know. “Mmm you’re a virgin, huh?” He spoke lowly, before tongue kissing your cunt.

“H-How can you tell?” You moaned, focusing on the soft kisses he planted on your throbbing clit.“You’re so sensitive, like you’ve never been touched before.” He hummed into your cunt, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. He backed up, spitting on your clit before going back to work on you.

“Mmm yes!” You moaned, screwing your face in pleasure. “Look at me.” He growled, flicking your clit with his tongue. You looked down, locking eyes with him as he devoured you whole. That scene alone was driving you crazy, and he knew it.

“Lo’ak I-I think!-“ you whimpered, tears blurring your vision. Your legs started to shake around his head, and you felt your stomach muscles tighten.

“You’re gonna cum.” He mumbled against your clit. “Go ahead, cum in my fucking mouth. I wanna taste you.” He growled before sucking on your clit like a pacifier.

“I-I think I’m cumming, lo’ak!” You screamed before releasing your juices onto his tongue, and he guzzled them greedily.

“Fuuck!” You screamed sharply, as you reached the very peek of pleasure. Your breathing was heavy as you finally calmed down. Lo’ak sucked your sensitive clit one last time before detaching completely. Standing up in between your trembling legs.

“You feeling ok?” He asked, walking to his drawer to grab a towel. You watched him intently as he walked back to you, wiping your core and inner thighs gently. He was learning how to be a gentleman for you, and it made you hot. You wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you senseless. “What are you doing?” You asked in a confused tone. He smirked, glaring at you will wiping you clean.

“I’m cleaning you.” He replied. “No I mean- I thought we were going to-“ you started before he cut you off. “I wanna do things differently with you. I wasn’t going to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.” He confessed, throwing the towel to the side. You sat up, shifting to your knees in-front of him, wrists still tied together.

“And the fact that you’re willing to wait for me shows me all I need to see. So I’m begging you…please. Please fuck me lo’ak. I need you.” You rambled, looking up into his eyes desperately. His ears perked up, mouth agape with shock.

He grabbed your wrists, holding them close to his heart before kissing your knuckles. “The things you do to me…” he spoke lowly, chuckling against your dainty hands. “Let’s just wait, y/n. I want your first time to be special.” He explained, going to caress your head. You backed away before he could.

“All I need is you. That’s special enough.” You spoke sensual, turning around to bend over in-front of him. You let your head find comfort on the cot as you spread your legs farther apart, exposing your dripping cunt to him.

“Give it to me, lo’ak. I’m so fucking needy for you. I can’t help it anymore.” He watched the whole scene unfold in-front of him with intent. His tail wagged quickly behind him, looking down at your glory, practically sitting on a platter all for him.

“Shit…” was all he could say. Running his hands down his face as you backed up into him. Your bare cunt rubbing against his growing bulge. This provided the right amount of friction for you, causing you to let out a series of soft moans.

“All you wanna do is fuck me. What about “hello” or “how are you”.” He joked, smacking your ass hard, causing you to wince in pain.

“Yeah yeah. Just give it to me..Pleaaasseee?!” Your whines muffled by the cot. He rolled his eyes, before smirking slightly.

“And here I thought you were a good girl. But deep down, when it’s all said and done. You’re really just a fucking slut.” He explained, untying his loincloth from around his hip, letting it drop to the ground beneath him. His cock sprung up, hitting your bare cunt in the process, causing you to moan at the friction. Beads of precum dripping to your ass, gliding down to your aching hole. It was such a beautiful site for him.

“It’s no coming back from this, mama. Once I give you this dick, you’ll be fucking hooked, I promise you that.” He growled, jerking his cock in the direction of your cunt. His words had you hooked already. He knew exactly what to say to have you wrapped around his finger.

“Mmm, lo’ak! Put it in me!” You cried desperately, pushing back onto him again. He chuckled at your desperation before lining up with your cunt, sinking it into you slowly, inch by inch.

“Fuuuck! I’ll move in a second. Just want you to get used to me first.” He moaned, watching you screw your face in absolute pleasure, whimpering and squirming around under him.

“No, lo’ak I’m ready! Fuck me! fuck me! fuck me!” You screamed, throwing your ass back on him, immediately finding the relief you were looking for. He was completely dumbfounded, watching you use him for your own pleasure.

“Mhmm! “Im not fucking you, lo’ak”…. Does that ring a bell, baby?” He spoke sensually, smacking your ass. He deemed it a good time to start meeting you halfway, thrusting into you firmly. Your eyes rolled back, smiling deliriously as your moans rippled with every hard stroke.

“Yesss! Keep fucking me just like that. I-it’s so *thrust* fucking *thrust* gooood!!” You whined, tears threatening to fall as you gnawed on the sheets deliriously. He watched you fall apart right before his eyes. And it sent him over the edge. He moaned loudly with you, throwing his head back as he drilled deeply into you.

“Shit baby! Let me see your wrists.” He moaned, watching you shift around slightly to expose your wrists to him. He untied you quickly, throwing the restraints across the room.

“Fuuuck!” You whined, reaching around to grab your cheeks, spreading them wide for him. He took this as an opportunity to stick his tongue out, letting his saliva glide down in between your folds. You turned your head, meeting his lustful gaze.

“Lo’ak, I fucking love youuuu!” You whined, moans staggered from his hard thrusts. He bit his lip, staring at your screwed face. “I love you more!” He moaned, jaw clenched as he watched your eyes roll back.

“N-Never leave me. Ok?” He grunted, grabbing your arm, and you clung to his arm as well. You two stared into each others eyes, as he tried to blink back tears, his emotions getting the best of him again. He didn’t know what you were doing to him, but he loved it. He had never felt this way about any other girl.

“I-I’m not going anywhere, baby! I promise!” You cried, feeling that familiar sensation from earlier. The eye contact had your stomach doing backflips, and you just couldn’t quite explain the way you felt for him. You didn’t know what he had done to you, but you couldn’t get enough. This moment that you two shared was indescribable. He couldn’t help but let his tears fall, biting his lip as he watched you share the same exact reaction. Tears blurring your vision as you let out a series of moans, maintaining the most dangerous eye contact. The type of eye contact that could make you fall In love, and you two were falling deep.

“I love you, y/n. I love you so fucking much!” He cried, voice shaky as he sped up the pace slighty. “I-I love you too!” You moaned before your legs started shaking beneath you.

“Cum with me, y/n. I know you’re just as close as me. I can feel it!” He grunted, smacking your ass once more. He felt his stomach tighten, signaling that he was going to cum any second.

“In me, please? I need it.” You whimpered, feeling his swollen tip slam against your sweet spot. His eyes widened at your request.

“You sure, my love?” He spoke breathily, focusing on his in coming orgasm. You nodded frantically, shutting your eyes tightly as you started to shake violently underneath him.

“OH MY- FUCK LO’AK! IM CUMMING!!!” You screamed, every stroke revealing his cream coated cock. “Shit, Me too! Me too!” He whimpered, before his jaw dropped. His thrusts became sloppy, releasing his seed inside of you, filling you up just how you asked him to.

“Mmm yesss, so good lo’ak!” You hummed, feeling his seed leak into your empty womb. You two came down from your highs, breathing hard as your sweaty bodies collapsed. You shifted around to face him. You both stared at each other, with new found love lingering in the air.

“Come here.” He chuckled lazily, gripping your neck before kissing you passionately. And you two kept this same energy all night. Fucking each other for hours and hours until you both finally crashed.

- - -

“LO’AK WHAT THE FUCK?” Echoing screams muffled in your mind, waking you up from your sleep. Your eyes squinted from the morning sun as you grimaced.

“LO’AK! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? WHO IS THIS BITCH IN YOUR BED?” A clearly angry voice shouted, waking you up completely. You saw a girl standing over you two. She went to hit him, immediately waking him up.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? GET OUT!” He shouted, halting her attempts to hit him as he held her wrists together.

“W-What’s going on?” You spoke groggily, watching the entire scene unfold in-front of you. “Why are you in his FUCKING BED!” The girl hissed at you. Your eyes widened, wrapping the sheets around your naked body.

“I-I didn’t know you two were together.” You whispered, completely heartbroken. Your eye contact shifted between him and the girl he was holding onto for dear life, trying to stop her from hitting him.

“WE’RE NOT TOGETHER Y/N, I SWEAR ON MY LIFE! SHES JUST FUCKING CRAZY!” He growled, shifting off of the bed to push her out of the hut. It was a slight struggle before he pushed her out completely, shutting the door in her face. He faced the door for some time, knowing exactly what your reaction would be when he turned around.

“Y/n…I know what this looks like-“ he started before you cut him off. “No.” you spoke, voice shaky from your incoming breakdown. He turned around, darting over to you before kneeling next to the cot.

“Y/n, I swear! Me and that girl are not together! We had a one night stand a couple of weeks ago and that was it! I swear baby, please!” He rambled, tears streaming down his face.

“I-I’ve gotta go.” You whimpered, wiping tears from your puffy eyes. You pushed passed him, putting your cloths on swiftly before grabbing the rest of your things.

“Y/n, please! You said you’d never leave me, just let me explain. I-I can’t lose you. I CANT!” He cried, kneeling down in front of you. You stood before him, so confused on how you felt. A part of you knew it wasn’t his fault, but you just couldn’t take it. She wouldn’t be the last girl you had to deal with, and you knew that. You didn’t know if you were strong enough to deal with that. So you chose not to…

“I-I just need time to think. I can’t do this right now, lo’ak.” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “Please…” he whimpered, reaching out for your hand before you backed up from his embrace. Completely shattering his heart.

“I-…goodbye lo’ak.” You whispered before turning around, darting out of the hut door, not even looking back as you walked to your own hut.

And there he was. Just as empty, if not more, As the day you found him. And just like that, the cycle starts over…

Taglist: @number1gal @loak-bae @tiredmamaissy @neytirishottie @viajaeger @terrorthewolf @lethargicluv @reyzzsostellar @m0nst3rfk3r @agelsully @jakescumdump @wekiamo @st-cass @cleardonutangelwagon @tsireqas @satanlovedays @afro-hispwriter @thecutieyahia @urfavgirlmakenna @fanboyluvr @iameatingmyhair @secretflowerobservation @violet-19999 @neteyamsprincess @xreadersstuff @sweetllamaparadise @lia-nath @sullymenrhot @dotheyevenknowmars @xdbluesky @slay-nt @domino-x3-blog @ladylovegood-69 @itssomeonereading @sweetirilly @skxawngmia @downbadforloak @loaks-tanhi @loaksbabyy

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s1ater · 2 years

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Hii! I have a request🌼 İt is reader x louis partridge where they are both famous and they have a loooooooongggg interview about their relationship pleasee, and full off fluff if possible

Thank you🖤

Have a great night/morning🥂🌃

couple's questions.

pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader

about. above

warnings. swearing

ricky rocks. the links within the text are reference photos i guess. not very long because idk sorry lol x

who asked who out first?

“me, i did,” louis mumbled right away, rubbing his jaw as you stared up at him with narrowed brows.

“yeah, after millie made you.”

“no,” his own brows narrowed as he looked down to you.

“yes,” you nodded your head, your mouth slightly opened as he stared at you with confused eyes, “lou, she bought your birthday present for me too.”

“you know about that?”

favorite memory together?

“i have.. none,” louis swiped his nose slightly, bluntly speaking.

"i have to agree."

he's struck offended.

wallpapers?

“lou’s mine,” you held up your phone after unlocking it before showing a facetime photo from when he had fallen asleep on his couch. “he’s also my- well we’re both on my lock screen,” you hit the power button before hitting it again causing the screen to light up and show the two of hugging each other after a day at the beach. “millie also took that,” you smiled before tucking your phone back in your pocket.

“she’s only my lock screen,” he held up his phone, showing a selfie of him having an arm wrapped around your shoulders from behind in new york. “my home screen is just me and my sisters.”

you smiled at the thought of the photo as he stuck his phone in his pocket then looking over to you, smiling.

favorite gift one has received/given?

your eyes brightened at the question before looking to louis who was already looking at you, a light laugh flying past his lips. his arm extended behind the two of you, his hand lightly grasping the back of your neck, giving it a light squeeze before wrapping around your waist.

“well, i’d say the silver chain that has louis’ name on it, but millie was the one who actually gave it to me, so..” you shrugged your shoulders causing him to lightly roll his eyes before fiddling with the thick gold bracelet on your left wrist that he had a matching pair of on his own wrist, something he bought himself for the both of you.

“she bought me my ‘heaven can wait’ sweater” he said bluntly, “i wear it a lot, but it seems she wears it more than i do.”

you laugh lightly, running your eyes along his jaw.

"you know, before we started dating my closet was filled with clothes, but ever since we've gotten together i only have the option of wearing the same thing every day," his tone is slightly annoyed but has playful banter hidden underneath as he lightly pinches you.

you smile hard, thinking about how much your closet has expanded and how it shouldn't even have to matter whether or not he has clothes at home due to how much louis is at your house in the first place.

over the summer, you both had talked about moving in with each other a lot of the time sense it seemed you both already did at your parents homes. you were almost never apart.

who gets annoyed the most?

“louis.”

“what,” he frowns hard looking to you, “that is such bs, there is no way it’s me.”

“you’re getting annoyed right now,” you grin, extending your pointer finger to him, making his brows furrow more. he stared at you a minute more before slapping your finger down.

"yeah, sure; me."

night in or night out?

you both look to each other and you frown slightly in thought. you can tell louis already has his answer by the way he smiles like a sick dog, his hand slapping onto your thigh, "night in."

he's asked 'why' by the interviewer--further extending the grin on his face, "because you can't make out in public."

you scoff, your face beginning to feel hot, "i'd agree, but not... for his reasons."

not totally anyways.

"oh, cmon love," he slightly elbows you in the ribs, "be honest."

"louis, quit being a perv," you shake your head in slight annoyance.

although the two of you do make out, a lot, nights in don't pertain to that idea, totally. you always find time to schedule movie nights, card nights, or even just plainly eat dinner with each others family.

as much as you loved going out, it got harder the more publicity you both faced from recent movies and shows you both did. you couldn't go a minute without a camera being shoved into your face.

what is one thing you both can't live without?

"lou absolutely can not live without his phone."

"neither can you, sweetheart," his voice is sour as he looks down to you, practically scowling at your insinuation.

"yes i can," you narrowed your brows, "you're such a phone face, lou, you don't even know it."

"since when?"

"since i've met you," you dumbfounded, "anytime i try and communicate to you, it takes about five minutes for you to finally get off your phone and look at me."

he winces a bit, knowing it's true, but he still shakes his head with the kiss of his teeth, "afraid not, love."

"fine, we'll put it down for something we both can't live without."

"no," he shakes his head, "i'm changing mine to you."

your face goes soft, and you look up to him, almost caught off guard, "louis, that's actually so sweet."

"what can i say, i'm a sweet man."

navigation.

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @heyitsmeimdead @thehuntress09 @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @lukewearingbeanies @kiramdd @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @spencybear @w0nderr r @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @whoreforpsychopaths s @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr

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hiding-in-my-blanket-fort · 1 year

Text

A few headcanons for a relationship between Rip Wheeler and a shy, quiet, introverted fem!reader:

Protective!Rip dialed up 10000%

Walker ain’t even allowed to LOOK at you, much less speak to you beyond “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am.”

Whenever you go into town, Rip insists he goes with you, or he sends someone with you. He doesn’t like you going alone.

When things get rough on the ranch, he insists you stay in the cabin where it’s safe.

Rip tries really, really hard not to bring work home with him. But sometimes, it happens. And when it does, he’s clipped and cranky and there’s just this thundercloud hovering over him.

When he accidentally barks at you, and he sees you flinch, withdrawing away from him, he knows he messed up big time.

He’ll give you space and take that time to calm down. Then he’ll kiss your forehead and apologize for snapping at you.

One of his favorite things in the world is coming home to see you sitting on the porch, waiting for him.

Sometimes, you feel a little bad because he’s so tough and you’re not. But whenever those doubts slip out, Rip insistently shakes his head and he’s very happy to see that you manage to stay soft in a world that is unkind.

It’s a common occurrence when you’re talking to someone - in town, a ranch hand, etc - that Rip will be standing behind quiet, shy little you, while he’s back there glaring daggers and looking intimidating as a bear.

You are literally the only person on earth who can tease him about it and get away with it.

“Did you do your mean face?”

He just raises his eyebrows slightly, amused. “My what now?”

“Your mean face. That expression you use when you don’t want people lookin’ twice at me.”

You attempt to mimic him - puffing yourself up, putting on a stern face, narrowing your eyes - and it’s a rare thing to make Rip Wheeler laugh but you manage it.

Most of the time, Rip appreciates how shy and quiet you are.

And then there are other times, where it scares the hell out of him. You couldn’t hurt a fly but the world he knows, the world he exists in every day, could snuff you out as easily as a breath of wind on a candle flame. So he worries about you quite a bit.

And on very rare occasions, you and Rip butt heads about your differing perspectives.

He will always choose the gruff, direct, blunt route. To you, this is brash and comes across as callous.

You will prefer the sensitive, tactful option. To him, this is pussy-footing around the issue and it’s better to just deal with it.

Sometimes, you never truly reach a middle ground because you’re both so different. But you love each other like crazy so you agree to disagree.

You rarely set foot in the bunkhouse. Ever. It’s noisy and loud and Rip absolutely does NOT encourage you to go in there.

But you’re curious about it too because he spends a lot of time there. It’s such a big part of his life, alongside the ranch hands.

Ryan and Lloyd pester Rip about bringing you around so they can finally get to know this girl he’s gone soft for.

When Rip continually says no, Ryan and Lloyd tag-team you, inviting you to play some cards and have some fun on a Friday night.

When you show up, you realize you are leagues outside of your comfort zone. But Rip is glued to your side, shooting threatening looks at everyone to be on their best behavior while you’re around.

But as you warm up, the other ranch hands take a liking to you. Your quiet ways are refreshing in a boisterous bunkhouse of loud cowboys.

You’ll quickly learn how to speak up to be heard as they become more comfortable around you. It doesn’t take long before you start trash-talking like the best of them.

After that, the ranch hands have practically adopted you and they’re eager to show you how to rope, ride, etc.

Rip would rather not repeat the experience. Meanwhile you have a little extra bounce in your step.

“They liked me!”

He laughs softly and touches your cheek. “Of course they did, honey. Why wouldn’t they?”

You shrug and snuggle under his arm.

“Guess I just always thought I wasn’t tough enough for you, that’s all. That was fun though. We should do it again.”

Rip hums and shakes his head, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“That would mean I’d have to share you again, darlin’, and I ain’t makin’ a habit of that.”

Writing tag

#Yellowstone imagines #yellowstonetv #rip wheeler #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler imagines #writing tag

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strawberrystepmom · 8 months

Text

pairing: incubus!grimmjow jaegerjacquez x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

about: the ravenous desire of your roommate never seems to abate despite the late nights he spends outside of the comfort of your apartment. when he approaches you, the truth comes out. can you fulfill the appetite of an incubus?

contents: nsfw - mdni. cw dark content - dubcon, somnophilia. brief mention of masturbation (f), unprotected penetrative sex (piv), light degradation (slut/slutty), creampie, possessiveness. reader is only partially awake/aware through the fic and assumes she's dreaming.

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! yall ever wanted to fuck a cat boy demon before bc i know i have and here he is in all his weirdo glory. what i love about doing this is that it rly forces me out of my element (writing more smut bc historically i haven't enjoyed writing it all that much) and exploring new/darker concepts i haven't always felt like i have the ability to write.

hopefully this is something everyone can enjoy! thank you for reading ♡

Since you signed your lease nine months ago, you’ve always had a standing agreement with your strange roommate Grimmjow.

“If you need anything, just knock on my door and I’ll be there.”

You aren’t sure why you felt compelled to offer your time or support to the man in the first place - perhaps it was your too tender heart taking one roving glance over him and realizing that he simply looked like he needed someone. Eyes like a predator, narrowed and a sharp, angular frame in an oversized t-shirt. You met him through an online post looking for a roommate and desperation, and the end of your relationship, gave you no option but to accept. The situation appeared too fortuitously for you to turn it down.

The past nine months have gone as swimmingly as one could expect living with a stranger would, though.

He comes and goes without much fuss but if you are honest with yourself - you find some of his habits strange. You try not to think too hard about them, after all you’re just his roommate and he owes you no explanation, but there are times where you wonder why he skulks late at night. When he comes home after these late night adventures, you always notice him looking rested the next day and it has never made sense to you. The dark circles under his eyes seem to magically abate and his posture fixes itself, walking tall and strong across the scuffed wooden floors the two of you share.

Aside from this, though - he pays his half of the rent on time, he manages to clean up after himself as well as you can expect, and he asks you no questions about who you are or what you’re doing with your life.

Until tonight, strangely enough.

“What are you gettin’ up to tonight?”

Grimmjow’s voice is a growl more so than anything else, as long as you’ve known him it has been this way, but it sounds different. Lower, perhaps. You tip your head to the side and offer a half smile, shrugging and letting the collar of your oversized t-shirt fall off of your shoulder enough to expose the flesh beneath it.

“Weather’s supposed to be shitty so I’m staying in. Same as usual.”

He hums his answer, stretching his legs to place his feet on the table across from the couch where you both sit. You take a moment to look over him - blue eyes and hair to match. You’ve never asked him if the hair color is natural, assuming the opposite is true, but you have never seen a hint of dark brown or blonde growing out of his head.

In fact, there’s a lot of things you’ve never seen him do but you’ve always just assumed he does them at night while he’s out but you try too hard not to think about it. The two of you have a no questions asked policy, at least silently you’ve agreed to one but you bite further, breaking your own internal code to pry for details.

“How about you?”

Shifting where he sits, he puts his arms up over his head and readjusts his legs, one foot resting on top of the other. You watch his shift in posture, eyes trailing up long legs and admiring the way his bicep bulges with the angle his arm is bent at. It’s strange but you’ve never taken the time to really look at your roommate in all these months but now that you are.

He’s pretty hot.

You look away quickly, hoping you weren’t caught in the act of boundary bouncing, placing your hands in your lap primly and he smirks, settling into the couch behind him with a few wiggles of his shoulders. He takes his turn looking at you, a smile you’re trying to hide and hair still damp after getting out of the shower, and he wonders how you haven’t caught onto him yet. This isn’t the first time he has eyed you with those blazing, partially sunken eyes but you feel the intensity of it this time and tuck your shoulders forward to hide the embarrassment of being seen.

“Might stick around,” he sniffs and wrinkles his nose. “Feelin’ kinda hungry though.”

Instantly, you beam. Perhaps this could be a good way for the two of you to actually get to know each other since you have never really shared a meal with the man outside of shitty pizza on the nights you’ve stayed up late enough to greet him before he leaves and doesn’t return until sunrise.

“I can make us some dinner if you wanna stick around? If not, I get it, it’s not supposed to get super bad out until later.”

What you don’t realize is that the hunger he’s speaking of is something very different than what can be sated by what you’re offering. Despite this, for a brief moment, he considers it and you watch him do so. He licks his bottom lip, pink tongue darting out and takes one of his hands off of the back of his head to rub his thumb in the wet trail left behind by the motion.

“Nah, I gotta do a couple things.”

Heat you’ve never felt before crawls up the back of your neck and you look away again. You’re flustered, the effortless eroticism of whatever just happened making your skin feel itchy, and he chuckles.

What could possibly be so funny?

You think of the question but don’t say it aloud, almost embarrassed at his reaction to you. Did you misread his suggestion? Did you just make the next three months of your lease unbearably awkward?

Grimmjow takes his feet off the table and places them on the ground, leaning forward and your gaze falls on the forward bend of his spine and the way the overgrown hair at the nape of his neck curls slightly.

Why are your eyes so drawn to him today? It feels as though it takes all of your self control just to look away but you manage to, cheeks warm and hairline dappled with sweat. This feeling is strange in a way that you lack the words to explain and you keep your eyes trained on the ground even as he stands up and stretches, his shirt exposing the bottom of his abdomen.

“I’ll take you up on your offer another night, though.”

Flicking your eyes upward, you catch the sliver of tanned skin just above his waistline and another rash of heat crawls across your face. Your mouth is dry and you nod, lifting your face enough to give him an uncertain and forced smile.

“You alright?” Again, you nod. It’s all you can do right now until you have a sip of water or get some air or…something. He smirks and gives you a sidelong glance as he heads toward the door.

“Get some fresh air, it might make you feel better.”

Your face heats further knowing that he can tell what’s happening to you but he makes no other comment. The sound of him slipping on his jacket and boots fills the otherwise quiet apartment and he opens the door hoping he can find something to sate this appetite before he comes home and makes it your problem.

Judging by how you reacted to him tonight, though, you may not be all that upset if he does make it your problem but that’s a boundary to be tested another time.

“Fuck,” you whimper with your lip tucked between your teeth, the squelching of your fingers working in and out of your own sopping cunt filling your bedroom interspersed with whines and moans both from you and the little video on your phone.

The moment Grimm left, the heat became unbearable. You thought about taking your shorts off right on the couch and letting your fingers explore but held yourself back, instead taking a few minutes to walk around, have something to drink, to see if the need started to feel less intense.

After several minutes of intense pacing, you decided to take care of the issue yourself. Sure, it’s perverted and wrong to feel this turned on simply by taking a good hard look at your damn near otherworldly roommate but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him and after this you’ll go back to keeping your distance.

Letting your fingers dip further inside of you, you gasp, mouth forming the first letter of his name. Immediately you freeze, shocked that you’d be so brazen despite the apartment being empty, and you shut your eyes tightly and silently work yourself toward orgasm with someone else’s pleas for more playing through the speaker on your phone.

A little whimper is all you manage, walls clenching around your digits. It isn’t the best you’ve ever had but it isn’t the worst either and it seems like enough for now to help your racing heartbeat calm down to something more manageable. Withdrawing your fingers with a deep breath, filling your lungs completely before emptying them in the same fashion by exhaling, you roll over onto your side, locking and tossing your phone on the bedside table.

What the fuck just happened? What the fuck has this entire evening been?

Chuckling at the absurdity of the past few hours, you reach around blindly for something to wipe your sticky hand on and settle on the t-shirt you discarded earlier. You know you need to get up but you feel pleasantly dazed instead, wiping your fingers and keeping your heavy eyes shut.

Free from embarrassment and far less wound up, you start to doze. The room is cool and the fall storm the news warned you about blows outside, the gentle sound of thunder lulling you into an unexpected but much needed rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear a knock, knock, knock at your cracked bedroom door.

Eyes fluttering open just enough to see Grimmjow standing in the doorway, you shut and open them just to make sure you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. It’s too dark to make out all of him but your blurry eyes scan his face, noticing his cheeks look almost hollow and the same deep dark circles beneath his eyes before he left tonight look darker and heavier.

“Grimm?” You ask and his response is a low growl, footsteps echoing through your quiet room as he pads toward the edge of your bed. “Are you okay?”

He stalks like a predator across the floor, making methodical and swift footfalls at the foot of your bed. You sit up, forgetting that you fell asleep completely nude, and his pacing stops when his eyes settle on your exposed breasts, your blanket bunched beneath them.

“I’m hungry,” he repeats just as he did earlier and you are too tired to figure out what he means. Giggling, you still haven’t noticed the way he eyes you hungrily, stiffened nipples grabbing his attention and keeping it.

“Couldn’t find anything good to eat while you were out?”

Your words are a jumble, something that would make sense to no one else but the man who has lived with you for 9 months who has figured out your morning sleepy voice and the way it all blurs together. He approaches the edge of your bed and sits down, watching you lay back down and settle against your comforter.

“Nothing sounded good,” he admits, flipping around and crawling on all fours up the bed. You’re so sweet and disarmed, rain pattering on the windowpane while your chest rises and falls and your eyes fight to stay shut. “Definitely not as good as what’s at home.”

You giggle again, eyes closed so you don’t notice the way the distance between the two of you closes further. His body is large but lithe and each movement sends him closer and closer to you until he catches the scent of something familiar.

Arousal.

He grins, feral and large, crawling the extra few inches to fully envelop you. Caging you in with his arms, your eyes open and see his face inches from yours, his bare chest almost pressing against your own.

“What are you doing?”

The question doesn’t seem alerted or concerned, just curious, and sleepy you reaches out to brush your fingers down the defined bicep holding him up. He chuckles and the sound makes the same heat you felt hours ago crawl up your neck and that’s the moment you realize something is different about him. Your hackles raise slightly and you sit up but he pushes you back down gently, hand splayed between your breasts.

“You said I could come to you for anything I needed, right?”

Despite the fact his hand feels so hot it could burn a hole straight through your body, you nod. You offered yourself months ago and he had yet to take advantage of your kindness. Leaning down, he watches your eyes fully open and presses his forehead to yours.

“I need you,” he mutters and your eyes meet his. A storm of blue, a flurry of something you have never seen before. He groans, almost looking pained and you gasp and hold onto his bicep. You can put two and two together, intelligent and alert enough to manage that much, and your hand slides over where his palm rests on your chest.

“Like this?” You ask, sliding his hand from the space between your breasts to cupping one of them and he nearly growls feeling your skin beneath his fingers. His thumb dances over your hardened nipple and you gasp, shivering beneath him.

“Bet you never thought you’d end up with somethin’ like me in your apartment,” he taunts, hand tracing down your body, mapping out your stomach and hips. You don’t think much of his words, lost to the sensation of being touched and the heat incinerating all rational thought inside of you, but one word catches your interest and you repeat it.

“Don’t you mean someone?”

Another chuckle shakes his body, his fingers caressing your thigh. He shakes his head where it’s pressed against yours and you can only watch when he licks his lips again just as he did earlier, the motion making your head spin.

“Nah, I’m a somethin’.”

With this, he wants to stop further questioning and he leans in to kiss you. By this point your mind should be catching up, alert and awake, but you aren’t convinced this isn’t some kind of strange horny dream you managed to conjure up so you kiss him back eagerly. The wet sound of lips smacking together in a frenzy fills the room, tongues sliding against one another and you even yelp when he nips at your lower lip, sucking the fullness of it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand that was tracing across your thighs now pushing them open. He paws at your still slick pussy, a thick finger slipping between your lips with little resistance. He revels in the feeling of your hot arousal, smearing it around your hole and rubbing little circles around your clit rather than on it that make you whimper.

“Grimm,” you pant and he only chuckles, a second digit joining the first in spreading your wetness. The pressure of the two fingers makes your hips buck, desperate for more.

“You've been having fun without me? Sure feels like it.”

Puzzled, you wonder what he means until you realize that he can insert a finger inside of you without any resistance, still worked open from your previous attempts to get yourself off. Walls clenching around the single digit, he groans into your ear. Your warmth feels luxurious, like silk. It’s more than he could have ever hoped for.

“I don’t mind,” he continues massaging your walls with his finger in the way only an expert can. You surely must be dreaming, none of your other partners have ever been this skilled with just their fingers, and you let yourself have this moment. What’s the worst that could happen? “Gettin’ this eager little pussy all ready for me is almost too nice of you.”

The words are filthy and they make you whine, hips bucking against his hand and where it rests over the top of your pelvis. You’re greedy, desperate for more. He could do just about anything to you right now and you know that you’d let him, drooling pussy leaking down his finger.

“You want more? Tired of feelin’ so empty?”

The slow rolls of your hips tell him all he needs to know and he uses his free hand to slip out of the sweatpants he wore into your bedroom, cock already hard and leaving a wet spot on the front of them. He rolls his eyes, tossing them aside as fluidly as he can while still keeping you full of his fingers.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna give you what we both need. Gonna fill this fuckin’ slutty pussy up, give you what you were almost beggin’ me for earlier.”

Ah yes, that. Even dream you can’t escape the embarrassment of his effect on you in the living room but you let the feeling go, instead focusing on how good it feels every time the pad of his finger brushes against the spot deepest inside of you that your own fingers could never reach.

“I want it,” you admit aloud. He smirks, finger withdrawing from you and making you whine. Your body feels as hot as it did hours ago and twice as wound up, clit throbbing from lack of attention. Blood pulses in your ears and you look up, witnessing the way he’s coating his shaft in his own precum with a gasp.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you up just like you need,” he coos, it’s so condescending but you hardly notice, too busy reveling in the way it feels when the fat head of his cock brushes through your folds. You don’t have to think about anything right now and you embrace the feeling, allowing him control.

What he doesn’t mention is that he needs it even more than you do, the maw inside of him demanding that he slip inside of you just like he is now.

He shudders, body tensing as he sheaths himself inside of you in one sharp movement, your breath catching in your throat when his balls slap against your ass. He’s so impossibly deep and despite how wet and opened up you are, your cunt stretches deliciously to accommodate his girth.

Again, this has to be a dream. Nothing in real life could ever feel this good and your toes curl, spread legs shifting to link at the ankles and wrap around his waist. You feel the firmness of his ass against your calves as he grinds into you, the gentleness ending as quickly as it started when he draws his hips back completely and thrusts back inside of you in one swift motion.

Your back arches off of the bed and he drinks in the sight of you, flashes of lightning outside allowing enough light to leak in to give him a good look at everything he has been vying to see. The knot inside of him slowly starts to untangle, his furious pace making your body bounce up the bed and he wonders why he waited this long to just give in.

Perhaps he’s losing his touch after years. He could’ve just snuck in and taken you any evening he wanted to, you wouldn’t be the first he’d done it to given his nearly unquenchable thirst, but he wanted you to want it too. To want him. To give yourself to him.

He chuckles like a wild man, leaning over your body and kissing you again while holding your hips in place to fuck you wildly.

“Takin’ me so well I might have to make you all mine,” he offers and you moan, clenching around him. So you liked that, he takes a note. You like being wanted, you like being taken. He knew it from the moment he saw you but he always loves it when a gut feeling is confirmed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Lettin’ an incubus use your pussy whenever he wants like a slut, right?”

Your eyes widen at the word. Incubus - you recall reading some asinine online story about a woman who swore she’d been fucked by one years ago but again, this is your weird dream about your abnormally hot roommate so you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I love it Grimm,” you whisper against his mouth, tongue too heavy to say much else. You’ve never felt like this before, body singing and silky walls clinging to his cock, and you’re ready to let yourself start the endless freefall of pleasure, eyes shutting tightly while he grunts above you.

“That’s right, I can feel it. You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?”

Keeping your eyes screwed shut, you only nod and he lets you grind against his pelvis, clit brushing the dusting of blue hair at the base of his cock. It’s soft and silky and it’s just what you need, friction spurring you further into bliss as you cum with a shout, eyes shooting open.

This isn’t a dream, you realize suddenly, feeling Grimm’s cock drilling in and out of you at a breakneck pace. You are in your bed, thunder rolling outside, your phone on the bedside table, your body bouncing with every thrust. Your blue haired roommate hovers just above you, face twisted in pleasure while glancing down at where the two of you are joined, the slick sound of your pussy bringing you to reality.

This is really happening and honestly, you just..let it.

Reaching for Grimmjow, you card your fingers through his hair, and he lets his eyes flutter closed. Your fingers dance through the same short hair at the nape of his neck you were admiring hours earlier and he grunts, hips stilling. Using both hands to hold you in place, he fills your eager cunt full of his creamy release and you moan along with him.

Unceremoniously, he slumps forward and your chests touch. You giggle and kiss his forehead, looking down to see him looking far better than he did when he entered your room. His eyes don’t gleam dangerously anymore and the dark circles seem to have sorted themselves out, his face resting on the top of your breast.

“Hey Grimm?”

He looks up, surprised you’re alert enough to even let that much come out of your mouth.

“Everything you said…”

You don’t have to elaborate further, he’s aware of what you’re asking. Is it true? Did he admit what he really is, what the source of his appetite is?

“Yup.”

You don’t ask for further explanation and he doesn’t plan on giving it, content to let you run your fingers through his hair as the storm rages outside.

#grimmjow x reader #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x reader #kendall writes #thot-o-ween 2023 #monster mash 2023 #cw somnophilia #cw dubcon #cw dark content

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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year

Text

when it’s wrong but it feels right ~ eminem

word count: 2452

request?: yes!

@noah1986 “hi again! I didnt know i had to write the idea for the story sorry!

Can you do Eminem where the reader works for him like as his assistant or housekeeper and he doesnt't interact a lot with her but thinks shes pretty and then he falls in love💓

thank you🧡”

description: in which he falls for his housekeeper, but he doesn’t tell her because he knows it’s wrong

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (marshall is 50 reader is late 20s)

masterlist (one, two, three)

Marshall never wanted to become the stereotypical rich celebrity. Coming from nothing made him more determined to stay humble about his sudden celebrity status and wealth. But, with his dedication to his work and his constant need to be away from home, he realized that he needed someone to look after his house. At Hailie’s insistence, he looked into getting a housekeeper for the times when he wasn’t home or too busy to take care of the place.

After a long line of interviews they narrowed it down to one candidate: a young lady named (Y/N). She had plenty of housekeeping experience having grown up the daughter of a housekeeper for famous people, and then her first job being the housekeeper at a hotel in Los Angeles that tended to house celebrities. Hailie figured she would be the safest option as her past with working with celebrities meant that she knew how to keep things a secret and they could trust that she wouldn’t take anything from the house.

On her first day of work, Marshall was in his home studio working on a couple of beats for an artist on his record label. The soundproofing in his studio made him forget she was even there until he came out to get something to eat and saw her putting away the clean dishes from the sink. He said hello, but noticed a wire coming from her back pocket to her ears and realized she was listening to music while she worked. It made sense, but he didn’t want her to think she couldn’t play her music out loud if she wanted to. He may not completely like the music depending on what it was, but he wouldn’t stop her from playing it.

He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder to get her attention. She shrieked in response, spinning around and, in her state of panic, dropping the plate she was holding. It shattered on the floor, pieces of the broken glass scattering over the floor.

“Shit,” she swore, quickly yanking out her headphones and throwing them onto the counter. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you were even here. I didn’t hear you come up from the studio.”

“It’s okay. I probably could’ve announced my arrival in a better way,” Marshall responded.

He knelt down to start picking up the pieces of the broken plate, but (Y/N) quickly stopped him. “Don’t touch it with your bare hands. You’ll cut yourself. I’ll grab the broom and sweep it up.”

Marshall watched as she swept over the entire kitchen floor, making sure that not a single piece of the plate was left on the floor, before sweeping it into the pan and dumping the broken pieces into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’ll replace it, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marshall said. “It was just some cheap shit from Walmart that I’ve had for years. It probably would’ve broken if you washed it a little too hard.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I appreciate that. I promise I don’t often break things that belong to my employers. This is the first time I ever have, actually.”

“Well, you can’t exactly blame yourself. I startled you.”

“I shouldn’t have had my headphones in, but again, I forgot you were here.”

“You can play your music out loud, you know. I’m not going to stop you from doing that. I might judge a little bit depending on what type of shit you’re listening to, but I’ll try not to say it to your face too much.”

A small smirk crossed on her face. She unplugged the headphones from her phone and pressed play on the last song she had been listening to. The sound of Marshall’s voice filled the room. He realized it was a song from his most recent album. An amused smile tugged at his lips.

“I haven’t gotten to listen to the entire new album yet,” (Y/N) admitted. “I figured the best place to listen to it would be while I cleaned the house of the man who made it.”

“So you’re a fan.”

She shrugged. “Kind of. My dad always played your music when I was younger and we’d go for long drives. Mom hated it, but he just learned to play it when she wasn’t with us. I guess it just stuck with me ever since.”

They got to talking then. Hours passed and neither of them noticed. (Y/N) told Marshall about herself and her upbringing; her housekeeper mom who had brought her along to some of the higher status houses she cleaned, and her dad who was a well known mechanic in town. She told him that she wanted to be like her mom, so her first job as a teenager was housekeeping for a local hotel, which she ended up working for until she was hired by Marshall.

It wasn’t until the sun went down and the kitchen started to plunge into darkness that (Y/N) realized how much time had passed. A look of panic crossed her face. “Shit. It’s been hours and I haven’t done anything.”

“Hey, it’s fine. You can take the rest of the day off if you want. I’ll still pay you for the whole day and you can start fresh again tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

Marshall nodded. (Y/N) smiled and went to collect her things. “Thanks. I promise I won’t break any dishes tomorrow.”

Marshall chuckled and followed her to the door. They bid each other a goodnight and Marshall watched from the doorway as (Y/N) got into her car and drove off.

Marshall went back to his home studio to keep working, but found it hard to concentrate on what he was doing. His mind kept drifting back to his day with (Y/N). It had been such a long time since he spent hours just getting to know someone and not realizing the time. And it was a genuine conversation. He didn’t once feel like (Y/N) was viewing him like a celebrity. When she first told him she liked his music, he was worried about how things would go between them. Turns out, he didn’t have to worry.

But he also just kept thinking about her in general; the smooth, soothing sound of her voice, the dreamy look she got when she talked about her memories. In fact, just her beautiful face in general. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

It was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels. She worked for him, for a start. As his housekeeper, of all things. He didn’t want to be a rich cliché, and that especially extended to the “rich employer lusting over his young employee” bullshit. Which led to another big issue: her age. She was only a few years older than Hailie, and wasn’t quite Alaina’s age yet. She was quite literally young enough to be his daughter.

It was wrong, but fuck, he couldn’t help but want her.

So he started leaving whenever he came to work. Whether it was to go to work, into his own home studio, or just some excuse to go visit his daughters. Whatever the case, he had the least amount of interaction with (Y/N) as he possibly could. Which was hard when all he wanted to do was see her.

On one of (Y/N)’s off days, Marshall had decided to use the day to relax and catch up on some shows he had been watching. It was early in the day when he heard a knock at the door. Confused, he got up and went to answer. His heart dropped when he opened the door and found (Y/N) stood there.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you today. What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know I don’t really have any place to confront you about this, but it’s been bothering me and I need some answers.”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just busy,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Well, for one the look on your face right now says otherwise.” He looked away, which didn’t help his own argument. “And you told me the other day that you were going over to Hailie’s, but she came here looking for you shortly afterwards.”

Marshall wasn’t sure how to respond. He could’ve easily dismissed the claim and told her to go home. Like she said, she didn’t have any place to question his life. She was just his housekeeper after all, he didn’t owe her any explanation for his personal life.

But his heart wouldn’t let him. Looking at her stood there, concern on her face over the thought of potentially offending him, Marshall knew he couldn't just send her away. It was probably a bad idea, but he figured he couldn’t keep this secret anymore. In fact, it was probably better to tell her now so he could let her go and she could find a better employer.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She stepped into the house that had become almost more familiar than her own. Marshall led her back to his living room and gestured for her to sit down. She sat on one end of the couch while he sat on the other. They were closer than he had meant for them to be, but he didn’t want to change spots now, or ask her to do so.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said.

Marshall shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. Trust me, this issue is all me.”

He took a deep breath, hesitant at first, but decided to continue, “Since your first day, where we spent all that time talking and getting to know each other, I’ve found myself...thinking a lot...about you.”

(Y/N) looked at him blankly.

There’s no going back now.

“You are a very beautiful woman. I can’t deny that. But then talking to you on that day made me feel more like a person than I have in a while. I really enjoyed just talking for hours, and I would’ve liked to do that again. But...it’s wrong. I know that, and the last thing I’d want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. So, if knowing this changes your mind about wanting to work for me, I understand. I can find someone else, probably even help you find another job too.”

She still wasn’t speaking. She was still just looking at him, still with a blank look on her face. He wanted her to speak. He needed her to say something. Even if it was just to curse him out and call him some names. Any sort of reaction would’ve been better than this silent treatment.

She looked down at her lap and finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

The question took Marshall back. His body acted before his mind could even process the question; he nodded. In a flash, (Y/N) was leaning across the couch and pressing her lips against his. It was a shock for the both of them. Neither of them really knew how to react. (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she should keep it going, Marshall wasn’t sure if he should kiss back. It was awkward for a moment, until (Y/N) felt Marshall’s lips move against hers, followed by the both of them feeling an exploding feeling in their stomachs - like fireworks.

(Y/N) pulled away just as quickly as she kissed him, sitting back in the spot she had been moments before. They both looked at each other in shock, before mirroring smiled stretched across their faces.

“I really liked talking to you that day, too,” (Y/N) said. “At first, it was just this feeling of happiness that I was getting along so well with my new employer. But then you started leaving all the time or spending your time in the studio, and I felt myself becoming sad at the fact that I couldn’t see you. I knew that was a strange way to feel, but then I had this...” She trailed off, embarrassment written all over her face. Her sudden stop drew Marshall’s curiosity. She sighed and continued, “I had this dream about the two of us.”

Now she definitely had his curiosity.

“I realized that what I was feeling was more than just liking my employer,” she said. “And that realization, plus just generally feeling sad that I wasn’t getting to see you was enough to push me to come here today and confront you about it. I was worried it would go wrong considering I am just your employee and you’re not entitled to tell me stuff about your personal life if you don’t want to, but it was bugging me. I had to know why.”

“And now you know,” Marshall said.

She nodded. “Now I know.”

Silence fell over them for a moment. They didn’t make eye contact. There was a question lingering over them that they both knew had to be asked, but neither of them wanted to ask it.

(Y/N) soft voice broke the silence first, “Am I fired?”

Marshall shook his head. “I’m not going to fire you. That would look bad on your resume. But I do think it’s best for both of us if you start working somewhere else.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“I can’t date my staff. That’s just a shitty cliché I would never want to fall into.”

She perked up more at this. “Date?”

Marshall couldn’t help but smile. “That’s what two people who like each other do, isn’t it? They go on a date.”

The happiness radiating off of (Y/N) was contagious. She brightened up more at Marshall’s words. She almost looked like she was about to jump his bones right then and there, but he couldn’t let her. No matter how much he wanted her to, there was a matter that had to be dealt with first.

“I’ll help you find another place to work,” he told her. “Until then, we keep this relationship work based. The minute you have another job, I’ll take you out on the best date of your life.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” (Y/N) said. “Before we shake on it, can I kiss you one more time?”

“Only if you tell me about that dream you had.”

(Y/N) gasped and playfully hit Marshall’s shoulder. He chuckled and grabbed her hand as she was pulling away from him, tugging her towards him so he could kiss her again.

#eminem #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #one shot #request #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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eclecticqueennerd · 9 months

Text

Game Night

It was one of those rare occasions where there wasn’t anything to do. No leads to follow up on, no supes to terrorize, and no mayhem to cause. Due to the early morning mission, the group decided to stay in and to pass the time, play a board game, Pictionary to be exact. You broke off into teams, boys, which consisted of MM, Frenchie, and Butcher, versus girls; Y/n, Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie. It was a rule that everyone had to grab a drink and the losing team had to take a drink after each round. Sangria was the poison of choice for the girls’ team, vodka the choice for the guys. The guys allowed the girls team to roll the dice first, your figurine landed on yellow after rolling a 6.

“Okay so the category is Person/ Place/ Animal.” You look at both options on the card, you choose Lighthouse, and hand it to Butcher, who was first to draw for the guys team. “Yellow on the blue side.”

“I don’t know how I’m gonna draw that, but I’m ready.” Butcher throws the card in the discard pile. Frenchie grabs the sand timer and begins countdown,

“Start in 3…2…1.” You and Butcher begin drawing and the hideout is filled with shouts, attempting to guess what the person on their team is drawing. Just before the sand in the timer ran out, you added a small square with a circle towards the bottom of the large rectangle you drew.

“A LIGHTHOUSE!” Hughie screamed. You point your finger towards the man and exclaimed,

“YES!” The girls, and Hughie, started cheering while the boys were grumbling, Butcher throwing the pencil down on the table so hard it bounced and flew away.

“I don’t know how you lot didn’t get that. It was easy.” Butcher chided.

“Butcher, you made shapes! How could we guess from shapes?” MM shot back. Butcher reached forward and grabbed the pad of paper from in front of you,

“Y/n drew boxes too and their team was able to guess it!”

“I guess we’re just better.” You jested. You reached over to Butcher and stroked his bearded cheek. The rage in Butchers eyes subsided a little bit, replaced with an adoring twinkle. “Don’t worry, you guys will catch up. But for now, drink up… loser.” You leaned forward and snatched the pad of paper away from Butcher, not missing the look he just gave you. Butcher narrowed his eyes and took a shot of vodka. He then spoke,

“Oh, it’s on.”

The next few rounds, the girls’ team dominated the boys, making it a quarter of the way around the board. As time went on, the guy’s team became frustrated with each other whereas the girl’s team, and Hughie, were celebrating by taking sips of their wine.

“Cattle drive!” Butcher shouts. MM looks up from his drawing.

“Hell yeah man lets fuckin GO!” The guys team all congratulated themselves on the hard work they just accomplished. They moved their figurine onto the board.

“Finally, on the board. It’s over for you lot now.” Butcher shot you a look. You put the edge of the wineglass to your lips and began sipping. Butcher reached out and tilted the bottom of the glass upwards, making you chug the rest of your sangria before it spilled on you. “There you go love.”

“We’re supposed to drink, not chug it!”

“We need you guys on the same level as drunk as us love.”

“Not our fault that you chose vodka of all things.”

From that point on, the girls team began losing. You’d have a few wins here and there, but the guys would always come back to steal that victory away from you. It wasn’t until you were now three-quarters of the way through the board and the guys were a few spaces away from victory.

It was you against Butcher again, and the task was to draw a pizza delivery person. The timer started and you were able to draw a stick figure, but with all the wine you’ve had to drink, even that was a difficult mission to accomplish. Before you could finish your drawing,

“Pizza man!” Frenchie shouts. The girls team turned to look at the guys and Butcher was dealing out high fives. They moved their figurine into the victory slot.

“How?” Annie exclaims, she reaches forward and yanks the pad of paper out of Butchers hand. Your group inspects the drawing.

“You literally just drew a person in a hat! How the fuck did you get that?” The guys shrugged. “You’re cheating! You guys didn’t nearly have as much to drink as we did!”

“Do you not remember how you kicked our asses in the beginning and how many shots we took?” Frenchie shouted back, overjoyed that they’d won. At this point, Annie stood up from her spot at the table, frustration getting to her. “No! They need to go back a few spaces. They’re cheating!” Hughie stood up and grasped Annies shoulders.

“It’s okay Annie. It’s just a game.” The two went off into their room to calm down. Kimiko and Frenchie giggled to each other. You and Butcher walked into your bedroom to get ready for bed while MM cleaned up the game, his OCD not standing for the clutter.

Swapping out your day clothes for PJ’s, Butcher approached you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Good game love.” You giggled, the wine and his scent causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“Thanks, congrats on winning. You had one hell of a comeback.” The two of you crawled into bed and you laid your head on his bare chest. Butcher placed a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Thanks love. I knew we were going to win.”

“Oh? How so?” You giggled again.

“When we stopped halfway through for a bathroom break, I switched out the vodka for water.” You looked up to him in shock, Butchers face plastered with a shit eating grin.

“BILLY!”

#the boys #the boys amazon #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #frenchie #karl urban #mothers milk #kimiko the boys #the boys hughie #hughie campbell #annie january

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xiaq · 5 months

Text

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it Pt. 10

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9

Eddie has no idea what showering-with-your-bro-because-he’s-injured-and-needs-help-washing-his-hair protocol is but he’s pretty sure stripping completely naked and facing each other isn’t it.

Yet here they are.

Because Steve had insisted that Eddie smelled like smoke and if they were going to be bunking together (apparently they were going to be bunking together??) Eddie needed to get clean too.

He tries to tell himself it’s just like the locker room at school but nothing even remotely like this has ever happened to him in the locker room at school.

“So,” he says, thoroughly mortified and trying very hard to keep his attention on Steve’s face. “Hair?”

“Hair,” Steve agrees. He’s being downright cavalier about the nudity situation. Then again, he’s Steve Harrington. And even though he looks seventeen, apparently he’s, what—20? 21? He’s probably seen loads of people naked. He’s definitely not a virgin. Eddie wonders if the version of Eddie that Steve knew in the future was still a virgin. Maybe they talked about it. Shared stories, like friends do. Or maybe… Eddie thinks about the way that Steve looks at him. The way he’d clung to him. The way he’d said, so casually, that he liked both. So. Maybe. Maybe they’d––

“You know,” Steve says, thankfully not party to the small internal breakdown Eddie’s having, “it’s weird, seeing you without all the tattoos. You had a lot more, before. Or after, I guess.” He’s eyeing Eddie’s arms contemplatively, and then his eyes slip down Eddie’s chest, to his belly. Lower.

Eddie would make a quip about taking a picture because it’d last longer, but he doesn’t actually get the feeling that Steve is checking him out. More like just…checking. Reassuring himself.

“Hair,” Eddie reiterates. “Turn around. You have a preference for shampoo?”

“Whichever one smells best.”

He takes a step forward, wincing empathetically as the spray hits Steve’s wounds and he makes a soft, aborted noise of pain.

This is not sexy. He reminds himself. This is caretaking. He psychs himself up. He puts his fingers in Steve’s hair.

It’s such a mess that it actually takes some time to work the shampoo in and get the tangles out. It’s good, to have something to focus on. Something that isn’t the fact that Steve Fucking Harrington is naked in front of him, suds sliding down his neck and back and ass which is literal inches away from Eddie’s dick. Something Eddie’s dick is quickly starting to realize. Steve leans back into him as Eddie helps him rinse his hair, as Eddie proffers the conditioner options to Steve for a smell-test.

It gets harder —pun absolutely intended—for him to focus on Steve’s hair and not the rest of him, once the water in the shower is running clean and Steve is making quiet appreciative sounds while Eddie massages conditioner into his scalp. He’s never been this thorough with his own hair before but Steve doesn’t need to know that.

He does need to distract himself, though, if he doesn’t want things to get weird quickly. Unless—no. Now is definitely not the time.

“Hey,” Eddie says, “what’s your middle name?”

Steve glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

He exhales the answer like he knows exactly what Eddie is going to do with it: “Clive.”

“Clive?” Eddie repeats, delighted. “Steven Clive Harrington? Oh my god.”

“Big words coming from a man named Edmund Byron Munson,” Steve mutters.

Eddie freezes. “What the fuck? No one knows my full name. No one. Well, except Wayne. Did Wayne tell you?”

Its Steve’s turn to still.

“Oh,” Eddie realizes. “Did I tell you? Back in your, or, our, uh…back in the other timeline?”

“No,” Steve says, and it looks like the word hurts him.

“Okay,” Eddie stretches out the word, hoping Steve will elucidate.

He does not.

“So how did you know?” he prompts.

Steve still doesn’t say anything. He’s half-turned, now, looking at Eddie in a way that Eddie is only just starting to understand—something composed of grief and horror and maybe a little madness.

“Steve, come on,” Eddie prompts.

“Your obituary,” Steve says finally, unblinking. “It was in your obituary.”

Right.

Because he’d died.

Steve had watched him die.

Fuck.

Distraction absolutely accomplished. This is now the least sexy shower he’s ever taken.

“Well, shit,” he says. “Is it weird if I ask what my funeral was like?”

Steve coughs on a morbid little laugh. “We’re nowhere near my threshold for ‘weird.’” he sighs. “It was small. Just the band, a couple of us, and Wayne—most of the kids’ parents wouldn’t even let them go because of the protest, actually. Henderson was the only one.”

“Protest?”

“Oh, right,” Steve clarifies. “You were wanted for multiple murders at that point. People picketed the church. ”

“I killed people?”

“No, of course not. But Vecna— ”he still says the name cautiously, “he killed a lot of people and you were the primary suspect for a while. We cleared your name eventually but not until after the funeral.”

“Oh. Damn.”

The air is thick with steam and things Eddie wants to say, to ask. But he’s not sure how to voice them; for once, words are failing him.

He uses one hand to protect Steve’s eyes and the other to tip his head back under the spray again, fingers helping to rinse out the last of the conditioner.

He reaches automatically for the bar of soap and the washcloth next, and starts scrubbing the grime off Steve’s back, lifting first one arm, then the other, moving him with a degree of proprietary confidence that surprises even Eddie.

When he gets to the small of Steve’s back, he lingers, paying more attention than is warranted to the bruise that wraps from his spine nearly to his belly button. He tries to ignore the fact that his opposite hand, holding Steve in place, is cupped around Steve’s hip and his fingers are pressed, slick with soap, into one of the V lines where Steve’s obliques meet his transversus abdominal muscles.

Eddie had paid attention, that day in anatomy class.

“Well,” Steve says with sudden urgency, moving the scant few inches he can to leave Eddie’s grip. “I think you’ve got everything. Thanks for that. So I’ll,” he jerks a thumb toward the shower curtain, angling his body carefully away from Eddie. “But you should stay. Wash your hair and uh, whatever else. I’ll have Robin help me get dressed. She’s terrible with blood, though, so I’ll still have you help with my hand and my face in a minute. Or I can ask Nance, if you’d rather—”

“No,” Eddie says. It comes out both confused and way too forceful. “I mean, no, that’s fine. I can help you.”

“Good, cool, well I’ll leave you to it; you said you have clothes in my car, right?”

“Right,” Eddie agrees, baffled.

“I’ll grab it and meet you in the guest bedroom, then,” Steve says, still facing away from him, shoulders oddly hunched. He tries to step over the lip of the tub and reach for the towel on the bar at the same time and trips, tipping sideways into the wall as he scrambles to keep himself from face-planting.

“Whoa,” Eddie says, “Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah-hah,” Steve laughs badly. “Totally, yeah,” he wraps the towel around his waist, bare feet on wet tile. “I’m just,” he points for the door and then opens it without even attempting to dry himself off. “Clothes,” he says, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut like an omen.

Eddie pulls the shower curtain back into place, slowly.

He picks up the shampoo bottle and tries to figure out what the hell just happened.

Maybe…no.

Surely not.

Unless?

Eddie washes his hair and tells himself not to be ridiculous.

***

When Eddie leaves the bathroom in a billow of steam, towel around his waist and hair dripping down his back, the house is quiet. He thinks he can hear the kids voices in the kitchen, but they’re muted, tired. He slips inside the guest bedroom door, expecting to find Steve and Robin, but Steve is alone.

“Hey man,” he says to Steve’s back, “were you able to find something that fit, or—”

Eddie stops. Steve is sitting on the bed with the duffel bag unzipped next to him. He’s wearing one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of his boxers which Eddie would definitely like to spend some time thinking about except for a much more pressing issue: Steve is holding Eddie’s battle jacket in his lap. And he’s crying.

What the fuck.

Steve sniffs hard, standing, head ducked. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I was just––“

The vest is still in his hands. It looks like he’s struggling to let go of it.

“Sorry,” he repeats. He sets it, gently, so gently, on the bedspread, and runs his good hand, oddly reverent, down the right lapel.

“I promise I’m not as insane as I seem,” he says, wry and wane and terrible. “You’re just missing a lot of context.”

Eddie considers. “I take it I was wearing that when I died?”

“No,” Steve says. His head is still ducked. “I was.”

Eddie rocks back on his heels. “…I gave you my battle jacket.” It’s a question, but it doesn’t sound like one. He can’t seem to manage the right inflection in the face of the fact that he gave his battle jacket to someone. It’s unthinkable. He wouldn’t even let one of his bandmates wear it. The only reason he’d willingly part with it would be––

“Yeah.” Steve says.

His arms are crossed and the black Metallica shirt he’s wearing is stretched thin around his chest. His hair is a half-drying mess and still somehow looks purposefully artful. His lips are bitten and red. And Eddie wonders—finally actually lets the thought form for the first time—he wonders if there’s something there. If somehow, some way, the older version of himself actually managed to romance Steve fucking Harrington. Because that feels pretty damn laughable but it’s also the only thing that makes sense. It’s the only thing that explains this: Steve’s fisted hands tucked in his armpits, his clenched jaw, the tear tracks down his face. The vest.

He wants to ask.

He doesn’t.

“Did I ever find anything to put on the back of it?” He says instead.

Steve shoves his wrist under his running nose and huffs something that might be a laugh but might be a sob. “Dio. You cut the back out of a Dio tour shirt and sewed it on like a giant patch.”

“Nice. I wonder where I got the shirt,” he says absently.

He’s been wearing the vest already. But nothing he’d found so far felt right for finishing the back piece. Dio would do nicely.

“I don’t know. But you had it by the start of the semester, so. Maybe over the summer?”

“Huh.”

“But also,” Steve says, careful and low, “you don’t have to do what you did before. That’s kind of the point of all this. That you can do things differently. Better.”

“Well,” Eddie says just as carefully. “Maybe now that you’ve finished saving the world you could join me on a thrifting trip to Indy. Help me find a good backpiece. Dio or otherwise.”

Steve finally looks up, meeting his eyes. “I’d like that,” he says.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Pt. 11

***

Tag list:

@perfectlysensiblenonsense @stxrcrossed186 @mushie8123 @starlight-archer @estrellami-1 @snowstar2368 @superfanne @starlight-archer @child-of-cthulhu @djohawke @zerokrox-blog @alwayscertainwasteland @brie-luna @sharingisntkaren @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @deadfromtheneckdown @y4r3luv @manda-panda-monium @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlprocastinator1000

#steddie #steddie fic #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie munson/steve harrington #myfic #fix it fic

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daisygirlwrites · 1 year

Text

Car Rides

Summary: An old memory of Simon’s resurfaces during a car ride to Crash’s house.

Warnings: none

Pairing(s): Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1,025

Note: No uses of (Y/N), some angst but it’s barely there.

a/n: hello hello! back with another fic :) ngl this one made me kind of sad but still enjoyable to write. I have a set of headcanons that I wrote along with this fic but i decided that I’ll put it into the next post instead :0c !! anyways, i hope y’all like it and would love to hear feedback!

“Keys.” He demanded.

Quickly, you pull your hand back, the other coming up to shield it. The man in front of you narrows his eyes but puts his hands back into his hoodie pocket. You open your hand, revealing a set of keys, along with a lego Darth Vader keychain. Flipping over the key fob, your black Jeep Wrangler makes the distinct sound of itself unlocking. “After you, LT.”

He opens the back passenger seat to set down his duffle bag before moving to the front. While he does that, you get yourself onto the driver's seat and start the vehicle. You check your surroundings before backing out of the parking spot and after a series of turns, you two are on the road, exiting the airport.

“Apologies about earlier, Simon,” you say, after a couple minutes of silence. “I know you want to drive but love this car way too much. Don’t want to crash it, ya know.” He glares at you as you let out an airy chuckle.

“And what do you mean by that, Sergeant?”

“Remember Las Almas? How you slammed on the breaks so fuckin’ hard that I almost went through the window, for the second time? Or that time in Moscow, where you proceeded to hit every curb you saw and we got pulled over?” You glance at him. He stares back at you, offended. And even with a facemask, it’s evident that he’s scowling at you.

Looking back at the road, you lightly elbow his arm. “Don’t worry, LT. You’re great at a lot of things.” You pause, weighing out the option of whether or not to push his buttons more before saying, “Just not driving. Or piloting. Like last month, with the helico-”

“That’ll do!” Simon raises his voice.

Palms on the steering wheel, you open your hands as a signal of surrender. “I’m just jesting, Simon.” You give him a half-hearted smile. He sinks down into his seat, with his arms crossed.

45 minutes passed and the only sound you hear are the cars on the road. Simon looks out of the window, taking sight of the buildings rushing by. In the distance, he can see the large mountain range.

The whole team was given a month of leave after the last mission went up in flames. Literally, burning helicopters and all. While the guys usually went back to the UK, you had invited them to your mountain home in Colorado. Ghost initially declined but after you and Soap begged on your knees, he reluctantly agreed. And now he regrets it after you made fun of his driving skills. But at least it was just you and not the rest of the team. Actually, he’s grateful that they’re flying in tomorrow. Didn’t want to handle three idiots in a car.

“I got a CD folder in the glove box,” You break the silence. “It’s your pick too. Long drives are better with music.”

Simon gives you a nod and begins flipping through the case. He recognizes most of the albums, and taking a closer look, some of the art on them are flaking off.

“Never thought you’d still have CDs this old,” he comments.

“Half of them are my grandpa’s. I’m just adding on to it.”

He hums in response. Spotting a maroon colored disk, he rotates it, reading ‘Queen: Greatest Hits’. Carefully pulling it out of its pocket, he hands it to you. Left hand on the wheel, you stick your finger in the middle and glance at it. Nodding, you slide it into the car player.

“Good choice.”

“Brits have good music.”

“I agree with that.”

Flicking your eyes down to the display screen, you skip the first eight tracks. Without looking, you can tell that Simon is giving you a disapproving look. “We’ll come back to it, promise. Just want to listen to this first.”

He turns his eyes back on the road before him, the first couple notes of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ playing out. They’re in the mountains now, the roads becoming more twisty. Slowly down a bit on the turns, you let the windows down a couple inches. He hears you quietly sing along with the song. Rolling his eyes, Simon leans back on his seat again. Again, looking out the window, enjoying the greenery. It reminds him of the long drives to his aunt's house. Green blurs of evergreen trees passing by. Turning his head to look at you, his heart picks up the pace.

He doesn’t see you. Instead, it was a woman in her early thirties. The driver window slightly opened, leaving her light brown hair flying behind her ears. Hands tapping on the steering wheel on beat with the music. Hazel eyes meeting his. There were bags under them, dark circles hidden by makeup. She smiles at him, little wrinkles appearing on the corner of her eyes, along with two dimples, one of each side of her smile. Just like his. Opening her mouth, she sings along with the song,

“Ooh, you make me live Whenever this world is cruel to me I got you to help me forgive Ooh, you make me live now, honey Ooh, you make me live.”

His mom stops singing. “Simon!” she calls out. “Come on, love. Sing with your ma!”

He’s too stunned to say anything, he just stares at her. “Simon?” Her smile drops, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Simon?” Her voice sounds muffled.

“Simon?!” It’s like echoes now.

“Lieutenant Riley?!” That one snapped him out.

Heart beating like a drum, he opens his eyes, staring at the bottom of his hoodie before looking back up. It’s just you, Crash, his sergeant. Not his mother. But the worried look you give him is identical to hers.

You give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to wake you up LT.” His eyebrows go up with confusion, he didn’t know he was even sleeping. “We’re here.”

Simon steps out of the jeep, closing the door behind him. Taking a look of his surroundings, he glances up at the towering evergreen trees, just like the ones in his childhood. Just like the ones at home.

#daisygirlwrites #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley

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erisenyo · 8 months

Note

Hi ✨ for the ask game:

“Please, put it DOWN.” and perhaps Zukki?

For this prompt game! (And also this one!)

“Sokka!” Suki greets as Sokka swings open the door, Zuko offering a quiet but no less welcome, “Hey, man,” behind her as she scoops Sokka up into a hug, Sokka rolling his eyes and huffing and patting her back and pretending like his blush is just from embarrassment and not his swooping stomach at her familiar greeting.

“Hey, guys,” Sokka says, laughing and waving her in and tugging Zuko into a quick hug, too, the corner of his brain that's always noticing these kinds of things pointing out that the both of them are fresh-showered from what Sokka is going to tell himself is the gym. “Make yourself comfortable,” he calls, making his way to the kitchen. “I’ve narrowed the movie choices down to five options.”

“Just five, this time,” Zuko teases.

“You spoil us,” Suki says, grin audible in her voice in that way Sokka loves about her. “Hey, is this your sketchbook?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sokka says, gathering up the popcorn and drinks and after a moment bending down to grab the pretzels with his mouth. “I m’st’a l’ft i’ ou’.”

“That you did,” Zuko says, interpreting with the ease of long practice. “Is it okay if we look?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, frowning in concentration as he works the pretzel bag into a position easier for talking. “It’s no’hing fancy, jus—oh fuck, no,” he gasps, pretzels smacking the floor when he sees the familiar dark blue cover in Zuko’s hands, not the light blue one. “Please put it down,” he pleads, urgent enough that Zuko and Suki visibly startle, Zuko dropping the notebook like it’s on fire.

Too late, though, it’s fucking too late, and how could Sokkabe so stupid to forget to put the dark blue sketchbook away when they were coming over. Because the sketchbook is already open, and Zuko dropping it just makes it fall even more open, splaying out page after page of poems and drawings, drawings of Suki and of Zuko and of the two of them together and—

“I thought you had the other one,” Sokka whispers, cringing and clutching the popcorn to his chest so hard he thinks the bag might burst and squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see their expressions as they realize what exactly they're looking at, Sokka's quiet secret that he's managed to carry so long finally exposed.

Mortification sweeping through him as he braces himself for their judgment, silently saying goodbye to a whole decade of friendship as he hears Zuko shifting against the cushions to pick up the sketchbook—and fuck, the fact that Sokka knows it’s Zuko—every thought in Sokka’s head going still as Zuko inhales to speak:

“…You’ve gotten a lot better since college.”

Sokka’s eyes pop open in shock, all his words drying up as Suki just hums, nodding, leaning in against Zuko’s shoulder to see better.

“You really have,” she says, admiring, before giving Sokka one of her flirty, teasing smiles. “And you have a pair of favorite subjects, it seems?”

Sokka chokes, dread and confusion strangling his words. “Uh.”

“What do you think,” Suki says--to Zuko, but with her eyes on Sokka, “Maybe we should do some real posing for him sometime.”

Zuko nods, flipping the page. “Naked.”

The popcorn bag bursts, kernels raining softly down over Sokka’s shoes.

“Zuko,” Suki says, laughing. “I was going to work up to that.” Which--what?

“Oh,” Zuko shrugs, unbothered but a little smirk on his lips as he flips to another page, his eyes flicking to the ring of popcorn around Sokka and not sounding one bit repentant at all as he adds, “Sorry.”

“I was going to be all suggestive and seductive, too,” Suki rolls her eyes, giving Zuko a fond, affectionate shove that makes his smile come out for real. “But yeah,” she says, focusing suddenly right back on Sokka. “Naked.”

And Sokka can only gape, speechless, because he's hearing the words—the word—but it doesn't—they don't—is this a dream?

“Only if you’d like that, though,” Zuko puts into the silence almost like it's an afterthought, brow furrowing slightly.

“Only if I’d like…” Sokka wheezes, words escaping him again at the idea that he wouldn’t like.

“Absolutely no pressure,” Suki agrees, straightening a little where she’s curled against the arm of the couch, her expression going serious. “It could absolutely just be posing, or nothing at all if you're not—”

“I’ve wanted to motorboat your tits since I was fifteen,” Sokka blurts, the first thing that comes to mind, eyes popping wide in horror as Zuko laughs and he registers his own words.

“Oh,” Suki says, slow, a smile curling her lips as she glances down, preening. “Well then,” she says, openly—openly admiring her tits before fucking—fucking batting her eyelashes at Sokka.

“What about mine?” Zuko asks, somehow dragging Sokka’s attention away from Suki as he sprawls back against the couch, except there's no 'somehow' about it as the too-tight t-shirt Zuko is always wearing strains against his shoulders and pecs and ribs and—

“Yeah, yours too,” Sokka says, baldly honest since this is happening, apparently. Maybe he's having a stroke. “From about the same age.” Zuko’s rejection of size-appropriate clothing has been the single enduring element of his fashion sense over the years, to Sokka's private delight and agony.

Suki cocks her head. “Didn’t you have gym classes with Zuko in high school?”

“Every year,” Sokka sighs. And oh, the wonder and torture of the memories.

Her lips are twitching, a laugh clearly trying to get out even as she says, grave, “That must have been hard.”

“About as hard as right now, yeah,” Sokka admits, glancing down at himself. The choice to wear sweatpants this morning was…poorly considered.

Except Zuko is grinning, slow, still leaned back and now spreading his strong thighs, pulling his jeans tight against his— “Don’t hold back on my account,” he murmurs, voice suddenly pitched so low and raspy that Sokka shivers.

“Mine, either,” Suki purrs, leaning back against the arm of the couch and arching her back to push her tits out, and Sokka doesn’t know what he’s going to fall face-first into first, but as he fumbles to set down the drinks and hurry over, as they both reach out to tug him in, he knows either way he’s about to suddenly live out a number of very well-worn fantasies.

#asks and answers #ask game #boomkawaiiboom #The dynamic between the three of them is so fun depending on who is ganging up on who #Sokka #Zuko #Suki #Zukki #fic writing #my writing

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writerpetals · 1 year

Text

the ghost and the flower | 🔞

; optional male lead smut | ☁️

a/n: so this story is inspired by Simon “Ghost” Riley, but it’s not ACTUALLY him obviously because I write optional main character stories so you can picture anyone, and this plot wouldn’t make sense for his character anyway (but i’m the writer i make the rules lol). It’s easy to picture him if you want, but you can picture someone else, too. Just keep note this story is about a big, strong special ops soldier with a monster dick (because I wanted to write about a monster dick) so yeah :’)

w: enemies to lovers, they hate each other and fight a lot, minor primal play kink, major mask kink LOL, a little bit of military/special ops talk (i don’t know shit about military rankings but i did my best hehe), mention of guns and knives, controlling mmc, a little possessive, a little jealousy, unprotected sex, alcohol and being under the influence, lots of dirty things done in a mask and gloves... oh and this story is 20k words lol

[. playlist for story that helped me write .]

“I want you to know how much I hate this.” Your eyes narrow as you stare down your father’s expression, serious as ever, hoping he’s joking when he says the military brute standing next to you is in charge of you until further notice. Your father, the commander, remains stoic behind his office desk. “This has got to be a joke…”

You side eye your supposed bodyguard as he towers over you. He doesn’t look your way or even pretend to care about the situation. Not like it would matter considering you can’t even see his face or body in the protective gear he adorns. A balaclava mask covers everything on his face but his eyes, a white painted skull covering most of the fabric. The hood over his head hides his hair and ears, the rest of him covered by all black tactical equipment, but it doesn’t hide the fact that he's definitely strong, and big, and a little scary.

“No joke, sweetheart,” your father sighs, and you turn your attention back to him. “You know with my line of work and the investigations I do things can get risky for you. This is my only choice until we wrap up this case. Now that’s all I’m going to say about it. The lieutenant here is going to keep you out of harm’s way. That’s all.”

“Ugh,” you stomp your foot and huff. “And with my line of work, I have to travel all over the world at a moment’s notice so tell me how I can do that with this…”

You turn to the intimidating Lieutenant next to you, finally seeing his eyes peer down at you. He says not a word.

“...man hovering over me?” His cheek puffs out a little, as if he’s smirking under that creepy skull mask of his. You don’t have time to think anything of it. Not with the rage coursing through you. You’ve worked so hard to become the pop artist you are today. You’ve just released one of the best selling records in your country. You have a tour to plan, TV shows to appear on, interviews, fan meetings. Not to mention rehearsals and vocal practice. You can’t hide away just because your father decided to make his career out of taking down the worst criminals in the world. “I don’t need protection. I need to make music and meet with my fans. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

"Your little music thing can wait, alright?" Your father dismisses you like he always has. You know he's never cared much for your music, too busy catching the bad guys. He's never been to a concert because he's always in another country. Maybe he's never even listened to a song you wrote, but he definitely makes time to scoff at the outfits you've planned out or the current actor or singer you're having a night out with.

"My little music thing?" His words cut you deep even though you should be used to it by now.

“Commander….” The brute finally speaks, his deep voice taking you by surprise at your attention jerks toward him. “Am I really suited for this? No disrespect, but aren’t I a little… overqualified to be some pop star’s bodyguard?”

“Ugh!” Your eyes narrow, but neither man pays you any attention. "He doesn't even want to be doing this! Can't I just hire a team like a normal celebrity?" You grow more offended by the second. Heat practically radiates off your body at the two of them disregarding you.

“You know why you’re in this position Lieutenant.” Your father’s voice grows stern, disappointed even. He pays no mind to your offer of hiring your own bodyguards. At least this way you would have more control. “Allow me to remind you of the last mission you went off schedule for just because of that damn temper of yours.”

“I had a hunch.”

“You have anger inside you and you needed someone to take it out on.” Your father slams his fist on his desk, rattling the pens and causing a picture of you when you were younger to fall to the side. You jump back, but the soldier next to you doesn't move an inch. Maybe he's used to your father's outbursts. “You risked everyone on your team. So now this is your task until further notice. Keep my daughter safe. No one lays a hand on her. She will be under your strict supervision. Got it?”

It takes a full ten seconds before another word is spoken. You see the Lieutenant's jaw tighten under the mask. Then the tension leaves his body. “Affirmative, commander.”

***

The reality still hasn't sunk in yet on the way to your place. Your father insisted his duties begin immediately. Now he steers a borrowed SUV with the windows blacked out for extra protection after putting your address into the GPS. Clearly the soldier has done his research on you. Maybe he was only at the meeting with your father to try to convince him this is a terrible idea. You wish he would have tried harder. You don't need protection. You need to live your life. How can you do that with this stranger watching you at all times?

"What's with the mask?" You question while in the passenger seat scrolling through your phone. "What happened at your last mission? Why did you freak out?" You don't want to sound too interested in him, but you're annoyed at the fact you have to even be near him. You don't know him, can't even see his face. All you know he's a big, strong soldier with anger issues. Did your father really think this through?

"That's classified." His short reply in a deep, yet aggravated and cold tone makes you roll your eyes.

"Classified?" You set your phone down in your lap and shake your head. "What is? The mask thing or the mission thing?"

"Both." You grow more irritated every time he speaks.

"Do you always talk to women like this?" You narrow your eyes as you ask, looking at him finally. He keeps his focus on the road. If you weren't asking questions, he would probably forget you were there.

"You're not a woman to me, you're a mission," He says, sending a wave of anger through your body to fill your chest. "Best to remember that."

"So unbelievably charming," you retort with a huff. "I bet the ladies are lining up for a chance with you."

You want to get under his skin as much as he's getting under your own, but he doesn't so much as roll an eye or huff a breath. He doesn't care at all. Maybe he thinks if he stays quiet long enough you'll just disappear.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" You ask, turning in your seat to look, hoping he would at least glance your way. "Or is that not part of the mission?"

Finally his eyes meet your own for a split second. Then back to the road. It's clear he's not going to respond. It’s a long enough glance to see something deeper there. It’s not that he’s annoyed, or you’re getting under his skin. He looks faraway. Lost and lonely.

No, no, that's crazy. You’re not going to instantly feel sorry for him. Not after being forced into this situation.

This is going to be so fun, you think.

When the two of you arrive at the parking garage to your condo, he grabs a bag out of the back of the SUV while you grab your things upfront.

"Pack lightly, Lieutenant?" You tease with a bitter edge to your tone. You aren't sure why every second being around him makes you want to make every second of his miserable. Maybe to make him drop his mission and you altogether.

"I have what I need," is all he says as he reaches to close the back door. When he does, his leather jacket rises for you to see the gun in its holster at his waist.

"Wait, you can't bring that thing in my home!" You step closer, pointing at his waist.

"What?" He freezes, then looks down to where you're pointing and back up. "My gun or something else?"

If you were in any other situation you would appreciate a good dick joke, but it only makes you angry again. You’re aware he’s probably not even joking. He just wants to piss you off.

"The gun, obviously," you reply with a tightened jaw. "That's dangerous. What if it goes off? What if—"

"Trust me," He interrupts, stepping forward to where you have to look up to match his eyes, "I know what I'm doing. You don't have to worry about that, sweetheart."

For a split-second your breath becomes trapped in your throat. He's bigger than you realized earlier. He's hovering over you. He's calling you pet names you would normally find charming or cute. Coming from him it sounds like a promise and a threat. You can't explain the pressure in your chest or the shaking in your knees in the moment, so you blink a few times to rid yourself of any oncoming thoughts about what he just said.

"I don't trust you," you whisper. His eyes flinch for a moment. Is he actually surprised by that? How could you trust a stranger?

He says nothing, but he doesn't back down, so you do it for him and turn on your heel. Together the two of you make it up to your condo. You take your shoes off at the front door, looking down at his big, black boots hoping he will do the same. He doesn't make an attempt at all. You'll be mopping your floors in no time. Another thing to annoy you.

"Here's your room." You guide him toward the back of the condo, past the spacious kitchen and connecting living room, and even the guest bathroom to reach a smaller bedroom. There's only a full size bed on the far wall. A dresser you didn't want, but didn't want to get rid of, and a closet on the opposite wall. You didn't bother decorating or adding your personal touch when you just bought the place and haven't been home much considering your schedules. "Hopefully the bed isn't too small," you say, before turning to walk away, but you stop.

"Problem?" he asks, tossing his bag on the bed and not even bothering to look at you.

"Are you going to be with me all the time?"

He says yes without hesitation.

"My schedules? Meetings with my team?"

He turns around to look at you. "Yes."

"When I'm sleeping?" Your heart begins to race.

"If I need to."

"When I'm showering?" Warmth begins to swirl in your stomach.

Behind the balaclava, you notice his brow raise. "Are you asking or hoping?"

You narrow your eyes. "I, w… ugh!"

Good one, you think as you turn around and storm off. This is going to be a nightmare.

***

Having the soldier in your house is even more awkward than you imagined. He's always lurking around you, answering phone calls with code names and keywords you don't get, and flipping through folders of what you assume to be other cases while keeping his eyes on you. If you're in your music studio that was once a small office from the previous owners of the condo, he's sitting by the door while you scribble in your notebooks while sitting at a piano and recording voice memos of melodies you don't want to forget. You notice his eyes on you every time the sweet and soft humming fills the room. It's hard not to feel hot beneath his gaze. He's still so intimidating, but hopefully you've shown him you can stand up to him and refuse to be a helpless little girl that needs protecting. It’s all so ridiculous, anyway.

When you're on the phone with your assistant Marjorie, he keeps his ear trained on your words and eyes focused on you. You give him as many dirty looks as you can, but he doesn't seem fazed. It's clear he takes his mission seriously. Then the thought of you only being a mission gets to you and annoys you all over again. How could your father put you in this position? He’s never cared about it with his job before, but you quickly make the connection that the more your career takes off, the more eyes will be on you. Even those eyes of dangerous men that can link you to your father.

Still, you think it’s all so unnecessary. You’re a private person for the most part. How would dangerous men even know where to find you?

You roll your eyes and shake your head of useless thoughts, not wanting to be late for your date that night with Elijah. You’ve been seeing him for a few months casually, but lately have grown to really, really like him, and soon you know the tabloids will be buzzing with the rumors of the two of you being an item.

At least, that’s what he’s mentioned to you from time to time. He’s a music producer that landed a highly valued position at his father’s record label early on. Safe to say, he’s a big deal, and handsome as hell. You don’t care about how this could affect your career either way. You just enjoy being with him.

You put the finishing touches on your make-up and slip on your black dress before making your way to your front door to grab your purse and heels.

However, the Lieutenant is there in a flash right along with you. He’s staring down at you behind his mask, but you can see his brow raised.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, actually,” you reply, not even bothering to look at him again while slipping your heels on. “I have a date. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“A date? You should have told me. I’d wear something more appropriate.”

You stop in an instant. There’s no way this man thinks he’s going to accompany you on a date like a parent. You turn to look at him, seeing him in a thin black t-shirt to match his cargo pants and boots, but now you notice one strong, tattooed arm folding across his chest with the other.

“Um, no! No way!” You shake your head and toss your hands in the air. “I don’t need protection while on a date. It’s personal and plus, Elijah will be there!” No, of course Elijah isn’t as big and scary as the Lieutenant, and obviously doesn’t have the combat training, but he would still protect you. You hope so, anyway.

“Who the fuck is Elijah? Any my mission—”

“Yeah, I know I’m just a mission to you, but you can’t possibly think I can show up to a date with someone like you and expect him to be okay with it.”

“Don’t give a fuck what he’s okay with. My job is to keep my eye on you. So either we’re going on this date with loverboy together, or you’re not going at all.” He steps closer, looking down at you as if to make his point more clear.

Heat burns inside of your chest, raging with your jaw clenched at how impossible this man was being. “I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t care what your mission is!”

“That may be so, sweetheart, but I will do my job whether you want me to or not.”

“Why? Because my father says so?” You narrow your eyes, stepping to him to show you aren’t afraid and you can take the challenge. “Are you really that much of a lapdog? My father says jump and you say how high? Is that what all you brainwashed stupid special ops soldiers do?”

He doesn’t say a word. You grow even more angry. You don’t even mean the things you tell him. You just want him to get as upset as he’s making you. There’s no way you can bring him to the date, and you don’t want to cancel on Elijah. He’s been out of town and you haven’t seen him in weeks. You certainly just can’t ask him to come here with the Lieutenant lurking in every corner of the room you’re in. What would he think? He’d certainly be jealous, knowing the Lieutenant is bigger, stronger, scarier… more intimating…

No, you tell yourself. What are you even thinking?

“Fine,” you whisper, clenching your jaw before finally tearing your gaze away. “I won’t go.”

You can’t believe your life has come to this…

***

“Sweetie, I have some bad news.”

Your assistant Marjorie unexpectedly shows up at your home the next day. She looks stressed. Her brown hair in messy curls around her face. The glasses on her eyes a little crooked. There’s bags under them, too. She’s clutching a folder full of papers to her chest.

“I’ve been working with the publicist since early this morning. Did, uh, something happen with Elijah?”

You frown as you let her in, stepping to the side and closing the door behind her. “What’s wrong?” Together, you make your way to your living room as she spreads the papers across the coffee table. Neither of you even noticed him sitting there, arms crossed, brow raised as he stares at the two of you. He looks over Marjorie and isn’t concerned in the slightest with her. Obviously she’s not a threat so he doesn’t even more, or make an attempt to speak.

However, the moment Marjorie spots him, she lets out a little shriek and jumps back, placing a hand on her chest. “Who—” She gives you a concerned look before she eyes the big guy out of the corner of her eye. “—is that?” Her voice trembles. It’s clear he’s intimidated her at first glance. You understand completely. If you weren’t so angry at your situation, you would feel the same.

“Sorry, I should have told you.” You place a hand on her arm to sit down on the couch with her. He still doesn’t speak even though it’s obvious to him she’s scared. “It… has to do with my father.”

That’s all that needs to be said. She knows your story. Knows you grew up around a commander that spent more of his life on work than spending time with his daughter, leaving you to be with nannies and play with maids. She knows all about the line of work he’s in, but you’ve always told her it doesn’t matter to you. It will never interfere with your dream… until now.

“I see,” is all she says. She gulps and smooths her hands over your skirt while straightening her back.

“What is the bad news, Marjorie? And what about Elijah?” You sneak a side glance at him while you ask. He seems more attentive now that your soon-to-be boyfriend’s name was mentioned.

“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, hon’.” She opens the folder with all the papers. “I’m sorry. I know you really liked him.”

You glance down at the mock-ups of soon-to-be published articles across the table. Articles showing pictures of Elijah out with someone else. Headlines saying you are old news to the famous producer. A quote describing how Elijah working with you won’t be in his future. He’s just not much of a fan of your music, anyway. The text plastered over the image of him with an arm around a model’s waist. The same model that is friends with pop stars more popular than you. Of course he was only thinking about a paycheck.

“I was working so hard to not get them published. They were demanding outrageous things of you in return to not run the story. They wanted to know more about your father and family history in an exclusive interview. I knew you couldn’t do that…”

“No…” Your heart sinks. A heaviness settles in its place. You really did like ELijah. He told you plenty of times how much he loves your music and wants to work with you on your next project. How quickly men change their mind when it benefits them.

You look over to the Lieutenant as Marjorie goes on about things you can do to make you look better in this situation. You don’t listen. You focus on his eyes reading the headlines before they rise to meet your own. You want to blame him and be angry at him, but your heart hurts too much in the moment for anything else.

It’s not really his fault, you realize. Elijah is clearly a snake and dates whoever helps his career. You would have found that out eventually.

“But don’t worry,” Marjorie interrupts your thoughts. “You still have the award nominations coming up. A tour to plan. Fan meetings and interviews. Don’t let this get you down, sweetie.”

“I guess so,” you reply, taking a deep breath and a slow exhale. Why do you feel like crying? He wasn’t even your boyfriend, yet. Though, it doesn’t feel good to be pushed aside so quickly. For once you would love to actually be important to someone…

“So, let’s talk tour…”

Marjorie pulls a tablet out of her bag and quickly skims through possible costume designs and sets for your upcoming tour. You’re barely paying attention. You try to look over all the glittery designs and expensive props your label wants to use. She tells you they’re looking for stadiums to book across the country, but you can hardly be excited about this being your biggest tour yet. You’re barely paying attention, hurt bubbling inside of you, mixing with anger as the realization you were cast aside sets in. How could he?

Your attention is quickly drawn to the other side of the room as the impossibly silent shadow of a Lieutenant finally makes a noise. He sighs… long and drawn out… like a ghost just always lurking until he wants himself to be heard.

“Are you bored?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “You know you don’t have to sit here, right? You can fuck right off somewhere else.” You speak with more venom in the words than you actually mean. Maybe you’re just redirecting your hurt and anger to someone that can take it, because he doesn’t care about you either.

“Oh, sorry, pop princess,” he remarks, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. Marjorie jerks her head up to look at him, eyes going wide. Your nostrils flare at his words. “Can’t help it I’m not into this little flowery, pretty music and glittery Barbie outfits with all the flowery shit on them.”

What he says makes you rage. You’ve never wanted to slap someone more. “Right, you’re into fighting and being a fucking dick.” Marjorie gasps next to you. You’ve never been so hateful around her. Of course she’s shocked, but you’re pissed. And heartbroken, but the dumb brute doesn’t need to know that. You can give it right back to him. “Maybe you just lack taste.”

His cheek thickens as if he’s smirking beneath the mask. “Trust me, little flower, you’re not my type.”

You huff, opening your mouth to speak some vicious retort, but Marjorie beats you to it.

“Your loss,” she says quietly, looking between the two of you, then down at her lap where the outfits are still on the screen. “She’s amazing, talented, and works so hard. Her… her fans adore her.” Her voice is still shaking, but she wants to stick up for you. The anger settles a little. You know Marjorie will always be on your side, and it makes the situation a little easier to handle.

Then suddenly his little nickname hits you like a ton of bricks. Little flower? Who does he think he is?

“Little flower?” You glare at him, trying not to let the words he says affect you. “Give me a break…”

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to Marjorie, finally putting your focus on your work and nothing more. You don’t need men distracting you any longer. Your father never caring about your music and still thinking you’re a little girl. Elijah dumping you once he saw a better opportunity for his career. Now this moody, grouchy soldier saying your music is terrible. You don’t need any of it. You’ve worked too hard to let men like them get to you now.

“Show me that super sparkly out fits a few pages back, Marj.”

You won’t be hurt by any of them.

***

“You can wait in the car.”

You hop out of the SUV after he pulls up to your label’s office building. You have too many meetings with execs today, too many things to plan, too much to worry about and the last thing you need is him drawing attention or cutting in with his snarky remarks. This is too important to you to ruin by being distracted and angry.

He follows you just as quickly as you try to outpace him while walking into the building. The girl at the front desk smiles at you before dropping her expression the moment she lays eyes on him. See? Distracting. Annoying. In your way. You don’t need it.

“If I did that, flower, I’d be disregarding my mission, wouldn’t I?” he replies as you stand to wait for the elevator to take you up to the floor where the meetings will be held.

“Oh, like you did last time you went berserk commando and risked your mission to get us both in this situation?” You huff, and you swear you hear him growl beneath the mask. He doesn’t like when you bring up his mistakes. Not at all. You smile to yourself on the inside, until you realize he’s still calling you the dumb little nickname. “And what’s with calling me that? Relax.”

He growls again. Not even trying to hide it. “Trust me, little flower, you would be in this situation regardless, and you’d much rather me than some of the other guys I’ve been with in the field.” You step onto the elevator with him right behind you. You scoff at his response while you start to rise to the top floor.

“Oh, right,” you say, turning to him to glare for a few moments. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of a glance in return. “Because you’re just so fun to be around.” You’re already in a bad moon. Funny how quickly your day can be ruined by him.

“That’s nice of you to say, flower.” The words rip right through you, sending you from annoyed to angry. It makes it even worse because now there's a hint of humor in his tone. He likes making you this angry. That pisses you off more.

“Sure, because you’re obviously so kind and sweet and caring and compassionate and totally not a pain in my ass,” you say through your teeth just as the elevator dings and the doors open. There stands Marjorie along with the men that are attending your meeting. They’re staring at the two of you. The Lieutenant looks straight ahead, not bothered at all. You’re still glaring at him, hoping to burn a hole straight through his thick skull.

Marjorie clears her throat. Your attention turns toward her, finally realizing the situation. He chuckles softly next to you.

God, do you wish you could disappear.

***

Award season comes around once a year, and this year is the biggest one for you yet. You eagerly wait by your phone for Marjorie to call to give you the news if you’ve been nominated or not, and when she calls to say you’ve been nominated in five categories at the most prestigious award show in your country, you can only scream into the receiver.

As you’re jumping up and down on your bed due to the huge news, screaming in Marjorie’s ear as she screams back due to being so happy your hard work is paying off, the Lieutenant rushes into your room. Suddenly, he grabs your body and pulls you to him, making you drop your phone in the process.

“What’s wrong?” he frantically asks. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yes,” you say, pushing him away and picking up your phone. “Marjorie, let me call you back.” Your voice is full of excitement as you hang up the phone. You can hardly contain yourself. Not even the big soldier can ruin your day today. Finally, the industry is taking note of all your success. Finally it’s all coming together for you.

“Are you sure? You screamed rather loud. I thought someone broke in.” While he speaks, he scans your body over, from head to toe, to make sure you aren’t lying. He even runs his gloves hands along your arms, genuinely looking concerned for your safety as he inspects.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you giggle, suddenly in such a good mood you don’t even want to fight or argue with him. “Sorry, I got some really great news. I need to call my father.” More than anything, you’ve always wanted to call him up with some great news or terrific achievement so he will finally take your career seriously. For so long, you’ve been waiting for this moment. You can hardly contain yourself as you click on your father’s contact to press dial.

The Lieutenant understands, nodding and taking a step back to fold his arms over his chest. He stays put in your bedroom, but you don’t even pay attention to him. You put the phone on speaker while you begin scrolling the news articles already talking about your nominations.

“Hello? Commander speaking.”

“Dad, it’s me,” you laugh, smiling wide to yourself. Of course he's only focusing on work, answering the phone without even looking to see who was calling.

“Everything okay?” He’s speaking in sharp, short words. Quick to get to the point.

“Yes! Everything is great, actually!”

“Good, good. Sweetheart, I’m really busy right now…”

“But dad—”

“Can we talk later?” There’s commotion on the other end, hearing shuffling and mumbled voices. He’s not paying attention to you at all.

“Dad, I got nominated for five awards today and I just—”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he interrupts. “I really have to get going. Talk soon, okay?”

“Dad—”

The phone hangs up. The excitement drains from your features. You drop your hands in your lap, staring down at his contact picture. Suddenly there’s a heaviness in your chest. It’s tight, gripping hold of your heart. What were you even happy about to begin with? You fight with yourself to keep the tears filling your lids from falling. Blinking, you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

“Five awards, eh?” Suddenly, his voice fills your ears, reminding you he’s still standing there. Great, now you have an audience once again to your heartbreak. Except this time, you have no fight in you at all.

“It’s stupid to care so much…”

“Don’t say that, little flower,” he says, earning your tear-filled eyes on him. “The only awards people like me ever get are ones when we’re already dead. It’s not stupid to be appreciated for working hard. Don’t count yourself short.”

His words take you by surprise. Raising your brows, you chuckle a tired sound and shrug. “Weren’t you just insulting my music?”

“Don’t be like that.” Suddenly, he steps toward you to take a seat on your bed next to you. His weight shifts the mattress. He’s so big next to you like this. “I didn’t really mean what I said, flower. And… I feel bad for saying it. I know you’re angry too about being in this situation. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. Plus, I’ve seen the way you’ve handled those bosses in your meetings. You’re tough and you know what you want.”

At that, you release a genuine laugh. “Yeah, I hate being ran over. I want complete creative control. I have a vision, you know?”

“A sparkly one.”

Now you’re giggling. “Yes, that does include sparkles, sometimes.” He chuckles. Genuinely. Your heart feels a little warmer. The heaviness in your chest feels lighter. You realize he’s trying to make you feel better. You appreciate the gesture. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

“Oh, is that what I was doing?” He looks down at you, and you look up at him through your lashes. “I thought we just advanced to a new level of bickering and being annoyed with one another.”

You can’t help but to laugh. You realize he can be kind of sweet if he wants.

“I just want to be taken seriously.” You tell him with a sigh. “My father sees me as a little girl that needs protecting. Elijah saw me as an opportunity for his career. The execs at the label try to make up their mind for me until I stick up for myself. Hell, even you just see me as a mission.”

He blinks a few times, taking in your words. Then he sighs. “I didn’t mean that, either, flower.”

For the first time, you’re glad he’s there with you.

***

Even though you and him shared a sweet moment when you were hurt over your father’s dismissive attitude of you, it still irritates you when you can’t go out and do what you want. You don’t want to be careless, of course, but you just don’t see the need in being watching 24/7 like a hawk.

Especially when you got word Elijah will be attending a party, and you want to show up looking good enough to regret leaving. You have your skin tight, red dress already on, putting the finishing touches on your lipstick as you play in your mind the perfect scenario of him begging for you back. The dress cuts low into your cleavage, and rises high on your thighs. With some killer heels, he’ll be on the floor in no time.

If only there wasn’t a grumpy soldier in the way of you and the front door.

“I don’t care if you have a mission to do,” you tell him as he blocks your way, “this is important to me and I need you to get out of my way. I can’t be a prisoner forever.”

He looks you up and down, spending an extra second on your chest, before meeting your eyes. His gaze makes you hot in the moment, and now you’re unsure if it’s actually anger. “Clearly it’s important, but important or not, flower, I can’t let you out of my sight if you leave this house.” He folds his arms over his chest. “And you’re not a prisoner forever. You’re being guarded until it’s safe for you. That’s all.”

“Well, I feel like a grounded teenager.” You roll your eyes at him, folding your own arms over your chest with your heels in hand.

“Acting like it, too.”

“Fuck you.” Just when you thought the two of you were going to get along, too…

“If that’s what you want, flower.” Without warning, the big brute picks you up with ease and tosses your body over his shoulder.

“Hey, what—” You start kicking and punching his back, but he isn’t fazed at all. “Put me down!” You’re thrashing all over his shoulder, you’re not even paying attention to him bringing you to your bedroom. Without a word, he puts you down on the floor in the middle of the room before backing away.

“Want to act like a spoiled brat, you’ll get treated like it,” is all he says, stepping out of your room and closing the door behind him.

“I’m an adult!” you yell through the door. “A grown woman! I can do what I want!”

Clearly, you can’t. When you try to open the door, it doesn’t even budge an inch in your direction. But clearly he didn’t think this through. You still have your heels in your hand. You can just go out the escape ladder from your window. You sneakily tiptoe towards the window, pushing aside a few bottles of purfume that were resting on a dresser to budge the lock.

However, it doesn’t take long for him to hear you and catch on to what you’re attempting. He is a specially trained operator, after all. He bursts open the door just as you crack the window, barrelling over to you without thinking to grab you by the waist. You release a squeal when he practically tosses your body onto the bed.

Not thinking again, clearly, because now you have an exit through the bedroom door. You make an attempt to scurry across the satin sheets of your bed, but he’s close behind. Another scream echoes into the room as he grips your bare ankle, pulling you back across the bed with ease before you can even think straight. Your heels go flying across the room as he manhandles your body and pulls you all the way to him.

“An adult woman trying to sneak out of her bedroom window?” he asks, mocking you while pressing his body between your thighs, putting weight over you so you can’t escape.

“An adult woman shouldn’t need to,” you correct him. He grabs both wrists, pinning them above your head and pushing himself closer to you. You feel all of him against you. His broad chest pressing into yours heaving from trying to catch your breath. His hard stomach over your body. His hips parting your thighs. Something hard presses against your panties. A shiver races through your body, heat following to fill every inch of skin. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Is my little flower going to behave if I do?” His tone mocks you with the question. You stare into his eyes, the only part of him you can actually see. He stares right into your own, not backing down. You don’t want to back down, either. You're burning hot with rage at the control he’s placed you under. You want to fight him, hit him, yell and scream at him. But your body… your body loves how weak it feels beneath him. You hate it. Hate how much he’s affecting you in the moment. Warmth swells between your thighs. You tremble beneath him. You feel so betrayed by both him and yourself.

“No,” you finally reply, clenching your jaw, narrowing your eyes. If looks could kill…

“Then I can do this all night, flower.” His tone darkens as he draws his face closer. So much closer. The closest to him you’ve been. Your breath catches in your throat. “As long as it takes for you to be a good girl.”

Your eyelids flutter. God, why was his voice suddenly going straight between your thighs? You shudder, knowing you would find your panties wet if you were to look. You’re so hot beneath him. You can’t stand it.

You lick your lips and beg your hips not to roll against him. “Let me go,” you repeat.

He raises a brow beneath that damn mask of his. “Are you going to try to run from me again?”

You know there’s no use fighting him. He’s bigger, stronger, and tougher than you. He made that clear. You don’t want to give in to him. You want to tough this out just to see how long he can last, but you aren’t convinced your body will agree the longer you lay in this position with him.

“Getting all dolled up to go make a boy jealous, huh?” he begins to taunt you again, just to see you worked up. It’s what the two of you do best.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You push yourself against him, your hips bucking into his as you try to yank your hands away from his grip. He only presses into your harder, and you realize yes, he is definitely affected by the position the same way you are. He’s thick and hard and you feel it between your thighs. The fact has you burning up. His body wants you, too, even if his words are vicious.

“You deserve better than to chase some dickhead that can’t see what he has right in front of him.” If you weren’t so angry at him, you would almost be touched. All you see is red in the moment, however. You want to fight him. You want him to feel bad… if his cold heart even can.

“Like you would know,” you spit back. “I’m just a mission to you, remember?”

“I told you I didn’t mean that.”

“Really? You’re sure as hell acting like it.” You struggle again to get loose. He tightens his grip, leaning into your body so his mouth is right next to your ear.

“I have a mission to protect you, flower,” he begins, sending a chill down your spine as he speaks his dark, tempting words, “but believe me, if I didn’t, there’s not a single thing here I wouldn’t worship on you and I’d take nothing for granted. There’d be no mistake you belonged to me.”

With that, he finally releases your body from his hold. He stands straight, peering down at you as if his eyes are promising the things his words said. You quickly straighten out your dress over your thighs as you settle on your knees. For a moment, neither of you speak. Your breath is heavy. There’s tension in his body, tension filling the entire room.

You wait for his next move, not knowing what to do or say or even think. His words caught you off guard. You thought he hated you, and hated being around you. You were surely convinced you hated him in return, but with the way your body reacted, and now your heart drumming away in your chest over what he said, you aren’t sure. Did he really care about you? Did being so close to you have such an effect on him as well?

He says nothing, only turning toward your window to close and lock it in place, before walking toward your door. “Good night, little flower.” Before reaching the hall, he turns to look at you over his shoulder. “I trust you won’t be careless and try to sneak out again. I won’t let you off the hook so easily, next time.”

He leaves, and your body is hot all over again. His words which used to induce rage inside of you now begin to make you quiver. Could you just be taking them the wrong way? Does he really mean the hint of temptation you’re getting from each syllable?

You aren’t sure. All you can do is run to shut your bedroom door before he comes back to drive you crazy once again. Or before you do something stupid, like try to sneak out just to test him because you’re dying to see what he would actually do now. Your body begins to crave it, no matter how much you try to fight the feeling.

What started this all anyway? Finally you remember wanting to make Elijah jealous, but that seems so pointless now. Now all you can think about is what the big, strong Lieutenant would do if you disobeyed him. Something tells you he makes good on his promises, and your body aches at the thought.

Before you can let your thoughts become carried away, you take a hot shower to wash off your makeup and the mistakes you almost made. Maybe all you need is a good night’s sleep. You only hope you can stop thinking about how it felt having his body pressed against you.

***

After that night, you hate how quiet you are around him. Suddenly there’s tension, and not the rage-inducing kind you’ve grown used to. Anytime you look at him, you can’t help but to outline his muscles beneath the thin t-shirt, study his tattoos and veins along each arm, or wonder how good he is with his hands. He tries to ignore you stealing glances at him, not saying much to you, either. You decide it’s better than way. The other night was too risky. The two of you got too close, and it’s clear both of you were reacting in unfamiliar ways.

Later, Marjorie shows up with a team of a few people to bring a wardrobe for an event you’re scheduled to attend. A movie is premiering with your song as the main track on the soundtrack. You know you have to make an appearance, but lately you’re just not up for it, not wanting to explain why you have a masked man watching over your every move, as well as anyone that gets close to you.

“I don’t know, Marjorie,” you tell her, slipping on a glittery, purple dress with a low-cut V-neck and even lower cut in the back. The sleeves are long enough to reach your wrists, and you have to say it’s beautiful. You think you’ve found the one… if you wanted to actually attend. “I’m not up for premieres and parties.”

“Why not? Is it that scary man out there? Did he do something?” She lowers her glasses while narrowing her eyes. She gives an evil look toward the living room where you told him to wait after guiding the team to your bedroom.

“No,” you lie. It is because of him. And all the tension. And the fact that you don’t want anymore negative press about you. The breakup to a non-boyfriend was hard enough on your image. It’s all anyone wanted to talk about. Anything to get their quick clips and quotes for the news. Elijah absolutely embarrassed you.

Then you remember he will be at the event as well. You don’t want to face him now that you’ve had time to think about it. Trying to sneak out and make him jealous was stupid. He’s not worth it.

The grumpy brute was right about that.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asks, flipping through texts on your phone. “Oh, the designer needs to see you in a few photos and selfies if this is the dress you want to wear. Make sure to tag them on your pages.”

You sigh, leaving your bedroom to find where you left your phone to take a few “getting ready with me” selfies. Remembering you were reading more articles about your award nominations earlier while moping on the couch, you find it in the living room where he still sits, looking over documents in a folder spread over the coffee table.

“I feel overwhelmed lately, Marj.” You grab your phone from the couch next to him. “And I don’t know if I want this dress. It’s gorgeous but I don’t feel gorgeous in it.”

“You’re kidding!” she says, then surprisingly, turns to him to get his attention. “Tell her how good she looks!” As if she realizes her sudden bold behavior in talking to him, she withdraws behind you, pushing you closer so he can get a better look.

He scans over your body in the dress. His eyes linger over your chest for a moment, then travel to your hips, and finally your thighs. Then he makes his way back up, so slowly you’re almost dying inside. He’s not answering. Only taking in the sight of you in more sparkly, skin tight, revealing things.

“You look stunning, flower.” His voice is quiet, as if he only wanted you to hear his reply. It’s deep, too, another level of hidden emotions layered within the syllables and it makes your insides quiver.

From behind, Marjorie whispers, “he’s still calling you that?” Then she giggles, and you can’t help but to smile. Heat floods your cheeks. A few weeks ago you would have been annoyed, but now it seems so natural to hear the nickname.

“So, what event are we attending?” he asks, and you want to be annoyed that he will have to be with you, but somehow you can’t find yourself to be irritated. Maybe it’s better he’s there. He could intimidate anyone talking to you in case they want to pry about your relationship failures.

“A movie premiere tonight, then an after party. Are you wearing that?” You surprise him by not making a big deal of the situation. Looking over him, you realize his usual thin tees and military cargo pants with boots won’t cut it at this event. Regardless of his mask, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

“Want me to get dressed up for you, flower?” He raises a brow, knowing from his tone he’s smirking beneath the mask.

“Well, you have to be presentable if you’re going to attend with me.”

He nods, as if it’s another mission to him, quickly reaching for his phone to make a few calls. You can’t worry about what he’s doing, however, when you need to get into makeup and hair before the red carpet rolls out. Marjorie rushes you back to your room where the team starts with their brushes and blow dryers, getting you dressed in full glam within an hour and a half.

When you walk out of your room fully dolled up, you notice him waiting on you with a completely different outfit. Still dressed in all black, he adorns a turtleneck and slacks with his mask and boots. The sleeves are rolled up to show off his tattoos, and you’re sure he has weapons hidden somewhere on his body. Maybe those black, leather boots of his. Either way, you decide it’s not bad. You appreciate the attempt he’s made for you.

“You look nice, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a quiet voice. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat. You try to reason with yourself he’s just being nice, but the butterflies in your stomach wish for something more. For once, he’s actually being kind to you. It makes it so much harder to hate the situation you’re in.

“Are you ready to go?” you ask him as your assistant hands you your bag before helping with slipping on your matching heels.

He nods, holding out his arm for you to take. Smiling, you slip your hand around his bicep, resisting the urge to shudder from how hard his body is. It brings up memories from being so close to him a second before heat washes over your entire body.

How are you going to survive the night?

***

The movie premiere is less painful than you imagined. No one asks too many questions on the red carpet other than wanting to know who you were wearing that night. No one questions him, either, assuming he’s just another faceless bodyguard to the rich and famous. You’re thankful for that until you get to the afterparty. It’s not your scene, really, but you know you can make good connections with people in the industry. You mingle a bit with a few different crowds. Another pop artist here and there. Even some producers that worked on the soundtrack of the movie.

You feel a little more relaxed, even with the Lieutenant close by. He never gets in your way, and you appreciate the distance he’s giving you. Maybe it could have been like this the whole time, you think. After all, he just wanted to keep you safe. He’s not hovering over you, or making you uncomfortable. But you catch his eye every now and then. Knowing he’s close by actually comforts you.

The night carries on with you getting a few numbers in your phone with people you want to work with in the future. You make a few promises to get to the studio and record sometime soon, so happy you decided to come out.

Only until a familiar voice pulls your attention away from an intriguing conversation with another up and coming singer.

“What is it, Elijah?” You turn to face him, seeing the singer walk away from the corner of your eye. You hope she doesn’t think you’re rude. Maybe if you post the selfie with her you took, saying how sweet she was, she’ll forgive you.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says, words slurring a little. He’s tipsy. He’s always more affectionate when he’s tipsy. “I miss you.”

You frown. “Miss me? Didn’t seem like it with your arm around a model.”

“Oh, that was nothing, baby!” He waves a hand in the air dismissively.

“And when you said you didn’t like my music that much? What was that? You talked pretty quickly to the reporters. Most people didn't even know of our relationship.”

“Tabloids being tabloids! You can’t trust them.” He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Let me take you to grab a bite of food. We can catch up, talk this out, alright?”

You roll your eyes, ready to decline when a body presses into you from behind.

“It’s time to go,” the deep, raspy voice of the Lieutenant says. He’s speaking through his teeth. You nod your head, wanting to get away from Elijah and just go home. Your heels hurt and your social energy is completely spent for the night, anyway.

“I have to go, Elijah…”

You try to pull away from him, but Elijah tightens his grip on you. “Who’s this?” He grows defensive. As if he owns you. As if he didn’t break your heart just a few weeks ago.

“Elijah, let me go.”

“No, I want to know—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before the big soldier is stepping to him. “I would back up if I were you.”

“Are you really going to let this guy talk to me like that?” Elijah turns to you as you look between both men. The Lieutenant towers over Elijah, but he’s too tipsy to back down from a fight he obviously wouldn’t win.

“He’s in charge of me,” is all you say, and both men’s attention snap to you. “My safety, I mean. He’s in charge of my safety.” You gulp, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Elijah finally releases the grip he has on you. “Safety? Are you being stalked or something?”

Huffing, you turn to walk away from him. “If you ever cared to get to know me, Elijah, you would know why I need protection.” You can’t even believe you said the words. Never have you admitted that to anyone, but Elijah is pissing you off now. What did you ever see in this guy?

“Hey,” Elijah yells over the music, pride hurt over a sudden rejection he’s not used to. He reaches to grab your wrist, but before anyone can react, the Lieutenant lashes out to grip Elijah’s throat. It happens so fast, like a viper lashing out at prey.

“Touch her again, loverboy, and I promise you that hand will be wishing you hadn’t.”

You’re frozen seeing your almost ex-boyfriend get choked out, struggling to remove himself from such a strong grasp. Eventually, he’s released and you’re being shuffled out of the party before anymore eyes are on the three of you.

On the way home, you’re silent. Your body feels hot. Your head light. What did you just witness? The man next to you showing his power, and while it should scare you just how quickly he put Elijah in his place, your body can’t help but to react. You sneak a glance at him, but you aren’t sure why you’re suddenly so intimidated by him in the best ways. A gloved hand grips the wheel, the muscles on his arms tensing as he drives. He keeps his focus straight. You don’t know if he’s aware of you staring, but now you can’t look away.

His dark, lonely eyes are pinned in the lights ahead. A large, round shoulder hides the bottom of the mask he wears. His turtleneck hugs his chest and stomach tight. Pressing your thighs tight together, your gaze drops to his lap. You remember what it feels like to have him against you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to feel it again in the moment.

You’ve never wanted to admit how attracted to him you are, but there’s no denying it now. Not when you’ve seen how strong he is. How powerful. Intimidating, even. You can’t imagine all the dangerous men he’s helped your father take down.

Big, and strong, and quick… and thick. You have to scream at yourself to stop from imagining what he’d feel like inside of you. It’s not right. Between your thighs begs to differ, though. You feel the heat pooling there. You’re wet. You need him. Not want, need.

“Stare any harder, flower, and I’ll have to pull over.” His deep, raspy voice takes you by surprise and pulls your mind from all the naughty things you’ve been thinking. Blinking a few times, you shake your head to focus in on the present.

“P-Pull over?” You gulp, chest rising slowly and falling even slower. God, the things this man does to you.

“The way you’re lookin’ at me is distracting,” he admits. “Not safe for driving.”

“Oh, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, turning his head to meet your eyes, “I never said I didn’t like it.”

***

As the days go on, you try to ignore the tension between the two of you. It’s hard to ignore how much your body craves him. What was once honest hatred of this man has turned into lust, and even scarier, you begin to actually care about him.

Whether it meant anything to him or not, he stuck up for you against Elijah. When the rest of the world wanted to gossip and get the latest scoop, he made it clear the only thing he cares about was protecting you.

You try to remember that’s just his mission. You’re a mission to him. Even though he said he didn’t mean it, the fact is true. You can’t let yourself get carried away in fantasies of being with him. It would never work.

You spend your time at home, having enough of being in the public eye. You continue to try to write songs to take your mind off of things. He lingers close by, and even with the tension between the two of you, you find his presence relaxing. You feel safe. Even if it’s not real, you feel protected and cared for. You can let yourself indulge in that feeling for at least a little while. No one has to know your delusions of wanting to be with him. You keep to yourself, minding your business and doing what you do best. Music.

The song writing goes on a little too long one afternoon, realizing you never had lunch or breakfast. When inspiration strikes…

“Are you hungry?” you ask him, realizing you don’t think you’ve ever seen him actually eat. You assume he gets a quick meal here and there when you’re busy with music related things. Your kitchen is stocked, so he has his choice of whatever he wants. Now you feel like take-out, however. “I’m going to order dinner.”

He looks up from another remote case he’s assisting with off-site. “Sure, I can eat.” He grins beneath the mask. You’ve gotten good at spotting it. It makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“Can you even eat in the mask,” you ask, thumbing through your phone to place a quick delivery order for the two of you. You’re only half-joking, but you wonder why he wears it all the time, even when it’s just the two of you.

“I can do a lot of things in this mask, flower.” His tone darkens. A shiver courses through your body, flooding you with goosebumps. Gulping, you try to ignore the words. Just when you think you’re good at pushing away what you’re beginning to feel for him, he pulls you right back in. You wonder if he received some super secret training for that as well.

“Okay, food ordered,” you say, the words trembling from your tongue. He chuckles, enjoying the way he makes you so weak. You thought he only liked making you angry. You realize he just loves any reaction from you whatsoever. “But… really? Can you eat with the mask? Do you ever take it off?” Your voice isn’t full of venom like the first time you asked about it. You find yourself truly wanting to know him better.

“I take it off when I’m alone.”

“Why wear it all the time?” You sit next to him in the living room, scooting closer as he replies.

“To keep my identity a secret. It’s better for missions,” he responds nonchalantly. “No one really wants to know me, anyway, so why take it off? Not the real me, anyway. Just the soldier that follows commands and can kill without thinking. Nothing else matters when you’re in the middle of tracking down dangerous people.”

You take in what he says. It makes sense why there’s longing and loneliness in his eyes. No one knows the real him. Maybe no one has ever cared that he hides himself from the world, but you do.

“I feel the same,” you finally say, reaching to rest your hand on his arm, hoping he will feel your sincerity. With a sigh, you continue. “I mean, with wearing the mask and hiding yourself. It’s like as long as I do what I’m told, everyone is happy. No one cares how I feel. They hate when I want to make my mind up for myself. As if I’m a little girl that never knows what she wants for herself.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true,” he laughs. “You certainly know how to fight for what you want. You showed me that plenty of times.”

You giggle softly, not even thinking anything of it when he removes your hand to place it in his own, giving your palm a squeeze.

“Yeah, I… didn’t mean to be such a bitch to you,” you confess. “I was so angry at my father for deciding what’s best for me. I spent most of my life figuring things out on my own while he was busy with his job. Only for him to come in whenever he wants to say I’m not allowed to do this, or go there, or date this guy. I’m only here to be a burden to him and his career.” Your voice falls as you finish speaking. It’s a weight you’ve carried for so long knowing the one person you wanted most in the world to be proud of you never cared for your choices in life. He’s never taken an interest in your career, and everything you’ve accomplished, you’ve done on your own.

“I’m sorry, flower,” he sighs. “I… didn’t have the best childhood, either. My father wasn’t the nicest to my mother or me. It’s part of the mask thing, you know? Easier to hide myself than deal with no one wanting me around or getting in the way. I’ll leave before getting left.”

Guilt sinks into your heart. He’s felt that way since childhood, and you only furthered the idea by being pissed he was assigned to watch over you.

“I… want you around,” you reply quietly, intertwining your fingers with his gloved hand. He’s so protective of himself while you always wanted to be open and free. The realization hits you hard. The heaviness rises in your throat, burning with guilt for pushing him away so hard at the beginning. “I hope you can see that now.”

“I do, flower.”

Your heart melts in an instant. How could you have hated him for so long? You’re angry at yourself for not giving it a chance and getting to know him.

Before you can reply, there’s a knock on the door with your food delivery. Regretfully, you pull away to answer, grabbing the food and quickly getting back to him. While you’re placing the containers out in front of you on the coffee table, he sneakily pushes his mask up over his mouth and the tip of his nose. You see him out of the corner of your eye, glancing once then staring the second time while handing him his food.

You don’t say a word. All you can do is take in the sight of his mouth, his lips, the tip of his nose. His strong jaw. His smooth skin. You want to reach out and touch him but you’re scared he’ll retreat. You can’t pull your gaze away, taking in the sight of him because you know it’s something he doesn’t show often. Your heart swells, warmth filling your chest. He put so much trust in you to uncover a part of himself he’s kept hidden and secured for so long. You want to cherish the moment for as long as you can while the two of you enjoy dinner together.

***

It’s not often you do favors for people in the industry, but when one of the label execs asked for you to perform at a club his friend owns, you couldn’t turn him down. Not only because it would get you more exposure and in with a particular group of board members of award shows that were closely related, but because you simply love being on stage. The club is prestigious enough that it won’t be a rowdy, wild crowd, and who knows who else could be watching you that night?

Of course, your Lieutenant is close by as you hit the stage. He watches you closely, never taking his eyes off of you while you sing and dance for the crowd, as well as take a few shots to get them hyped up and in the mood. You’re working everyone over by the time the end of your set comes. The audience grows closer to the stage, making it more fun to interact with them.

Still, you keep your attention on him every now and then. He’s in the back of the crowd, but to the side of the stage. He’s laying low, dressed in all black, a hood over his head and his usual skull mask on his face. When the last song comes on, you can’t help locking eyes with him while you sing to the slow, sexy beat about being with a guy in secret. How good it will feel, how fun it would be if no one knew. Just the two of your bodies together even if it’s bad for both of you. He holds your gaze with an intense expression. You can’t look away from him, not for a second. You’re in a trance as your hips sway to the music around the microphone stand. You see him puff out his chest as the muscles in his body tense. He’s just as affected as you.

The set ends and the crowd cheers for you while you wave goodbye, remembering now that there is a crowd and it’s not just him and you in the room. You quickly run off stage to cool off in the back, and it doesn’t take long for him to find you in a lonely hallway.

The music echoes through the walls, but it’s more quiet as the DJ continues to spin top tracks from the charts. Your mind is spinning from the performance and the few shots you had while on stage. You’re not drunk, just a little tipsy, but it doesn’t stop you from running to him with a giddy smile. You’re nearly alone, with a few people passing by — workers clocking in and out, someone taking a selfie down the hall. The only one that matters, however, is him.

“Having fun?” you ask, though you know he’s probably not. You assume he’s not one for these kinds of crowds.

“You know how to work a crowd,” he says, making sure you know for a fact his eyes were on you the entire time.

“Of course, it’s my job!” You giggle. “And I love it. I love performing! I love dancing and I love when people watch me.”

By now, you’re nearly pressed against him. The alcohol is surging through your body. You feel so light. So happy. You decide you love being around him. He’s big and stupid and grumpy, but you love it. You can’t help but to keep giggling.

He stares at you with his head tilted to one side. You laugh even harder a moment before settling.

“Do you like watching me?” you ask, biting your lip after licking them.

He stares into your eyes. Those deep, lonely eyes of his. “I didn’t hate it.” He takes a step, pressing his body against you. You wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.

“Mm, I’ll take it, Lieutenant.” It’s one of the nicest things he’s said about your music. Of course you’re going to take any and all compliments from the cold-hearted soldier.

He cocks a brow while placing his gloved hands on your hips. “Oh, you’ll take it?”

Is that humor in his voice? Is he actually flirting this time and not just trying to rile you up? You giggle more, standing the toe of your heels to try to reach his mouth.

“Yes, I can take it,” you reply in a whisper, mouth so close to his mask. Your lidded eyes stare up at him, heart skipping a beat as heat washes over you.

“Are you sure, flower?” God, the things the nickname begins to do to you. It’s honestly sweet, if you think about it, and it makes you weak in the knees. It’s painful how much you want him. “Can you take me?”

You gulp, eyes fluttering as his hands begin to caress your hips. “I’m not the delicate little flower you think I am.” The space between you closes as he lowers his head. Your lips just barely brush against the mask. You want to feel him against you more than anything. “I can take all of it, Lieutenant.” Your tongue slips past your lips to ghost over the fabric, feeling the outline of his mouth. “Every. Inch.”

He growls, digging his fingers into your body. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

You could say the same. This man drives you wild. You don’t even care to hide it any longer. You want him and you want him to know.

A scream suddenly echoing throughout the front of the club breaks the spell you have on one another. His head jerks toward the noises past the hallway, suddenly on high alert as he blocks your body with his own from the door close by. In the other room, you hear a commotion, bodies shuffling, more screaming, fighting. You don’t have time to think.

He quickly grabs your arm to pull you farther into the back of the club. “Hurry!” he commands, and you have no chance to question him. He turns a corner and drags you along before stopping abruptly. Your body crashes into his back a second before you peek around him, spotting two masked men at the back exit of the club.

They don’t stand a chance before the soldier is on them. He grabs one in the middle of throwing a punch, twisting his arm with a kick to his knee, knocking him to the ground. The other man moves in, grabbing the Lieutenant by the waist, but is only met with a sharp knee to his stomach. The first man regains his balance, lunging toward him with all of his weight as the two tumble into the wall.

The second man moves past, aiming straight for you. You begin to back up, but he rushes to take hold of your hair in a tight fist. You scream, raising your hands to begin hitting him in the chest in an attempt to get out of his hold. You miss the shuffling of bodies straight ahead of you, the cry of pain, the thud as one of them hits the floor.

The man grabbing you is quickly snatched back, the Lieutenant coming into view. He takes the attacker by the arm, twisting it so far back you hear an actual snap of bones. He cries out in pain before slumping to the floor along with his partner.

“C’mon!” Your hand is taken and you’re led out of the club in a rush. Everything is going so fast. The world is spinning around you, heart racing, knees about to give out as you try to keep up with him on your way to the SUV. You feel so weak, so out of breath, and he quickly realizes that, turning to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder. He jogs the rest of the way while you hear the police sirens flooding the night’s air. Voices all around of people shuffling out of the club fill your ears. Your vision is blurry, going in and out and you aren’t sure if you’re going to pass out from being so overwhelmed.

Your body is thrown into the front seat and quickly a seatbelt rests over you. Blinking, you try to focus on anything to stabilize your vision. The vehicle is started. Tires screech as the two of you drive to safety.

“What… what happened?” Your voice is quiet, trembling. Just speaking the words make it harder to breathe. He doesn’t say a thing, only reaching for his phone in his pocket before tapping the screen a few times. “What’s going on?” you ask again. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything to you.

After a few silent seconds, someone picks up on the other end of the phone. You hear a deep voice, but you can’t make it out. “This is Lt. They’ve found her.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Who? Who found who?” You reach for him, squeezing his arm. He ignores you, speaking a few code names and keywords as usual. Things you don’t understand. Undercover special ops phrases, of course. Then he hangs up. “Please… answer me.”

“Those men back there work for the men your father is currently trying to capture.” He grunts, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “They were there for you.”

“What?” You lean back in your seat, sinking down while placing a hand on your head.

“What do you mean ‘what’? You knew this was a possibility the whole time! And I fucking let my guard down. You could have gotten hurt. Or worse…”

“No, I thought my father was just being stupidly overprotective as always!” The words spin in your head. It still hasn’t dawned on you. There’s no way you were actually being sought out as some sort of revenge for your father getting close to taking down a criminal.

“I don’t know how to tell you this delicately, but there are men out there willing to hurt you just to hurt your father.”

You’re speechless. You keep your head in your hands. You don’t know how to process this information. He says nothing else. Neither of you do the entire drive back to your home, other than him mumbling to himself that luckily you weren’t followed.

When you arrive home, you aren't even sure what to do with yourself. What can you do after you were attacked? Your body slumps to the door, right in the doorway, tears you've been fighting finally falling down your cheeks. Your body heaves in a sob, finally letting it all sink in. You were attacked. You could have been hurt, and there you were flirting and teasing him like nothing else mattered.

You were almost taken by dangerous men. You really did need protection. For so long, you've wanted to be independent and strong. For so long you thought you could live life on your own. Your father was right. You are just a sad, weak little girl.

You continue losing yourself until a strong arm wraps around your body to pick you up from the floor. He pulls you in without hesitation. Wraps your body up against him, carrying you to the bedroom. He sits on the bed, still holding you against him as you cry into his jacket.

"I'm sorry, flower," He whispers, stroking your hair. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to be as long as you're with me. I promise I'll be dead before anyone lays their hands on you. Trust me."

You do trust him. You believe every word. You feel it as if each syllable is wrapping gently around your heart to ease the pain. You want to feel embarrassed for breaking down in front of him. Normally you would, but you're so angry at yourself for not believing them in the first place. How could you be so naive? Not anymore. You won't put yourself in that position again.

"Will you… stay with me?" You ask, sniffling while pulling away from him. "Tonight? Please, I don't want to be alone."

His eyes scan your face for a moment. "I'd do anything for you."

Your chest swells. He really is so sweet. So kind. Caring. All the things you accused him of not being, he is. You want to stay with him not just now, but forever. You're not scared to admit it anymore. You're not scared at all as long as you have him.

"I need to take all this off. I feel gross." You both look down at your performance outfit and then you motion up to your makeup. You need to wash the night away. You don't care if it's stupid to feel this way. You need to get everything off. You can still feel a sting in the back of your hand where the man grabbed you.

He nods before you slip off his lap, then he follows you to the bathroom. At first he leans against the door frame with his arms folded, until you motion for him to get the zipper on the back of your dress. He does so delicately, zipping slowly down until your bare back is uncovered. You feel his gaze on you. You know he's taking it all in. Your heart races as warmth floods your body.

You don't know what's gotten into you, you just know you want him close. You need him now more than ever. You want to feel this safe all the time.

The dress falls to the floor, leaving you in thin, flimsy panties in black. You hear a sharp inhale from behind, feeling your insides shake from knowing how much of you he's seeing. Suddenly, his fingers are on your neck, gloved knuckles brushing over your flesh, down your back between your shoulders, but he stops when he gets to your pantyline.

"Will you sit here while I wash up?" you ask, but you know he will. You want him to feel needed, because you do need him. Your heart wants him just as much as your body.

"Of course, flower," he says, voice deep, dark, demanding of your body's attention.

"I love when you call me that," you admit. "I pretended to hate it, but it always gives me butterflies."

"I love calling you my little flower," He replies, a smile in the words. "I love calling you mine."

You turn around upon hearing that, giving him a full view of your exposed breasts, stomach, the little V between your legs. His gaze lowers, taking in every inch of your body you're willing to allow him to see.

You don't say anything, too surprised in his confession to speak. You only lower your panties to the ground, giving him another part of your body to soak in. He practically groans at the sight of you naked before him. Your nipples harden beneath his heavy gaze. Heat surges through you. Yet, you're not embarrassed or ashamed. You feel appreciated by his lonely eyes. He doesn't make a move on you, doesn't even mutter a word. Now you believe him when he said he would worship you. He's doing it with his eyes in the moment.

Finally, you turn from him to take your shower, letting it heat up a moment before you step past the glass door. He watches you the entire time, lathering up your body, washing your hair, allowing the water to drip down every inch of you into the drain. You feel his eyes focused the entire time, but it doesn't make you feel insecure. No man has ever looked at you the way he does. He has so much adoration in his eyes you feel like you'll burst. There's longing, passion, and need.

He has a towel ready for you as you step out, wrapping up your body in an instant. You appreciate the warmth he can offer, making you feel so safe in his arms. You dry yourself off with his help, letting the masked man take care of you.

You decide in the moment you don't care about anything else. You just want to be with him. You're falling in love, and there's no slowing down your heart. You don't want to try even if you could.

"Kiss me," you suddenly say, dropping the towel to the floor. "Please, you don't have to take the mask off completely. I know it's hard for you. Just… kiss me? Please?"

He stares down at you for a moment. The question sinks in. Your assurance about his own insecurities over exposing himself even more so. Then he pulls you close by one strong, tattooed arm behind your back. With ease he props you up on the bathroom sink before lifting the mask enough to show his mouth.

His lips find your own in seconds. The smooth, soft skin presses to your lips in a rush of need, desire, desperation. You melt into him in an instant, so entranced by this man you would do anything for him. You pull him closer by the collar of his jacket, wanting more, needing to deepen the kiss and receive all of him. Your tongues collide and moans fill the air. His body presses into you, feeling his hardened cock rub against your bare slit.

The feeling is electric. Warmth fills you from head to toe as he kisses you. Finally, you surrender to him, becoming weak before him, opening yourself up to him, giving him all of you.

He doesn't take the moment for granted. His mouth lowers from your lips to your neck, kissing every inch of flesh he can reach. You cry out for him not to stop, giving him access to every part of you he wants to kiss.

It doesn't take him long to drop to his knees. A gloved hand parts your thighs wide for him. He kisses your inner knee softly, trailing toward your pussy as you lean back to give him more access. You're on full display for him, hearing him groan from the sight of your awaiting folds needing his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, flower," He growls, placing both hands on the backs of your thighs to push your body back and hold you in place. "If I die right here, I'll still be the luckiest man in the world getting to worship this pretty cunt."

His words make you shiver. Never has a man spoken to you as such. Especially not one kneeling between your thighs. What he says goes straight to the pit of your stomach, swirling lower as the red hot heat of desire settles in.

"Please," you beg him, not an ounce of shame in your body as you reach for him, pulling him closer to where you need him most.

He urgently gives in to your every command, whimper, and plea, lowering his half-masked face until his tongue becomes buried between your folds. A gasp fills the bathroom as your fingers dig into the back of his head, feeling him slip his tongue down your slit, from your aching clit to your entrance dripping with need. He presses his mouth over the swollen bud, sucking lightly to have your head falling back, jaw going slack. Cries of his name spill from your lips in the process, overwhelmed within seconds of this man's pleasure you're receiving. You push against the hold he has on your thighs, but he's good at keeping you in place as you shiver around him.

He tends to your clit, massaging in delicate circles to have your walls tensing. “Oh—” Your voice is shaky, a long exhale following the word. “Oh my God…” You can’t help but you rock yourself against his motions. Your body comes alive due to his mouth against your flesh. Heat begins building in the pit of your stomach, pleasure coursing through your body.

He keeps his eyes on you from between your thighs. You look down in time to see his tongue lower to your entrance as he slips inside of you, tasting every last drop of arousal you offer him. You pull him closer, pressing your thighs against the sides of his face and his tongue delves deeper inside of you a moment before licking back up to your clit. The motion drives you wild. Your eyes screw shut. Head back. Gaping. He teases and sucks and licks until you’re trembling against his sturdy, strong palms pressing to your thighs.

“I’m… I’m getting… c-close…” You can’t help but to mutter. Your voice wavers with each syllable. Heat swarms between your thighs. The blissful coil tightens in the pit of your stomach.

“Come for me, flower,” he growls between your legs. “I want to taste it all.”

The words send you over the edge the moment his mouth is on you again. He massages your clit right as you begin barrelling over the edge of pleasure. Gasps and moans fill the bathroom, thighs squeezing around his head as you roll your hips against his motions. Shaking, you hold him close with a hand still pressed to his head, and he never lets up, using his tongue to extend the bliss all throughout your body until you can barely take anymore. Then he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your slit, tasting all of you just as he said.

Gently, you push him away with a heavy exhale. You can’t take anymore. Your entire body is trembling in the aftermath. He pulls his head away, looking up at you while licking his lips. Then he leans in to press a few kisses against the inside of your thigh, keeping his eyes on your own the entire time. As if he’s claiming your body belongs to him now. There’s no turning back, and you wouldn’t want to even if you could.

***

It doesn’t take long for your father to get word of what happened at the club.You expect him to appreciate the Lieutenant for getting you to safety without any harm to you. He saved your life while getting attacked by two men at the same time. He should be thanking him, but you instantly hear a cold, stern voice coming through the other line when he picks up his ringing phone. Your father begins to question what you were doing in such a large crowd in the first place, why you weren’t being supervised better when that was the Lieutenant’s mission.

It comes as a shock when you hear him ask why the Lieutenant has his hands on you in the back of the club. Your eyes grow wide. He says nothing to your father, only letting him rage through the phone. You trace your steps back to the previous night, knowing you were tipsy before you quickly sobered up when the attack happened. You only remember a few other people in the hallway with you… but you did see a flash go off.

Someone took a photo of the two of you while he was holding you, and it somehow got back to your father. Now he’s being reprimanded over the phone by the commander. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

When he hangs up the phone, he doesn’t look at you.

“What’s going on?” you ask, knowing it became quiet at the end of the conversation. “What did he say?”

He hesitates for a long moment, looking down at the floor as he hovers near the front door. His arms are crossed over his chest. He won’t look at you at all. That same defensive stance that used to drive you crazy has made its return.

“It’s not good, little flower,” he finally speaks. Your heart jumps. The last thing you wanted to do was get him in trouble. “I’ve been reassigned.”

“What?!” You jump up from your seat, rushing to him. “No… No! Reassigned to what? Who is going to protect me? It’s obvious I need it now more than ever.” Your heart races, chest so heavy it’s hard to breathe. You don’t want to be without him.

“Someone else will look after you.” His voice is quiet, defeated. He knows there’s nothing he can do. He can’t go against his commander. “They’re putting someone else on duty to take my place.”

“No!” You begin shaking your head, not accepting this news at all. There’s no way you can have anyone else. No one can protect you like he can. “No, there has to be something… I’ll call my father!”

“Not a good idea.” He still isn’t looking at you. You wonder how much shame would be in his eyes if he were to. “Your father saw us together at the club. I don’t know how it got back to him, but he saw us. He thinks I put your life in danger, and he’s right. I wasn’t focused on my mission. I can’t focus when I’m with you because all I want to do is touch you.”

The tears begin welling behind your lids as you listen to him. A lump forms in your throat, the breath nearly taken from your lungs as he speaks.

“So I’m back to being just a mission to you?”

He sighs, running a gloves hand over his face. “I don’t know what you expect me to say…” You can see his jaw clenching through the mask. “Two missions in a row I disobeyed orders. No one was supposed to touch you. Especially me.”

He confirms what you feared. You’re just another mission he’s failed.

“Don’t do this.” You gulp away the tears. You can’t be weak in front of him. You can’t let him break your heart like this. “You said you would never let anyone hurt me and you kept that promise. But right now? What you’re saying. You’re breaking my heart. After what happened…”

“It shouldn’t have happened!” His voice raises just enough for you to step back. Your eyes grow wide.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” Your voice is trembling. Your bottom lip quivers. It’s like you’ve been gutted with your heart ripped out all at once. Each breath you take feels like the last because you don’t know how he could say things he doesn’t mean. You know he doesn’t mean it. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

He laughs without any humor in his voice with a shake of his head. “Is that what you think?” His tone is suddenly harsh, bitter. “You’re naive if you think that. Being cold is how I survived for so long. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I should have never let my guard down last night. I should have never…”

His words fall. You know what he wants to say, even if he can’t bring himself to speak it. Your heart twists and shatters, the final nail in the coffin. He’s not just upset he’s being reassigned. He’s angry at himself for getting distracted, and he makes it clear being with you was a mistake.

He huffs and runs a hand over his face. “I should go. Someone will be here soon, you won’t be without protection for long.” He turns to leave, cold as ever.

You follow him, gathering up all the courage inside yourself. You don’t want him to leave. “You’ll regret this!”

He pauses at the door, hand already on the handle. He doesn’t look at you. Not even a glance over his shoulder. “I already do, flower.”

Then he’s gone.

***

Two men are sent to watch over you that night. Your father’s orders. Maybe he sent two this time so they could keep an eye on each other. It doesn’t matter either way. They don’t speak much, and you don’t care to get to know them.

You miss him already.

You can’t even believe you fought so much with him at the beginning, then ended up falling for him. It’s so quiet now. You don’t have him to keep you calm anymore, and everything in your home feels so different. Off.

You hate it.

Their protection doesn’t last long, however. When the men attacked you at the club, it gave your father’s team leads where to find their criminal leader. Their urge to get to you only drew your father closer to them, and eventually their organization was taken down in a huge raid. You no longer needed protection and they were assigned somewhere else, leaving you alone.

You’re thankful of that, at least. Now you can get back to your life. You wonder how, when all you can think about is him, however. You wonder if he’s hurting the same way, missing you just as much.

“Just call him, honey,” Marjorie tells you one day, but you shake your head at her.

“He made it clear he doesn’t want to see me.”

She looks heartbroken enough for you and drops the subject.

Time passes but it’s not any easier. Not when you feel so strongly for the soldier. Not when you know he made a mistake. You don’t care what anyone says. What his orders are. What people expect of either of you. You both deserve happiness, and you’ve never felt calm and happiness like when you were with him.

Your father calls eventually, telling you the team is throwing a celebration in his honor and he would love for you to come. A few reporters will be attending as well. He’s even getting an award from top officials for taking down such a large criminal organization. The thought makes you even more bitter.

You attend the party taking place in the large meeting room turned ballroom of headquarters, however, but only because you hope you will see the Lieutenant there. Your father, other Lieutenants and Sergeants, as well as the staff that worked in the background, are there with their partners when you show up that same night to congratulate the Commander. Everyone is mingling, a little tipsy already, and you feel so out of place. You don’t know any of your father’s colleagues. Well, except one. You don’t see him anywhere, even though you’ve been keeping an eye out all night.

Just when you think you’ve given up, you spot him near the back at the bar, listening to someone ramble drunkenly in his ear. It doesn’t look like he’s even paying much attention. His eyes are on you. He spotted you first in the crowd, and when your gaze meets his own, your heart skips a beat.

Of course he’s wearing the mask. Even if it’s a formal celebration, he still hides from everyone here. You can’t look away from his stare. It’s like he’s inviting you in, but you remember his words. He doesn’t want to be with you.

Fuck that, you think. Yes he does. You make a move to go to him, but he’s standing to make his way out of the room. You quickly follow. You can’t let him get away so easily. Leaving the ballroom, you see him making a right into a long hallway. Carefully, considering you’re wearing heels, you chase after him as quickly as possible.

He’s about to enter a closed door when you call after him. He freezes for a moment, as if contemplating if he wants to turn around, then he proceeds through the door. As you walk closer, you see his name on a plaque outside, noting this must be his office. You don’t even knock before making your way inside.

His back is to you when you enter. The room is dark. Moonlight shines through two of the frosted over windows, illuminating the space just enough for you to see the outline of his face, his hair, and jaw. He’s not wearing his mask. He says nothing, and you’re nearly too out of breath from trying to keep up with him in heels. Instead, he reaches for a clear bottle of dark liquor, spinning the top before pouring a shot’s worth into a whiskey glass that was already laid out.

“Having fun at the party, flower?”

He still calls you that. Your heart leaps.

“No,” you tell him honestly. How could you when all you’ve been thinking about is how heartbroken you are.

He downs the drink in one go. “Oh? Maybe you should head home.” You know he wants the words to sound more bitter than he is. His voice is broken. Tired. Lonely. He does miss you. And this is clearly not his first drink of the night.

“I wanted to see you.” The words release in a tremble. You don’t want to be rejected again, but you know you have to try. “I… miss you. I tried so hard to be angry at you for leaving me, but honestly I just miss you. I wish I was angry, because it wouldn’t hurt as much as what you’re doing now.”

“You shouldn’t,” he replies sharply. “Waste of time to waste all that love you have inside of you on me. Don’t do it.”

“Don’t say that!” You step to him, bravely placing a hand on his shoulder from behind. He still won’t look at you. “I know you said you had to be cold to survive, but not with me. Don’t do that to me. You don’t have to find a method to survive with me when you can just live.”

He is silent for a moment. A long breath spills from his lips.

You continue, needing to get everything out that you’ve been feeling since he left. “You told me no one would ever hurt me, but you’re doing it now by trying to hide how you feel.”

“How can I possibly feel anything for you?” he snaps, catching you by surprise. You jerk your hand resting on his shoulder toward you. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” You gulp, trying not to cry once again.

“Don’t make me do this.” He pours another shot and downs it. “There’s no way we can be together. I don’t know what you expected, but people like me don’t know love like you do. I have a job to do. A dangerous one. I’m too fucked up and you’re not strong enough to deal with being with someone like me. And you’re the Commander’s daughter. You think that’s going to go over well with everyone?”

“I don’t give a fuck about everyone!” Now you’re the one snapping at him. His head jerks up, looking at you over his shoulder. You can make out the outline of his face in the moonlight. Even if he’s hurting you, you can’t help but to want to reach out and touch him. “If you’re scared then just say that, but don’t make this out to be like we’re not good enough for one another because I know you care deeply for me. After what we shared…”

“What? I made you come,” he interrupts, nonchalant and dismissive. “That’s all. I wonder what daddy Commander would think if he knew I ate your sweet little pussy. I bet I’d have a bullet in my head right now.”

“Fuck you!” You reach for him out of rage and hurt, pushing against his back, but he doesn’t even budge. You’re done listening to him. This is clearly not him when he’s like this, and you won’t let him disrespect you as if you didn’t share secrets you never told anyone else. “You know it was much more than that. You really are fucked up!”

You don’t mean the words as you turn on your heel to leave. You only want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. Just like when you first met. Just when you reach the door handle, you feel his arms wrap around your body, not even realizing he was making a move toward you. Your back presses to this chest as he holds you in place.

“Don’t fucking say that to me,” he growls in your ear. “You don’t want to go there with me, little flower, trust me.” His words are meant to be threatening, but you feel the pain within them. The anger isn’t directed at you, but the life he’s had to live.

“Stop calling me that and just tell me what’s wrong. Why are you being like this?” You don’t struggle to break free from his hold. You hate how much you’ve missed it. You wish you could be angry at him, but it feels too good to your body to feel his strong arms wrapped around you. There’s no use in fighting it.

“I don’t know what you expected, sweetheart. What? To fall in love and live happily ever after? With a fucked up special ops soldier like me? Always gone. Not knowing if I’ll come back alive or in a coffin.” His words twist around your heart, squeezing until you can hardly breathe. His voice is like ice in your ear. A shiver races down your spine.

“So you would rather be cold to me and not even try because you’re scared of getting hurt? Is that it?” You spit back. You’re not backing down from this fight. “You blame me and not being able to handle being with you, but it’s not me. You’re scared to open yourself up to me, still, even after what we shared. You’re scared of a future that hasn’t even happened yet, you won’t even try for a future we actually want. You’re scared of what everyone thinks, but not what the person that loves you thinks?”

His grip on your loosens just a bit. You’ve taken him by surprise. It’s clear he didn’t expect you to admit you love him, but you do. You’re in love with him, and you love him so much you’re willing to fight for him. Unlike everyone else in his past, you want him there, and you’ll die trying before letting him go so easily.

He sighs, dropping his head. His voice is trembling. Suddenly, you feel warm drops of salty tears hitting your shoulder. He’s crying. For you.

“I’m fucked up, flower.” His voice is cracked and broken. Your heart aches just hearing it. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his confession. His body relaxes behind you, his hands rubbing along your lower stomach, still holding you close. You melt into his touch, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, but you need him to release himself to you. Free himself of this burden that’s been weighing on him to make him feel so trapped in his own hurt.

“I don’t want to be cold to you,” he admits, exhaling slowly. “God, you’re the warmest thing I’ve ever had in my life. You melt my ice cold heart. That’s why I don’t feel good enough for you. I don’t want to dim your light with my darkness.

“Oh…” You sigh, turning around with warning. He falls to his knees in front of you. His face becomes buried in the silk of your dress, tears soaking into the material with his hands on your hips. For the first time, you run your fingers through his hair.

“I’ve never opened myself up to anyone. Not since childhood.. I don’t even know how, I think,” he continues, words muffled here and there from how close he is to you. He’s never gone into detail about his past, but you don’t want to imagine the horrors he’s seen to make him so shielded. “I’ve never wanted to show myself to anyone until I met you. I’ve never felt for anyone like I do you.”

You allow his words to sink in, feeling the big soldier surrender to you on his knees. “I want to see all of you,” you reply in a whisper. “I want you to be open with me. And I… well, I won’t let anyone hurt you, either. I promise.”

Upon hearing your words, he finally looks up at you to meet your eyes. For the first time, he shows you his face. He shows you all of him. You take it all in, studying the shape of his eyes, his nose, his lips. The curve of his jaw and even his hair. All the way down to his neck, you take in every inch and burn it to your memory.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he confesses. “I’m so sorry, I never want to hurt you again. I never want to be so cruel to you. What we shared allowed me to do this now. Showing myself to you. It was important to me, and if you never want to see me again, I get it, but I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, flower.”

You can’t help the tears that hit your cheek. “I want you, Lieutenant,” you tell him, and in your next breath, you say, “I love you. Don’t ever hide yourself again, okay?”

He blinks a few times, those once lonely eyes filling with so much love for you. He says the words in return, staring up at you until he’s sure you forgive him. Then he stands, wrapping arms around you to pull you close and lift your body to guide you to his desk. He places you on top before his lips come down to meet your own. Taking you in a gentle kiss, you moan against his skin, feeling his body press between your legs. His hands wander anywhere he can reach, savoring you with his touch while his tongue slips against your own.

“What if—” you begin, breathless, whispering as his kisses fall to your neck, “—someone catches us in here?”

“Don’t care,” he growls. “I’ve missed you too fucking much. I want to show you how much I love you, flower.”

Your body shivers. Goosebumps flood your skin. You’re already so worked up, emotionally and physically. Your head is in a whirlwind of feelings while your body goes right back to craving him. Especially when he touches you as he does. His palms caressing your sides before dropping your thighs. Skin on skin makes you finally realize he’s not wearing his gloves. Heat floods you from the contact.

“Touch me,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around his head when he looks at you.

“Tell me where.”

“Here.” You take his hand, touching his skin for the first time as you guide his fingers between your thighs. He presses against your clothed slit, sending another pulse of warmth through your body. God, you’ve missed him. “Please…” you beg him, and he chuckles, kissing you again.

“You never have to beg me,” he teases, slipping your panties to one side to feel your pussy against his skin, “I’m so weak for you, flower, I’d do anything you asked.”

“Oh…” Your breath waivers. Body already trembling by the time he sinks a finger inside you, slowly, driving you wild. Then he adds another, burying the digits deep before pulling them away.

“So wet for me, already,” he says. “Remember when I said I would worship you? Remember when I made it clear there would be no doubt you were mine?”

How could you forget? You remember that night pinned to your bed. His big body on top of you. You were so mad at him you wanted to fight him. “Yes,” you exhale.

“You’re mine, flower,” he growls against your ear, pumping his fingers inside of you, curling them to make you quiver. Your thighs tighten around his hand as he begins massaging the spot that makes your toes curl in your heels. “Every inch of this beautiful body is mine for me to do as I wish. I want to worship every part of you until you can no longer stand.”

Your head spins at his words and the way he’s fucking you with his fingers. Arousal drips to coat his flesh as the warmth swells from between your legs. You whimper his name while running your hands over his shoulders, trying to hold on to the last bit of your sanity. He drives you wild and all you can think of doing is giving in to him, giving all to him.

“Look at me,” he demands, running the fingers of his free hand along the base of your neck until he grabs a fistful of your hair. You meet his eyes in a gasp, not daring to look away from him for a second. His thumb rises to reach your clit, applying pressure to send you closer to the edge. Your chest heaves as the whimpers and cries spill out for him, so lost in his pleasure you don’t care about anyone or anything. “Just imagine when I fill you up with my cock, right here, flower. I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

You’re shaking against him, squeezing your thighs around him, face twisting in bliss. Your mouth remains open, every word a call of his name, a plea to continue, not to stop. You’re getting so close, but you try to push away your end because you don’t want the moment to be over with so quickly. You don’t care about the risk of getting caught. You don’t care about others finding out. You want to live in this moment, with his sinful tongue drawing out the delicious noises you’re making along with his fingers buried deep in your pussy.

“So… so close…” Your hips move with his motions. One hand falls to grip his wrist.

“Come for me,” he commands, “let me feel it, little flower.”

There’s no stopping the pleasure now. It builds with the anticipation of a hungry animal and crashes down around you like dangerous waves. Heat courses through you from between your thighs, the coil of pressure finally snapping to send your body into absolute bliss. You cry out one last time, sinking into his body as you ride out the pleasure against his hand. He holds you close, pulling your body to him and dropping his mouth to your lips. He kisses you through it all, taking it all in as you come undone around him, giving him the chance to show you what you mean to him.

Heavy breaths fill his office for a moment. He kisses you all over. Your lips. Your cheek. Your jaw and neck. He brings you back down just as gently, taking care of you like he promised he would. You’re completely spent. Exhausted from the fighting, worn out from his pleasure. But now there’s peace in your heart. There’s no more fighting, or longing, or hiding how you feel. You’re his, and he’s yours.

A sudden knock on the Lieutenant’s door brings the two of you back to reality in an instant. Before the door can be opened, you slip off the desk to straighten out your dress. He reaches for his mask you didn’t realize was laying right beside you behind the liquor bottle, tugging it over his head. His name is called from the other side a second before the door opens.

“The commander’s looking for you, Lieutenant,” the male voice says. You turn your back from the door, not wanting to be spotted by anyone alone in his office. “And his daughter. Have you seen… Oh!”

Clearly, the guy spotted you and him awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. You peek over your shoulder, realizing it’s just a Sergeant from your father’s team.

“We’ll be there soon, Serg.”

The Sergeant nods, looks between the two of you, then grins. “I’ll let ‘em know, Lt.”

When he leaves, you exhale a heavy breath. “Are you ready to do this?" You know once you walk out that door and return to the party with him, there's no hiding anything between the two of you. You have no choice, really, considering you both have been missing for a while. At least with an audience, your father can't kill you both.

He turns to you, giving you a quick, yet hesitant nod. "As long as you're right there with me." He grabs your hand and together you make your entrance.

Turns out, with an audience and being high off of the congratulations and awards for his bravery, your father isn't too upset. Not even shocked, really, when the two of you return after being gone. You tell him you'll talk later, explain everything, and that's good enough for him.

When he calls you the following day, he apologizes for being too hard on you. He also admits his work gets him so distracted from life, he can't think straight, clearly. When he's deep in a case, he sees nothing else but how to achieve a victory. He explains he overreacted when he found out about you and the Lieutenant at first. After all, your father trusts him, and knows he did everything right in protecting you. If that's someone you want in your life, then who is he to stop you from having your own happiness.

After the phone call, you're shocked to say the least. You feel like you don't even know the man you just spoke to. Maybe his work really does turn him into a cold-hearted soldier, but you're getting used to that fact now. He's still your father, and you know in the end, he only wants you to be safe and happy.

He still gives a stern warning to the Lieutenant when they see each other again. The commander promises if his daughter's heart is broken, there will be hell to pay. The Lieutenant is fine with the promises, realizing he got off much easier than expected. Now he sees he doesn't always have to refuse himself of what he wants, especially when it comes to loving you.

After meeting with your father, he makes his way to you in a hurry considering there’s still so much he has to make up for. You open your door to a bouquet of flowers, and the thought makes you giggle because you just can’t imagine him walking in and purchasing them.

“Is this your kind of humor?” you ask, thinking of the nickname you’ve grown to love.

“Flowers for my flower,” he says, peeking his head around the pink tulips in his hand. You take your gift and allow him inside, quickly finding a vase for them to put them on display in your living room before the two of you take a seat on your couch.

“How sweet.”

“And charming and kind?” he teases by asking, recalling your previous conversations at your label’s office building. You love that he can find a way to lighten the mood and make your past fights seem funny and ridiculous.

“Yes, that, too,” you tell him. Without hesitation, he pulls the mask from his face, laying it to the side. Your chest blossoms with warmth. You also love that he’s grown so comfortable with you. You can’t imagine having to hide yourself for most of your life just as a way to protect your heart. You feel so fortunate he trusts you. He’s still wearing his work uniform, but now there’s less weapons hidden here and there. You imagine he still has at least a knife sheathed somewhere on him. It wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. “How did it go today?”

“I think he wanted to be angry at me at first,” he says, recalling the meeting he had with your father as you scoot closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He instantly wraps an arm around you. You feel so warm in his embrace. The guy radiates heat, it’s hard not to feel so cozy. “Then he explained to me there’s nothing more important to him than your safety and happiness. As long as I can promise you’ll have that, he’s okay with it. I’m not being fired, or worse.”

You have to give your father credit for being reasonable.

“Well, I have that now,” you tell him, lifting your head to press your lips against his cheek. “Though, I was promised a certain thing you haven’t fulfilled, yet.”

He smirks. “What’s that?”

“Well,” you sigh, “you did say there would be a lot of worshiping and groveling and proving I’m yours.”

“Groveling?” He chuckles. “I said that?”

“In my head you did.” He laughs harder at your answer. “Also, you said you would ‘wreck me’ if I remember correctly. And you would do anything I asked, because you’re desperately in love with me.” You’re grinning as you tease him, but his expression falls. His gaze softens, eyes lowering and smile dropping from his face.

“Are you asking me, flower?” His eyes meet yours, tone suddenly darker, suddenly raspy and needy. “Are you asking me to wreck you?” His smirk returns.

You lean closer, a grin on your lips as you whisper in his ear. “I’m begging, Lieutenant.”

Without warning, he reaches to pull you into his lap. Your legs straddle his thighs as you sit on him, arms wrapping around his neck while his hands grip your ass. Not giving him another chance to speak, your lips crash into his mouth. You kiss him desperately as if you’re making up for the time spent apart. As your tongue caresses over his once slipping past his lips, his fingers pluck at the bottom of your shirt. It takes you a few seconds to register the feeling, but you quickly pull away once you do to remove the tee, along with your bra, leaving your bare breasts on display for him.

“Beautiful,” is all he says, reaching a gloved hand to caress your tits and making a moan escape your lips in the process. The feeling of the fabric against your hardened nipples makes you shiver. It’s enticing to watch him play with you in such ways, you allow him to thumb the aching bud before squeezing your breast in his hand.

“Feels so good,” you whisper to him, eyes closing. “I want you to touch me everywhere like that.” You know he realizes you mean with the gloves on when you hear a deep grunt from his chest.

“I plan to,” he informs you, both hands now caressing down your ribcage, to your hips to pull you closer. His mouth is instantly on your body, tongue easing over one nipple before kissing it gently, then doing the same to the other. You can’t help but to moan his name. He sucks on your flesh, taking his time to worship this moment and your body all the same. He kisses, licks, and sucks on your skin until the room starts spinning. You’re so worked up, feeling arousal soak into your panties as you roll your hips against him. You feel his hardened cock between your thighs when you do so, the friction making him groan against your skin.

“I want to feel you too,” you tell him, snapping back to reality and reaching for his thin, black t-shirt. He assists you in slipping it over his head, giving you a view of his chest for the first time. Running your hands down his body, you feel his skin against your own. He’s so warm to the touch, so hard, so manly. Your insides burn with desire.

“I want you,” you whisper while leaning closer, lips just barely touching his own. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

A darkness casts over his eyes at your request, but you’re already working the belt to his pants. Then the button and zipper. He’s nearly bulging out of his boxer-briefs, and he helps you shove the clothing down his hips until a thick, hard and needy cock is on display for you to play with. He’s so much bigger than you were prepared for, but he feels so good against your skin when you take him in your hand. A deep groan builds in his chest from the contact.

“Be gentle with me, flower,” he warns, eyes lidded and his expression twisted with need. His voice is breathier than before. He’s already so worked up. “It’s so easy for someone like me to lose myself in someone like you.” You know his warning isn’t about being physical. You assume he hasn’t been intimate with many people in his life, especially when he’s so guarded. His words fall on your ears like a desperate plea to not toy with his emotions, but how could you when you’re so dangerously in love with him?

Without another word you drop to your knees before him. Your hand grips him at the base of his cock as your mouth draws near. You give him a gentle lick across the tip before kissing his skin. His body tenses in response, so you do it again. How is this big soldier so weak beneath your gaze right now? You have him under your spell as you take him in your mouth, stretching around him so it will fit.

He sucks in a breath and then growls his exhale, reaching for your hair to take in a fistful in his hand. You pump your hand a few times while playfully sucking on the tip just to see his reaction. His hips thrust softly, sending nearly another inch into your mouth.

“Fuck me, flower,” he groans, never taking his eyes off you. “Your mouth feels too fucking good.”

Warmth floods your body from the praise. You want to keep pleasing him. You decide it’s what he deserves and you love seeing him come apart from the bliss. You take him farther into your mouth, sucking him off to hear the groans and grunts he releases. Your hand plays with the shaft, taking care of everything that won’t fit in your mouth. He begins to slowly move his hips, fucking himself into your mouth just like you wanted. His grip on your hair tightens. He’s beginning to lose control.

Then you pull back to run your tongue along the base of his cock all the way to this tip. The motion is painfully slow, teasing him while making the moment last. His jaw clenches at the sight of you on your knees before him, wrapping your lips around his thick, needy cock once again to take as much as you can.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl,” he growls as he thrusts himself back into your mouth. “Take more of it, baby.”

The new affectionate nickname along with his praise has your panties soaked. You take more of him past your lips, eyes beginning to water as the breath catches in your throat. He continues to thrust in and out while you take it, body so hot and worked up you’re dying to feel it in your pussy, too. You squeeze your thighs together as you suck him off, allowing him to use your mouth as he wishes as he pushes your head lower.

“You like my cock in your mouth like this, flower?” he asks, the words released through clenched teeth. His voice is so shaky, so desperate that it fuels your desire even further. All you can do is moan in return as he hits the back of your throat. “Just wait until it’s in that pretty little cunt of yours, baby. I’m going to fuckin’ fill you up.”

You’re shivering as you listen to him speak, keeping your eyes on his face the entire time. He’s so lost in the moment, face twisted in pleasure, head falling back with deep groans filling his throat. His chest tightens along with the muscles of his stomach, strong arms flexing as he brings your head down, then back up.

But he knows he won’t last much longer with your lips around his cock. He gently pulls you away from him with a heavy sigh, taking in the sight of you with tears welling in your eyelids, lips swollen, and gasping for breath. Then he pulls you closer, making quick work of the jean shorts and panties you wear, slipping them to your ankles a second before he’s guiding your back to the couch. He’s between your thighs a moment later.

“Please,” you beg, pulling him close while raising your hips so your soaked slit meets his cock, still wet and messing from being in your mouth. “I need you.” You’re breathless as he pushes his pants lower, getting a better position between your legs before you feel the tip of his length press over your swollen clit.

“I told you,” he begins, lowering his cock to your entrance as he guides himself with a gloved hand, “you never have to beg me.” You feel the pressure of him beginning to enter you, his thick tip slipping between your folds as it stretches your pussy open.

“Fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. He freezes with heavy breaths spilling from his lips, but your grasp moves down his chest to his hips to pull him in. “Don’t stop,” you tell him with desperation. He continues easing inside of you, groaning when he feels you tightening around him. You screw your eyes shut as you adjust to his size, becoming so full of his cock in seconds. Your breaths deepen, listening to him groan as your warmth wraps around him.

“Tell me, flower,” he struggles to say between his teeth, “tell me to keep going. Tell me you want it.”

He’s so deep inside of you, your thighs are already shaking around him. You pull your knees closer to your chest, allowing him room to ground out inside of you, earning whimpers of his name, little pleas and cries to follow.

“Yes,” you tell him in a shaky tone, needing more of him, “I want it. I want you.”

He begins to move his hips, pulling out then pushing back in. He starts slow at first, feeling you quiver beneath him, listening to the breathy little noises you make. He loves it all. Loves watching you unfold in front of him.

“Feels so good,” he groans. “So perfect, and all for me.”

He snaps his hips into you, making you gasp before a moan fills the air. You scratch his sides, leaving marks along his skin as he does so, but it only makes him go wild. He grabs your wrists, quickly pinning them above your head before continuing to bury himself inside of your pussy.

“Remember the first time we were like this, flower?” His pace quickens, pushing his weight into your body to hit you deep within your walls. So deep you feel the pressure through your entire body, rolling your hips to meet the motions in return as you become greedy for pleasure. “When I had you like this on your bed? The way I wanted to fuck you right then and there was almost too much to bear. I was so fucking hard feeling you beneath me.”

His words send a surge of heat through your entire body. Goosebumps flood your skin, too breathless to even speak, but he’s getting off on it. He goes even faster, fucking you until you’re speechless. Every snap of his hips draws out another cry of his name, another plea to keep going. You’re dripping all over his cock and the way he fucks you, he deserves every drop. It’s almost too much to take, becoming overwhelmed from the pleasure, the way he speaks to you, how he keeps your hands above your head. He has complete control of your body, savoring the way it feels deep inside of your cunt.

You feel the pressure building, the bliss swirling between your thighs. His groans fill the air, mixing with your cries of pleasure. Neither of you will last much longer like this. You want one another too badly, your body has been craving his own it nearly hurts.

“Touch me,” you whimper, feeling him slow his pace into deep, long strokes of his cock within you. “So… close…”

In an instant, he releases his grip on you to take you by the hips. He urges your body to flip over before pulling you close from behind. Now your knees dig into cushions while he thrusts himself into you from behind. A gasp spills from your lips just as he wraps an arm around your body, bringing you closer while the other hand slips between your thighs. His fingers find your clit, feeling the material of the gloves against your skin to send your body into overload.

“Like this, baby?” he groans from behind, his mouth right next to your ear. You feel his heavy breaths against your neck. “Want me to wreck this pussy just like this?”

He buries himself into you from behind while tending to your clit. Your mind goes numb, his pace quick, yet he’s still deep inside of you. His ruthless thrusts from behind have the tears welling in your eyes once again. You’re shaking in his arms as he holds you up, heat filling every inch of your body until you begin to lose all control.

The bliss spills over without warning. All you can do is cry out as the waves of pleasure wash over your body, taking hold of every emotion while he continues fucking you from behind. He caresses your clit, the material of his gloves soaked in your juices just the same as his cock. You’re shivering from being overwhelmed with pleasure, walls tightening around him to make him groan and curse behind you.

Feeling you reach your own end has him losing all control. You’re so wet and messy, it feels too good to him as his head falls back and he groans praises. His grip on your body tightens before he spills inside of you, filling you up with his cum just as his pace begins to slow. Heavy breaths are shared in the pleasure to mix with moans and groans and curses. His cock twitches inside of you as you begin to come down, giving you every last drop of his release.

When the both of you finally collapse against the couch, you end up resting against his chest. One leg thrown over his. An arm around your body. You hear his quick heartbeat against your ear and he feels the softness of your skin as he holds you.

“I want you to know how much I love this,” you tell him breathlessly. Your eyes close, savoring the feel of being so safe and cozy. You can’t help but to think how far the two of you have come. You never imagined falling in love, but now you can’t imagine yourself any other way. Your heart swells for this man. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

He chuckles. “It’s real, little flower.” He lifts his head and you do the same, softly kissing one another to cherish the feeling.

You’re his now. The ghost and the flower. One so hidden from the world, the other almost too delicate to touch. Except when you’re together, he can be free from the burden of a painful past, and you get to prove just how strong you are. A match made in heaven.

579 notes · View notes

half-oz-eddie · 8 months

Text

Steve hated ordering food. He had terrible ordering anxiety. Thank god for DoorDash, kiosks and other various apps the overwhelming world of technology offered, that no longer forced him to talk to complete strangers. He’d been taking speech therapy for months because he mumbled and had trouble enunciating his words. He was terribly insecure about speaking in public. His therapist said he was making progress, though.

Recently, a small coffee shop opened up near his house, likely mom and pop owned. It was never crowded, the staff was a small handful of people—two guys and three girls.

Steve wanted to sit in this quaint coffee shop and read his favorite magazine (a physical copy, of course.) Ebooks took away the stimulating pleasure of page flipping, so Steve had to go out and get a copy on the 5th of every month.

With his magazine in hand, he stood outside of the coffee shop, staring at the specials in the window, then scrolling through his phone, searching for the option to order online.

…There wasn’t one.

“Oh man.” Steve sighed to himself. He really really wanted to go inside. He rocked back and forth, humming and tapping his thumb on the side of his phone…contemplating.

It wouldn’t be that hard, right? Just go inside, order a…well nothing too complicated. Maybe a cookie Frappuccino? Simple enough. Sounded tasty. He loved cookies. They were his comfort snack.

He took a deep breath, told himself to be brave, walked inside and took a look around. It wasn’t too bright, the music wasn’t too loud. It was quiet and ambient. Nothing to trigger sensory overload like the other coffee shops. This was nice.

“Hey, can I help you?”

Steve turned his attention to the barista, following his warm, welcoming voice. His eyes were so blue, he observed, before pointedly looking away.

“Uh…can I get a…medium cookie Frappuccino?”

“Name?”

“Steve.”

“You got it.”

Steve fixated on his magazine, waiting for his order.

“Here ya go.”

Steve grabbed the cup, a disappointed frown forming on his face when he read the name on the cup.

Who the hell was “Stan”?

The barista smirked at him, and he forced a smile in return, before finding a table in the back of the coffee shop.

Maybe his speech therapy wasn’t working. Maybe the barista misheard his name because he’s still mumbling.

Maybe he was just nervous.

The Frappuccino was delicious. He planned to try again tomorrow.

The next day was the same. His name was written incorrectly on the cup again!

This time, the barista wrote “Steele”

‘God, I’m such an idiot. Why can’t I say my name right?!’

The third times a charm, hopefully…

Steve went home and practiced saying his name loud and clearly.

“Steve. Steeeve. My name is Steve.”

He recorded himself saying his name and played it back.

It sounded nice and clear to him. He even called his friend Robin who told him he sounded very clear, then wished him good luck.

The big day arrived. This time, he’d make sure the barista heard him clearly.

“Hi!” He greeted in a slightly raised voice, then glanced at the barista’s name tag. “Billy!”

“Hey…want your usual again?”

“Yes!”

“Ookay…”

“Steve. My name is Steve.”

“I know your name, Steve. Why are you talking so loud?” The barista narrowed his blue eyes.

“Because you kept…writing the wrong name on my cup. I thought I was mumbling. I do that. A lot. Bad habit.”

“No—I heard you. I was just teasing you because I think you’re cute. Thought you’d give me shit for it, maybe correct me and then I could comeback with something sly and give you my number. Had it all planned out in my head but you’d just take your cup and sit down. I figured you weren’t interested.” He shrugged.

Steve furrowed his brows, then laughed. “I had no idea what you were doing. I just thought you couldn’t hear me.”

“Sorry about that. I could hear you. And…I’d like to hear you more often. Maybe we can exchange numbers?”

“I’m really not that good with phone calls. Do you like texting?”

Billy shook his head. “I’m not good with texts. Can’t really pick up on tone that well. I suck at it.”

“But…what if I mumble or-or flub my words a lot? Or ramble?” Steve asked worriedly.

“Steve, you’re so cute, I could listen to you say a whole lot of nothing for hours. Plus, I’m a great listener.” He leaned forward on the counter, making Steve’s heart race when Billy’s hand briefly brushed against his. “And I could hear a pin drop. Just gimme a chance?”

Steve nodded with a wide grin. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Billy was elated.

“Yeah.”

“Still want that frap?”

“I do. It’s really good.”

“Whose name should I write on the cup? Sterling?” Billy teased.

“Stop it!” Steve laughed, relieved to know it was a joke, and not his own fault.

“Hey, can I join you? I’m about to take a break.”

“Sure. I like to sit here and read magazines. I have an extra car magazine if you’re interested.“

“You kidding?” Billy smirked. “I fucking love cars. I’ll be right with you.”

Steve sat at his usual table, excitedly rubbing his hands together.

Turns out, that speech therapy worked a lot better than he thought.

#autistic harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fanfiction #ivy.doc #caliscoops.doc

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s0lam33y · 8 months

Text

Chapter 2: Time + Place

summary: Thanks to Riri, You get to work with Dr. Udaku for a day, briefly but the moment you share with her is enough for her to linger in your brain all day long. Riri reaps some benefits too.

A/n: I wanted to get to this sooner but I’ve been very sick lmao, but I’m feeling better so I decided to get back in the studio.

8:22 PM

“Yo, Y/N, I think this Jane Doe got a cyst…during the biopsy, Udaku said some shit about the tissue being tender to the touch- Girl are you paying attention?” Riri questions as you snap back to reality.

You have no reason to really be zoned out since you’re both at home. You find a scowl on her face before speaking.

“Yeah, I Heard you,” You grin, earning a smack to your arm.

You don’t know what was in the air last week but Dr. Udaku was somehow more attractive than she’s ever been. Riri was right there with you too but the surgeon’s niceness wasn’t passed around to her.

That may be a lie, you just might be creating this in your mind. She was stern still, but cracking jokes that you thought were funny. Her sternness can be humorous. Riri thought you were tryna kiss-ass but she didn’t say anything. She also knows that the neurosurgeon is definitely your type so whether Dr. Udaku was nice to you or not, she’s already got you in a chokehold.

“We know she’s fine, now can we finish this case up?” Riri asks, taking a bite out of the toast in her hand. CT scans and X-rays as well as reports are sprawled on the coffee table in front of you. This case isn’t hard by any means but the honor of being asked to be on a case by one of the best neurosurgeons there makes you think you’re looking at the president’s brain.

You glance at Riri who’s sitting with her legs spread and elbows on her knees. She’s thinking hard and the messy notepad on her lap speaks volumes.

This case feels like homework to Riri, she’s already decided on her department unlike a lot of your counterparts and you. No one ever decides on a department till the third year of residency. But Riri already knows she wants to do trauma.

You finally take a glance at all the reports. She’s a 30-year-old woman with some sort of cysts. She’s having constant seizures and it’s nothing either of you have ever heard of. Her X-rays show that she has small cysts.

“We should run a spinal tap tomorrow and talk to Dr. Udaku about it,” Riri suggests, every time you hear her name, it makes you want to sigh but you hold back because at the moment Riri’s drilling holes through you with her eyes.

You look at the CT scan and notice a small white spot in all the little cysts. The realization makes you want to throw up.

“Riri.” You call, forcing her to sit up.

“What, Y/N, I swear if it’s about Dr-“ She starts up.

“No, no, look at this.” You insist and she looks just as close as you do. You hold up the two different scans, one is from the evening and the other from the morning on the same day.

The small white dots moved but stayed in the same black holes.

“What am I looking at? Are those fucking parasites?” Riri asks, looking like she’s about to hurl. You check your phone for the name of the condition. Multiple options pop up and you need to narrow it down.

“What was the last thing she ate? Or the area she visited?” You ask Riri as she scans through the papers.

“She’s native to the States and Pork is most likely in her diet, she never mentioned any sort of restrictions when we asked what she’d like to eat, Maybe it’s Neurocysticercosis.” Riri guesses, recalling the conversation she had with the patient yesterday.

You find the name of her condition.

Neurocysticercosis.

infection of the central nervous system and is caused by the pork tapeworm Taenia solium.

“She has Neurocysticercosis.”

“At least we know…but that shit is…just damn,” Riri says and it makes you laugh. She looks uneasy as she closes up the file. Her face twists in disgust almost and you can already tell that she’s picturing it all. It’s gross yes, But you’re barely phased by it.

You watch her get up and rush to the bathroom down the hall. She would be just as crazy as you if Dr. Udaku had looked at you the way she did. Okay, maybe you are actually going a little far. You couldn’t see her lips below the mask but you swear you heard a little laugh escape her mouth.

“Riri, am I crazy?” You wonder as Riri returns while rubbing her stomach. She knows exactly who you’re thinking of.

“Yes, Y/N.”

You toss the notepad next to you at her.

…

9:40 AM

“Neurocysticercosis.” Dr. Udaku's voice gently floats in the air. You don’t know why she isn’t in her scrubs but you aren’t complaining. You and Riri stand in front of her, sweat coating your skin as her eyes skim your files. Her face softens, all the tension in between her brows and along her cheeks, smooth out.

Her office is nice with black and grey decor spread throughout with oak wood accents. Behind her is a huge window that gives her a view of the first floor of the hospital and next to her is a shelf full of all her awards.

Her office is clean and pristine. She’s in a good mood this morning and the fresh smell of coffee fills your nostrils as she raises the cup to her lips.

She’s dressed in purple silk that looks gorgeous on her skin. You’ve been trying not to gawk at the skin of her chest and the gold chains highlighted on it. She stretches briefly, leaning her neck back and you notice the small smirk on Riri’s throat when you swallow a lump in your throat.

“I think you may be correct. Who came to the diagnosis? I’m impressed.” She questions while leaning back in her chair, she stands up from the seat behind her desk.

She raises an eyebrow as she waits for an answer.

“I don’t have all day. I have places to be.”

You’re about to give Riri her well-earned credit before she speaks.

“Y/N did, On her own,” Riri speaks up. You control your facial expression and you notice the smirk on Udaku’s face.

“Well then, Y/N. You’re scrubbing in with me on this case… Dr. Williams-”

“I know I’m in no place to make requests but please put me in the trauma bay.”

“I’ve never heard of an intern volunteering to be in there,” Dr. Udaku sighs but either way she stands in all her glory, black pants smoothing down her legs and heels increasing her height as if she isn’t intimidating enough.

“Sure, Williams. Don’t screw up. Go now. Tell Vision, I sent you there.” She orders and Riri leaves at the speed of light.

Dr. Udaku leans back on her desk and pulls up the sleeves of her silk shirt, revealing black intricate tattoos. You had been able to catch more of it in her navy scrubs and now you wish she were in them.

“When are you going to fix that staring problem, mhm?” She questions. You meet her eyes, they’re soft despite her harsh tone. She grabs at her file and the lab coat on her chair.

“Let’s go.” She murmurs.

…

1:10 PM

The Elevator dings as you and Dr. Udaku squeeze in. You just told the patient her diagnosis, confidently too and you’re sure if Riri were there she’d hype you up as she always does. Or maybe she’d make fun of you for your little crush.

Neither of you expects the elevator to be so full but Dr. Udaku enters first with you right in front of her. So close that you can feel your back pressed against her front. The material of her dress shirt is so thin you can feel the material of her bra beneath it.

Her height is perfect and you feel the skin of her jaw press against your temple. The elevator goes down one floor and one more person enters the elevator, unfortunately squeezing in next to you. You feel her hand on your hip as she maneuvers you back.

You can smell her perfume. She smells sweet like vanilla and you don’t expect it.

“Move back, Dr. L/N.” She commands and before you can say anything your body does the moving for you and as the elevator goes up a couple floors, more people exit it, giving you space to breathe.

When it’s just the two of you left, You hear her speak again.

“You can move now.” She whispers and you swear you hear a chuckle before clearing your throat and moving away from her. The lights flicker and she wraps an arm around you, pulling you back in when the elevator shakes.

The lights flicker again and your breath hitches once the elevator stops, softly dropping as it does.

“Fuck.” You exhale. You’re both stuck and the lights are off. You use your phone as a flashlight and turn around only for Dr. Udaku to groan.

“Turn that off.” She sighs while grabbing at your phone. Despite how hard she acts, her fingers are delicate as they wrap around your wrists, you’re breathing hard and she can feel it beneath her fingers along with your panic.

Anything could happen really and you don’t know if this fucking elevator is going to drop. But Udaku’s demeanor doesn’t help, she’s too calm. You can feel her eyes on you despite being in the dark.

“Calm down, L/N. This happens occasionally, about twice a year, we just have to wait it out.” She soothes.

The lights flicker on again, the buttons light back up inside the elevator and it finally reaches the highest floor.

“I have a conference to attend, All I need for you to do is check up on my patient, alright?” She says softly, you don’t notice that she’s been stroking your arm until she’s gone.

3:50 PM

“And I swear to God, Riri. She wants me.” You spill to a high Riri. Not weed-high of course. She’s extremely high on adrenaline. She nods along, rubbing sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. You’ve both found an empty staircase to meet up at. No one has come by yet and you’re thankful for it.

Riri sits on the stairs below you, leaning back with her elbows by your knees.

“See now you have a reason for the way you act.” Riri jokes. You’ve yet to ask her how the trauma bay has been. You wonder if anything interesting has happened to her and by the way she hasn’t been able to stop laughing at your jokes, it must be a good day.

“So anything with you?” You wonder.

“It’s cool there, Y/N…I- it’s cool.” She hesitates, interrupting herself and holding back with a bite of her lip. You nudge her, wanting her to continue.

“Nah, Y/N. It was nothing.” She mutters, pushing you back. Her break isn’t long. With Udaku being gone, You can pretty much do anything you want. You hear footsteps coming from behind you and they stop right behind you. Retro Jordans show themselves in between the two of you, unscuffed and clean.

“Nice Kicks.” Riri compliments and you look up to find Dr. Vision behind the two of you. She continues walking, a gentle smirk on her face as she glances at Riri.

“Thanks, You doin’ good out there, I want you back out there in four.” Vision orders, her hips swaying as she walks away and you look at Riri’s face, her eyes low and glued to the trauma surgeon’s body.

The only thing that takes her out of it is the slap you deliver to her arm.

“You just checked her out.” You call her out causing a grimace on her face. She shakes her head and knowing you, she won’t even try to deny it.

“I felt the flirtatious vibe.” You kid, but a part of you is serious. Dr. Vision is just naturally flirtatious and you’ve seen it despite only having been here for three weeks. She always has these low-set eyes, and she bats her lashes, smirking and sometimes licking her lips. You’re sure she gets hit on often.

“Whatever, Y/N. I got to go.” Riri will let you know. She’s gone in a matter of seconds and you’re 100 percent positive that the reason why she walks so fast is to see Vivian Vision.

7:01 PM

When you and Riri are walking up the street. You aren’t sure exactly where you are but a light breeze greets you as you both wait for cars to stop to cross the street. Roscoe sits next to Riri, excited to be out.

Work has been over for about an hour and usually both you and Riri are too tired to do anything but today’s been a good day for the both of you despite having not spoken much about it. Plus, You’ve barely been able to walk around the area so you figured you’d join Riri on her walk with Roscoe.

Normally, You want nothing with the dog but over the past couple weeks, he’s warmed up to you and so have you. You watch Riri scroll through her phone before stuffing it into the pocket of her sweats. Her outfit is a sleeveless shirt and loose sweats that she usually wears to the gym but she’s too exhausted to work out today after being in the trauma bay.

“We ain’t too far are we?” She asks. You can’t be, you’ve been keeping track. You’re maybe two blocks away and both of you cross the street once the cars stop.

“No, we’re not.” You answer and the area you’re both walking near is lively, with warm lights everywhere. It’s beautiful in some parts of Illinois that you haven’t been able to pick up till now.

And right now, these warm lights and the gentle breeze remind you of Udaku’s arm wrapped around you in that elevator. You feel that similar pounding in your chest but this time you know it’s not because of anxiety. The complete opposite is tranquility.

You’re so screwed.

@6-noir @goldqueen12 @likemick @h34rtsformilli @thtgirlllmona @euph0ricx0 @xchoxix @writtenbymarie @desswright29 @jordisblogg @imnotb @imjusthere2readbruv @shurisnovia @shurisvibranium @risingoftime @lppriceisright

lmk what y’all think plz and thank you 🩵

#black panther #shuri udaku #riri williams #shuri x reader #Vivheart #Vivian vision x Riri Williams #teach me ss series #ss 🌿🌿

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welcometololaland · 9 months

Text

technically thursday here, but whatever! have some WIP from product placement ;) TK and Carlos are still hung up on the red vs. blue issue which is really an excuse for me to wish carlos was in a different profession.

Thanks for the tags @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @three-drink-amy @lemonlyman-dotcom @freneticfloetry @bonheur-cafe i loved reading all your posts and they are in the queue ;)

When Carlos opens the door, he’s met with TK himself, an irritated expression on his face and definitely not unconscious.

“Babe, why are you knocking on—”

“Can I come in?” TK interjects in a huff. Carlos is extremely confused, but otherwise somewhat relieved, and he thinks it’s the latter which prompts him to stop asking questions.

“TK, this is your place too,” he says carefully, stepping aside to let his fiancé pass. “You don’t have to ask permission to enter.”

“I just wanted to give you the option of telling me to go and sleep at the firehouse,” TK mutters, attempting to kick off his shoes. “You know, because that’s all I do there.”

“TK—”

“You're a dick sometimes, you know that?” TK snaps, growling as the laces on one of his shoes get stuck underneath the other.

Carlos narrows his eyes, watching TK fight with his sneakers. “You’re the one that told me my job was basically pointless.”

“I didn’t say that,” TK says hotly, looking up. “I said that you do a lot of paperwork. Which isn’t even untrue!”

“It’s— It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it,” Carlos protests, even though his argument is sounding weaker by the second. To his credit, TK didn’t actually say that police work was a desk job. In fact, Carlos is pretty sure he said that.

Still, the stubborn part of him – which is definitely inherited from his father’s side of the family – refuses to let him back down.

“Well I’m sorry you’re so sensitive about people talking about what you do for a living,” TK replies.

“That’s not an apology,” Carlos points out. “Besides, you’re the one who got sensitive when I said that thing about eating meals and sleeping on shift, which is not untrue either.”

“But it’s not all I do!”

“And I don’t just sit there and fill out forms!”

“Well I guess you hand out speeding tickets,” TK says venomously. “But that’s still technically paperwork.”

“You’re only mad about that because you got pulled over the other week and I told you I couldn’t get you out of it.”

Somehow, through their bickering, they’ve brought themselves closer together. TK, now shoving his shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the rack, Carlos cornering him against the wall. It’s becoming abundantly clear what’s about to happen, and TK doesn’t seem to be keen on addressing it.

“TK,” Carlos warns, shoving down three thousand indecent thoughts as TK reaches for him. Instead of backing away, Carlos crowds him up against the wall and cups his jaw, thumb brushing over the apple of TK’s cheek while his fingers toy with the ends of TK’s hair.

“Carlos,” TK bites out, blatantly staring at Carlos’ mouth.

Carlos reaches his hand around further, threading his fingers through the soft strands. It feels familiar, grounding, and when TK pulls him in by the hips so they’re pushed into his own, there’s no mistaking where this is going.

“We said we wouldn’t,” Carlos gasps, wondering why they’re both so hard. It shouldn’t be normal to be so turned on from TK’s bitching, but somehow he is. He always is. There’s something about TK that is inescapable, even when he’s getting on Carlos’ nerves.

“We said we wouldn’t while we’re angry,” TK whispers, his nose nudging against Carlos’ as he slots their faces together, their lips millimetres apart.

“You’re not angry?” Carlos murmurs, rolling his hips into TK’s, even though he knows it's unhelpful to his prior statement.

TK whines in the back of his throat, something that does nothing but draw Carlos in closer. “I’m not angry,” he protests. “I’m frustrated.”

Open tag because it's very late but also tagging: @rmd-writes @rosedavid @ambiguouspenny @catanisspicy @noxsoulmate @lightningboltreader @nontoxic-writes @hoko-onchi-writes @sunshinestrand @jesuisici33 @orchidscript and @goodways FOR THE FIGHT

#i'm not angry i'm frustrated #some great arguments being made here #product placement #police work is a desk job: a dissertation by tk strand #all you do is eat and sleep on shift: a thesis defence by carlos reyes #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes

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unicyclehippo · 1 year

Note

Confession (one word WN prompt)

for @possibilistfanfiction

one

beatrice talks to mother superion in a way you don't really understand. it's serious and solemn but not forceful. like there's space around the words to breathe, space for something extra. to your untrained ear, it sounds a lot like respect. or, the phone calls always start that way but toward the end, beatrice answers questions more slowly. with more thought. with more hesitance. and then you doesn't know exactly what it is. trust, maybe.

you're eavesdropping, of course, tucked up at the kitchen table with a book of writing exercises that beatrice had bought for you, presented to you without fanfare because you'd been struggling, quietly, with gripping a pen and getting letters to come out the way you meant to shape them, which normally wasn't a big deal but there were some words that seemed important enough to be written down and you'd like to be able to do it, you'd like the option. you've been working diligently at it (will insist that you have, even when the page goes missing, ripped out of the book, because the lines you were copying transformed at some point to your name and beatrice's nestled side-by-side and that's. something to think about later.) but there you are, ankles hooked around the chair legs, pen clutched tight between stiff fingers, and you stop pretending to work and stare through the narrow window of the doorframe as beatrice begins to pace the little box of your apartment. her meticulous steps. three, from her side of the bed almost to the wall. then a slow, smooth turn. then comes the breath, the space around her words, the openness you've been waiting for since superion's last call, since the first time you heard it.

'yes, mother. i will, mother.' beatrice stops. turns toward the kitchen. she doesn't seem surprised to find you watching, so you don't pretend guilt. just wink at her. beatrice lifts her eyes to the ceiling for a split second—a nun's version of rolling her eyes—and then back to you. 'now?' she tilts her head like she's sizing you up, like your next training session is here and now. you grip the pencil hard enough that it creaks. 'of course. she's right here.'

me? you mouth.

beatrice nods.

you shake your head. no.

the choice—obey superion, be kind to you—presses beatrice's mouth into a flat line. 'may i mute myself, mother?'

'fuck.'

beatrice lifts the phone from her ear and shows you, mutes it obviously. she sets it down flat on the tiny coffee table you'd found and picked out. it had a white and black chessboard feel to it; you'd thought beatrice would like it. it's too small, even for the awful low couch, but beatrice always takes her coffee there when she goes over the bar inventory or to read.

'you don't want to speak to her?'

'no!'

'why not?'

god. she actually sounded confused. 'because she hates me, bea. duh.'

'she doesn't.'

you snort. 'uh yes she does. i'm the halo bearer who isn't fit to wield it, blah blah blah.' there's a flash of memory—dust in the catacombs, dust in your hair, your nose, the warp of a scar tucked out of sight. the surprisingly warm skin of a cold woman. a miracle, she had said, of the highest order. her voice had been shaking but her hand was perfectly still because when the world is breaking, she had a task, a path straight before her to walk. she was like beatrice like that (and you feel your fear give way a little because if she's like beatrice then she can't be all bad, can't be very bad at all). she had faith in their cause, in her own purpose. but surely she didn't have faith in anything vincent said anymore because vincent - vincent and adriel - and shannon - and so she couldn't possibly think that you were—

'ava?'

'yeah,' you hear yourself say. 'yeah, okay, i'll talk to her.'

beatrice frowns before she can stop herself but she picks up the phone and brings it to you. sets it in the centre of the table. what a bitch. if you want to take it, you'll have to reach out and actually take it. and then she says, 'i'm going to the store. do you want anything?'

'what?'

'from the store.' she looks at the phone. says quietly, the first few words reluctant, like she's still deciding whether to speak them or not, 'mother requested to speak with you privately.'

'oh.' the call time keeps ticking up. superion hasn't hung up. you wonder if you leave her waiting for a few minutes whether she will. 'chocolate. icecream. pads.'

beatrice nods. takes her wallet and the keys from the bowl by the door and slips outside.

you look at the phone for another thirteen seconds and then snatch it up, shooting to your feet. you move toward the front door and shuffle into the corner, press your back up to it. unmute yourself.

'hey.'

there's a brief pause, then,

'ah. ava.' superion sounds the same as always. cool and clipped. you try not to feel extremely fond of it because she isn't beatrice and probably talks like that because she's got a stick up her ass, not because she's a very repressed lesbian. well. fuck, she could be.

'sup.' you wince. bad start. 'uh. be-atrice,' your tongue rolls over her full name, spitting it up, because what's gods rules about having a favourite nun? is that, like, bad? what about feeling fond about a nun? bad, right? 'she said you wanted to talk.'

'i did, yes. firstly, you should know that these calls are made on protected lines. you should never call me from another phone.'

there's no fucking risk of that, you think, and you say it too. 'yeah, there's no risk of that.'

'good.'

'is that all?'

'no.' she paused. then, carefully, 'we haven't had much occasion to speak privately.'

'aside from when you tricked me into thinking the convent was under attack and then told me i killed myself? i think you said everything you needed to say.'

if you were hoping—and you definitely were—that being snide and bitchy would put her off, you are unsuccessful.

'that was wrong. i was wrong,' she says. 'you proved that when you returned to help our order. you proved that, though you should not have been asked to. i am sorry.'

your hand trembles. you want to break the phone, or yell at her, but there's only one safe phone and beatrice would be pissed and you don't think that you can yell right now with your breath all caught up in your chest. you wish—you wish you could breathe like beatrice had. you wish you could talk like beatrice did with her. instead, you just say, 'okay,' kind of awkwardly.

'okay,' she repeats. then her tone sharpens and you realise that she's been speaking to you this whole time sort of gently and that's. weird too. 'you returned to aid us in our task, which is not over. is more dangerous than ever. this is a difficult time even for those of us trained in the order. if you are having any difficulties, i want you to know that you can talk to me.'

'no, i'm good.'

'there is nothing you are struggling with?'

struggling? well. you took a train through beautiful countryside all the way to switzerland. you've seen so many beautiful things since you came back to life but this is so beautiful you forget to blink and your eyes go blurry trying to drink it all in - sky and lakes and trees and mountains that climb and climb and climb to the sky and you go breathless, which beatrice had told you was the altitude adjustment but you knew was love, tight in your lungs, for getting to see this. you'd taken her hand excitedly and she'd gone stiff and cold. you'd let her go, and she hadn't unfrozen. the announcement that you had arrived in switzerland had made beatrice look like she was going to puke for a few minutes—she picked it, she planned the trains, and she'd done it because it was far away and safe and secluded and you both needed to hide. you're coming to terms with the idea of life, a little terrified that it's going to be like this for a while (forever?). a weird mix of really fucking great stuff—dancing, feeling your body move and get stronger as you learn to fight, getting to train with bea, writing, sex, climbing rocks, swimming, stuffing your face with flaky buttery pastries, the feel of different fabrics on your skin—and really fucking awful stuff—betrayal, adriel, nightmares, falling, the tug in your gut when you sense a wraith and have to move on, leave it to hurt some innocent because you're undercover and you can't help—and then the just sort of uncomfortable stuff—beatrice telling you she organised her own train to boarding school and going quiet for an hour, the numb prickle in your fingers and toes when you wake up before the rest of your body.

'there's only one bed,' you hear yourself say, because there's a lot going on, apparently, and humour is your default. 'and beatrice is hot.'

you can practically hear her eyes slam closed like steel doors. 'temperature wise, i hope you mean.'

'yeah, sure. of course. temperature wise. it's summer. she wears a full pyjama set to bed. flannel. it might as well be a waterbed, i'm sweating so much.'

'very well. i'll arrange funds for you to expand your wardrobes now that you have found a place to settle. is there anything else?'

do you still think i'm a miracle? what am i doing here, training? i fucked everything up. why don't you take it out? why don't you tell beatrice to take it out? have you told her to do it, is she disobeying? the thought makes you shiver. would beatrice disobey to protect you? do you trust me with the halo or am i just out of reach?

'all good.' you can't bring yourself to call her by her title. 'i'm training hard,' you offer, because she hasn't hung up yet.

'that's good. that's very good. you will need that in the days to come. there are trials ahead of us, my daughter.'

the phone in its clunky military-grade protective case creaks in your grip. 'i'm not your daughter.' she doesn't apologise, or take it back. she also doesn't say it again, so. whatever. 'say hi to camila.'

'of course. i will speak with you again next week,' she says, briskly, and then, 'goodbye. stay safe,' and hangs up, which is a bitch move because you think it would have been really satisfying to hang up on her.

you shuffle out of the corner, by the door. the conversation has you all knotted up and, like, weird. you toss the phone all the way into the next room—safely onto the bed because, safe phone line, beatrice would be pissed, whatever—and fold yourself back into the chair at the kitchen table.

the page is blank and white, the letters are big connect-the-dot looking things that you're supposed to trace over with your pencil. house. mother. father. sister. brother. daughter. son. you rip that page out too and shove it deep into the rubbish bin beneath the vegetable tops-and-tails you'd thrown out, prepping a stir-fry together with beatrice in the tiny kitchen you share.

#warrior nun #ava silva #mama s #avatrice #there's more phone calls in this series but obviously this is just the first one #also i just realised that i didnt use the word confession but. whatever sorry

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ilikelookingatthings · 2 months

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Does anyone else feel like its weird that Miraculous Ladybug acts like I should be fine with Adrien's mom dying? and that's its wrong to try to save her?

Like....fridging trope aside.....Arguable Gabe has the most sympathetic reasoning for wanting to become a villain...he is trying to get the ladybug and Chat noir miraculous to make a wish to fix/heal his wife out of her coma which she only entered due to Magic from using a broken Peacock.

His plan makes sense...he can't go to a guardian for help because he doesn't know fu exists at that point and all the other guardians are gone. He's rich so had already used all the science money can buy plus anything he can glean from their not properly translated miraculous book, and its not working. And he clearly had tried to find the miraculous by normal means but couldn't find it outside of narrowing it down to France(unless the plan was that the TV would showcase his akuma villain so the miraculous holders would be activated and come find them from afar which also works).

So, the only way to find the creation and destruction miraculous was to use the pattern shown through history that if a villain appeared that the cat and ladybug miraculous would be activated to deal with it. He pretends to be a villain, amplifies his own negative emotions and simplifies what he wants so it's easier to project it on his victim. He chooses negative emotions because someone vulnerable will be more likely to say yes as he still needs consent, and a villain is the best option to get attention and draw them out. Then he would get the chance to steal the miraculous...which then he could release the victim (who wouldn't know what they did minimizing trauma) where he could reverse all the damage with the newly stolen creation miraculous.

and he knows if he loses the damage would be reversed by the ladybug anyway. and by showing his hawkmoth persona people have someone to blame aside from his Akuma victim. and Gabe knows he can take the powers if it goes too far and that he can talk to his victim and use a brain zap connection check them if they get too out of hand..so while Gabe is still horrible for taking advantage of a (usually a teens) negative emotions to try to steal the miraculous after making a scene and alarming the city of Paris...he arguable has a plan that minimizes the risk and damage where he has to get consent from his victim(they have to agree to the powers and that he persuaded them). and the plan is to heal his wife who can walk back into her life using the 'missing' cover...probably something like her going away for a secret treatment she didn't know would work ect. and Gabe knows i he wins that he just wants to save a loved one(doesn't erase the fear since people don't know what he wants and just because he has the illusion of control it doesn't change people were in real danger.

Its just....Yes he's horrible but he also knows any damage he makes will be reversed and he had no contact with the guardians so it would have been pretty understandably if he didn't really understand how the wish works since the 'Detroy and rewrite the world' sounds like bullshit and a price to heal someone from something the miraculous caused would be hard to fathom or easy to brush aside at first. We've seen Mari justify risky moves because she knows Damage will get reversed at times...and unlike a lot of villains at least Gabe had a failsafe with the Ladybug miraculous and how he hadn't planned to torment Paris and just wanted a quick in and out wish.

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Its just weird the show acts like the BEST course of action is just to completely accept Emelie's death....like this isn't natural sickness...this is a miraculous caused one so I wouldn't just accept it easier...even more she isn't dead yet...if she was dead and buried I'd understand the point of him having to accept and move on...but contrary to how its coffin shaped...it's not actually a coffin...it's a healing coma stasis pod.

I mean sure we could argue that if the wish destroys the world that its bad completely even if everything is rewritten (side eyeing the time travel episodes a bit but eh)....but considering how strongly he tries to convince Adrien about his mom being 'missing' and his desperation when the power almost went out due to the power surge during the guys' party....Gabe at least through most of the seasons didn't seem to be banking on the 'remake everything' part and was aiming for the healing her/waking her up part...like was it that someone else would have to go into a coma which would be better than death at least?

it's just I understand that a message can be accepting to let people go when there are no other options but the whole point of science and doctors is to have a fighting chance...and it feels weird to be told to give up is the right thing to do when she isn't dead, and a common 'miracle' is someone being healed.

Like...why is the show trying to get me to ship Gabe and Nathalie at times when Gabe's ONE redeeming feature is that he loves his wife and wants to save her...I mean i like the drama by why act like its some fix? that if Gabe has a replacement, he should stop trying to save her? Even more its not like Gabe is the only one who wants her back...Nathalie clearly thought she was worth it enough to side with this crazy plan, and wanting to bring back the emotionally competent parents' kind of makes sense for Gabe since he clearly didn't prepare to be a single parent.

And like....I'm gonna be honest the thing that bothers me the most if her having videos saying she wants Gabe to give up....like I get...a just in case video...but would it be wrong if the mom WANTED to be saved? Would Emelie wanting to live be selfish?

Also she tends to be treated like a saint character...perfect sweet person dead mom architype. We are all familiar....

But it feels odd people don't address the aspects of her character we DO know. We know Gabe compared Chat noir to Adrien's mom Favorably when Chat ripped him to shreds so to speak in Simon Says when Gabe was being too lighthearted about the danger Gabe was personally in. implying, she often roasted Gabe in a similar way...and considering Gabe as strong parallels personality wise to Marinette...it strengthens the hint that Emelie is also closure to Adrien in their dynamic.

Like....What if the issue is that Emelie was the one super excited about miraculous and using them and didn't check it was safe to use the peacock. Where she overlooked the side affects and kept using it anyway until it was too late? Something that could parallel how Adrien when he first got Plagg got so excited he accept the powers without finding out the details as well as Adrien being a bit reckless when it comes to his OWN well-being in his confidence. Like...she wanted a baby, but she couldn't have one naturally so wanted to use the peacock instead of invitro or adoption and she was stubborn about it. Ignoring Gabe who would be more cautious about its view (similar to how Marinette is more cautious and collects info and makes plans to contrast Adrien who jumps right in first). Her kindness in making a baby for others like Kagami for Kagami's mom and Felix for her sister. Maybe Emilie tried doing good with the peacock or heck even the butterfly before...but Emilie being reckless led to her not realizing the affect it would have on her family if something happened to her. Emilie was also really talented in her own right both as a model and an actress(even if she only acted a little in that one movie)...but if she's similar to Adrien in how he tends to be naturally supportive and empathetic....what if she was a great source of help for Gabe who struggled a bit with that...especially with him trying to impress her old money family with his new money riches....

like it would make Sense of Gabe wants to help her /save her or might blame himself for not stopping her...even more if she believes in him like how chat believes in LB/Mari.

It just feels unfair that the show seems to act like it's just the only option that Adrien's mom would be understanding about them letting her die/go instead of trying to save her when most of them would have no reason to understand or believe the weight of the wish would be THAT bad.

and if Gabe's plan was always to switch with the mom (similar to how Nathalie was healed but he was gone) ...would the mom know and be worried because she wanted Gabe to be, okay?

Like I wish there was a bit more nuance we were shown...like was she reckless in using it...whether through genuine good or selfish intentions but not bad? what about how she was also super protective of Adrien...like its not just Gabe who made Adrien homeschool...it was the mom...and Adrien was more or less fine with it still his mom disappeared and he was struck with his grieving dad who was NOT taking it well and who (WE know) was probably trying to find way to fix the mom and putting Adrien second to try to fix her faster for Adrien's sake...forgetting Adrien couldn't be that understanding since to Adrien his mom disappeared while Gabe at least knew she was alive and Adrien didn't know his dad was taking care of his mom.

Was she a little vain or shallow? at all dramatic like Adrien? would she sneak out at times? Was the mom at all paranoid or overprotective about Adrien? Was she overly affectionate hence why Adrien might struggle with certain personal space issues at times?

Its just..Gabe has the energy of someone who kind of had to pick up being hawkmoth out of necessity like Mari did to help save Paris(or alya Infront of her)...only for him his Paris was Emelie...also according to how Gabe responded to Chat in Simon says...did she put Gabe in his place? get annoyed at him or think that Gabe was too reckless with himself like how Mari at times can be confident and not realize the danger she puts herself in?

We know the mom was adventurous and directly was part of that expedition to find the miraculous with Gabe and Nathalie and that they liked to travel often. We also know as much as Gabe loves his wife....he isn't a big fan of her sister even if Adrien and Felix would hang out more often before.

I mean...Emelie doesn't have to be evil or anything, but I would like a bit more nuance to her...

Honestly, I half wonder if Emelie had actually made a wish before and that's why she wants Gabe to give up.

What if Gabe had actually been the one to suffer the consequences of the peacock before and Emelie had been the Hawkmoth...only to succeed and change things so SHE used it instead so Gabe would live in her place...trying to stop him from burning himself out with those videos.

Also...people give Gabe flack for not going back in time to stop Emilie from using the peacock...but if she did that...wouldn't that have stopped Felix, Kagami and especially Adrien his own son from existing?

Like its the easiest route to fix Emilie but it could risk the existence of their kid so is it really the most obvious choice that Gabe failing to see means he's just too far gone that the show is trying to pretend it was?

Also has anyone heard the Theory that Emilie and Amelie were also sentibeings as well?

or that Adrien is based on them losing a kid together? or him being half a sentibeing?

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Also....if they were going to save Nathalie with Gabe dying....Why not just have Gabe trade himself for his wife anyway? why can't both Nathalie and Emelie be saved?

like morally I think Gabe thinking it would be better if Adrien had emelie instead of Gabe could be interesting since she seems better at emotions and was the more emotion focused parent...but that could also show the flaw of when you focus on your 'role' of what your good at and forget to practice the other aspects of parenting...relying on the other person for the other aspects instead of you both equalizing it out? would Adrien agree? or be devastated his dad felt it would have been preferable if Gabe died instead of Emilie?

also...why not just have them offer the guardians to help save Emelie? show that the wish isn't necessary and get experts in who can help combined with science since she technically isn't dead?

also... what if that's a decoy and the real Emelie is somewhere else?

I'm just saying them finding those videos all the way in season 5 after THIS long just saying Gabe should let Emilie go feels pretty convenient.

Also...what happens if Adrien finds out the truth and uses a wish to bring both of his parents back but at the cost of himself?

Would potentially Amelie pretend to be Emilie and make the videos? similar to felix?

Or get desperate to save her sister now that she knows she was in trouble/in a coma?

Also...I get Adrien tends to be the 'move forward type when you can't change anything' and he was probably just trying to be calmer and accept things to contrast how his dad was stuck and how Adrien pieced together his mom was sick and her 'disappearing' was probably his mom running away to die where her family couldn't see her since they had tried to keep it from Adrien...and that his dad was in denial about it and Adrien came to terms by himself.

but it feels odd they have Adrien be so accepting I guess? like if he was more in denial how would that have affected marinette on the subject? though I get his dad not giving up easily when emilie isn't dead and he has seen her in the pod.

Though imagine if the mom DID come back a the end with the 'missing' excuse as a cover still.

Also... Nathalie basically enabled Gabriel into his death...i wonder how Nathalie would feel about that now or about Emelie after the taps...like I haven't forgotten the guy almost gave up being hawkmoth but Nathalie encouraged him to continue!

#miraculous ladybug #ladybug #adrien #chat noir #marinette #hawkmoth #adrien agreste #kagami #gabriel #gabriel agrest #gabriel agreste #emilie agreste #peacock #baby #sentibeing #sentimonster

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