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chrollohearttags · 4 months

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all my wishes • portgas d. ace

synopsis: a lost bet, two rambunctious firefighters and an unforgettable birthday full of surprises all transpire when you decide to give your boss the ultimate gift!

content + themes: firefighter ace + reader (black coded but no heavy descriptors), fluff to smut, LOTS of humor, alcohol use, food play, finger sucking, reader spoiling ace, nipple play, so many themes bc they are whores (they talk so dirty to each other 😫) squirting, daddy’s used, spit kink, sweet ending

word count: 7.7K

📝: this started out as a small lil’ drabble but then I remembered that my baby’s birthday was LITERALLY today so I started another insane piece with my other hyperfixation and the #2 ship in the Cherry Cinematic Universe™. I hope y’all enjoy them as much as I do! 🫶🏾 (also, this is coming late becatse when I set my mind to getting something done, it will be done. I don’t give a damn how long it takes and this may the last big piece I get to write for a while so I’m enjoying it!)

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding!”

“But (y/nnnnn)! You promised! C’mon, you lost so you have to do it. You can’t go back on your word.”

“No, Luffy! Matter of fact, hell no! You know I never would’ve agreed if this was what you were going to pull. I can’t believe you set me up like this..”

The dining table set in the center of company eight’s firehouse had become the scene where quite the interesting debate was transpiring. What began as a normal conversation had quickly escalated to quite the debacle. In about a week or so, a member of your small yet close knit crew would be celebrating a very important occasion..one that everyone was looking to make absolutely unforgettable..everyone except you that was!

“But it’ll mean a lot to him. Especially if it’s from you, I mean you’re practically his wife—“ “take it back and don’t ever say something like that ever again.”

shooting him quite the menacing glare with your arms folded over your chest. Luffy was the younger brother to the vice fire chief and your secret not-so-secret fling, Portgas D. Ace, affectionately known as Ace around the community. That shaggy black top and dotted freckles splattered across his devilishly handsome face that had captivated the heart of any woman who’d been so lucky to be graced with that heartwarming smile. However, that suave charm and boyish features didn’t sway you one bit. At least that’s what you let on to everyone else. See, just like your coworkers, his baby brother was no stranger to the proverbial game of cat and mouse the two of you had been engaged in. There were many times where he’d find himself crashing at his brother’s apartment and find himself on the receiving end of your conversations. Late night calls and visits because you obviously couldn’t get enough of each other. Contacting him under the guise of fighting only to end up settling matters in a different and much more salacious way. Not to mention, in your absence, Ace had spoken quite fondly of you to both Luffy and your own adoptive brother, Usopp. Talking about how insane yet entertaining you were..which was the sole reason for this whole ordeal! See, during a routine training session, Luffy had stopped by to watch on his day off and it was during this time, he spotted an exercise that tickled his fancy..it was whilst he was there, he divulged the idea to both Zoro and Sanji about giving his big brother a surprise birthday party but as everyone knew, Ace wasn’t too particularly keen on celebrating such an occasion. Hell, even the fire chief, ‘Smoker’ and his fellow fire college graduate and good friend Marco were in on the gig. Sure, he made the firehouse lively on a daily basis and when it was time to turn up for any other event, he was the guy you wanted there but when this day came around? He’d ignore it. It was mainly due in part to him never wanting to place emphasis on himself. Ace was selfless in nature and only thought of others. So they hoped that although the two of you had your differences in the past, you’d set them aside for at least one day and grant him the night of his life. But you refused…not only would that arrogant son of a bitch never let you live it down that you did something nice for him but he may not even like it. You’d rather him bring in his special day surrounded by his actual friends. “That’s so fucking stupid!” It was all Luffy could think as he let out a hysterical laugh. Because he knew as well as anyone, Ace wouldn’t want to spend his birthday with anyone other than his precious little rookie! “My brother’s crazy about you, big sis (y/n).” So he placed a nice little wager, unsuspecting to you as he cleaned the truck..

“Let’s see who can do the rope climb and foot race the fastest. If I win, you’ll have to do something for me. And you win, I’ll do whatever you want. Sounds good?!” So with that cheeky grin and precious demeanor, you indulged him. With that, the bet commenced and Luffy challenged you. They knew you were quite the tough nut to crack but if anybody, even with no prior experience, could defeat you..it was Luffy! That hyperactivity and determination proved to be of use. So when he won by only a hair’s breadth, it was a no brainer what he’d choose! Which brought you to this exact moment..

“I don’t know why you’re wasting your breath, Luffy. She’s just going to pitch a fit, pretend she hates him and then have her tongue down his throat later on. It’s no use.”

The snarky comment coming from none other than the foul mouthed, hot headed gym rat of the crew, Zoro. The two of you shared quite the close bond because although he was highly sarcastic, he adored you like that of a sister. Not only that, he was dating your childhood best friend, Janelle. Who was equally yoked with him as a former Marine sergeant and fellow athlete. He’d constantly take jabs at the fact that you tried to wear this tough exterior even though you were a huge softy. “Shut the hell up, Zoro. Like I said, even if I was to plan his party, who’s to say he’d show up or want to be there anyways? You know how he is. C’mon y’all, please don’t make me do this.”

groaning in a loud huff as your head fell back, you’d release a deep sigh as well.

“Trust me, (y/n). I don’t like it anymore than you do..” just then, the resident cook and quintessential pervert, masquerading as a loverboy, Sanji interjected into the conversation. Causing an eye roll and deep groans of ‘here he goes’ “..seeing my beloved sweet with another man? It breaks my heart. But he deserves this. He’s always been so thoughtful of everybody else, never even taking time to deal with his own problems. If it was left up to him, his dumbass would just sleep through the day after drinking his weight in booze. I know you guys have your differences but I don’t think it’d mean more to him if anyone else did this. So please..will you make his birthday special?”

how could you possibly say no when they all looked so damn pathetic?!

“She’s only scared she might actually enjoy herself. I don’t think we need to worry. Even if she says she can’t stand him, (y/n) will never be able to live with herself if she did something half assed. Being an overachiever trumps her being a hater so it’ll be fine.” Scoffing as you donned him with a middle finger. But he wasn’t wrong. Nonetheless, you’d lost the bet fair and square so you had to see it through either way.

“..fine, I’ll do it. But don’t get mad at me when he doesn’t show up. Can’t say I didn’t try.”

it was all they could hope for at this point so they’d leave the daunting task in your capable hands. Little did they know, it was the best idea any of them would have made!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a couple days had elapsed since the dilemma of your boss’ birthday came about and unfortunately, only one remained before his twenty eighth trip around the sun would arrive. Luffy divulged the fact that he probably had a mile long list of things he wanted to do but would never say them out loud. You had been using what little free time you had acquired to research and plan out somewhat of an itinerary to fill his twenty four hours with nothing but enjoyable activities. In your time together, when you weren’t at each other’s throats, you’d learn a few things about him. Including his love for nature. He loved hiking, camping, discovering the unknown which made perfect sense, considering the profession you were in. Ace also had an affinity for dancing so you looked up a few spots that had a more casual atmosphere rather than some stuffy five star establishment. Ace may have had quite the flamboyant personality at times but he didn’t do the pompous waiters and over priced appetizers. So you opted for a Latin fusion lounge instead. Where they’d feature a live DJ and you guys could dance whilst consuming delicious food and drinks. A good compromise, finally, you’d end the evening at a hotel where needless to say, the real fun would begin! You’d also acquire quite the stockpile of gifts. With everything from his favorite cologne to some new Nikes he’d been raving about along with some fishing equipment. Just an assortment of his favorite things. It was obvious that you’d put a lot of time and devotion into this. Although no one could tell if you genuinely wanted to or if this was merely another assignment you’d complete to fruition, they sincerely hoped he liked it all!

“Hey lovebug. Need some help?”

it was around ten pm when you’d finally glare at the corner of your laptop and notice the time. It was New Years Eve and when most would be out celebrating, as always, you and your sisters doubling as roommates were inside..partaking in moderate drinking and cheesy movie viewings. Robin, who’d just entered from her bedroom sporting purple negligee, matching robe as she brandished a wine glass. Such a woman of elegance and always did things with grace. If anyone would know how to put something like this together, it’d be her.

“Hey mama. I’m just trying to finish up this plan. God, who knew doing something for a man would be so exhausting..” which elicited a laugh from her. As you tapped away at your keyboard, navigating your touchscreen with the swipe of a finger, she’d take a seat next to you. “You must really like him.” Quite obviously that was the last thing you wanted to hear! The thought of actually liking Ace beyond a physical level? It made you want to chuck yourself from a window! But the truth was, you had grown fond of him. It just seemed as if everytime you wanted to get closer to him or feel an ounce of something other than pure hatred, he comes in with some snide remark or a low blow. Not to mention, he didn’t exactly strike you as the type to be monogamous and exclusive to one woman. Firefighters were notorious for infidelity and that asshole constantly bragged about his conquests. Although you couldn’t take him seriously half the time. A real, true healthy relationship would be all but impossible with him. It was a tug of war with this man and you were exhausted from playing. You’d been hurt before and you didn’t want to experience that pain again.

“And what would make you say such a horrible thing like that, Robin?” “That lovely little pile of gifts you hauled in here the other day and the fact that you’ve been at this for almost a week. Putting all of this time and effort into planning a birthday? I don’t think you’d do that for just anyone. Even if it was just a bet..” affirming with a sip of wine. She had a point but you weren’t exactly going to admit it either..

“Yeah, well the only thing I want to give him is a goddamn knuckle sandwich with a side of fruit punch.” A comment that nearly made her spit up her fresh sip from laughter. She could see through you like a pane of glass! It was blatantly obvious just how much you adored this guy and although it wasn’t the typical bond for budding lovers, they were mutual if nothing else. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he truly feels ill will towards you. The exact opposite honestly. If anything, I think it comes from a place of adoration. He’s obviously quite fond of you, otherwise, he wouldn’t be on your case as much. I think what you’re doing for him is going to mean far more than some overly lavish party with a bunch of people. I don’t know him very well and please feel free to correct me but…he seems like a genuinely good guy. A little misguided sometimes but he has a good heart, ya’ know? The way he rushed over to comfort you, even though his own eyes looked exhausted? He seems like he just needs someone to take care of him for once.”

you hated more than nothing else that Robin was always right! Maybe it was a bit selfish of you to not consider how he’d felt. There was obviously a reason he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. It had been a sore subject one way or another so it was your job to give him a reason to enjoy it again. And you could lie to yourself but deep down, you wanted to see this through as well. Not just to clear the debt but to see him genuinely happy. Smiling and laughing for himself..not just to cheer up others. “Jesus, it’s hard being friends with a doctor. They always know what they’re talking about.” Sending Robin into a fit of chuckles yet again. “Well honey, even all of these degrees can’t solve matters of the heart. Trust me, I know the feeling of loneliness all too well and he’s certainly in need of someone to let him know he has a place in this world and his day of birth is not something to feel ashamed of.”

Just then, you’d hear the front door creak open and you were promptly joined by Nami and her longtime partner, Vivi who were both looking to interrupt the conversation. They had just returned from the store to retrieve your libations for the evening. “Mind if we join you ladies?” Brandishing two bottles of champagne, beelining for the kitchen to grab glasses. “It’s almost new years, girls. Let’s party!” The cavalry had arrived and it was time to set this aside and let loose. Tomorrow, you’d be celebrating for an entirely different reason and you hoped that he would share the enthusiasm someday.

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page break and time skip because this is already long, I’m sorry!) ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

6:00PM, January 1st

“Jesus, rookie. Do you have molasses in your ass or something? I swear you take forever to get ready.”

an agitated voice rang out through the bathroom door of the hotel suite where you had been residing for the day. A king size bed positioned in the center, surrounded by clothing you’d strewn aside. Luckily, you’d tipped the housekeeping staff generously to not only spruce it up but to have it prepared when you returned from dinner. It would be the final touch on what was shaping up to become the ideal birthday. Aside from his obligatory smartass remarks, Ace really seemed to be having a good time. Even if you could sense his reservations to enjoy himself..everything had been a success so far. See, you had begun the day bright and early, five am to be precise; setting the trap for this illustrious surprise. You texted him under the guise of wanting to meet up for a morning hike, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, as it wasn’t uncommon for you two to train together. But strictly professional, mainly because Zoro’s freakishly strenuous training would kill you and Sanji wouldn’t be able to contain himself watching your tits jiggle whilst you ran. You told him to bring his gear, which he did so..you guys met up at your usual spot, the entranceway to Twin Flames Peak and began the trek up the canyon . Although he was making his usual comments, you could tell his mood was a bit more somber than usual. He sucked at hiding his emotions, that much was apparent. But you only sensed so because you were alike in that regard and so many others. Finally, you made it up to the top. But it was there that with your back facing him, you’d place your hands to your hips and laugh, making him fear you were about to do something heinous.

“Would you stop being so damn sad? It’s your birthday for god’s sake, at least smile a little. I know you’re getting old but I’m not used to seeing you without that stupid ass grin. It scares me.”

to which he’d audibly yet softly gasp. There was no way you of all people had remembered that! Although you teased about hating each other, it was the furthest thing from..even so, you kept your distance in personal affairs outside of sex. It’d feel too intimate and getting attached was something both of you feared. But that was all but thrown out of the window when you gave him his first gift of the day. “What?.. you didn’t think I’d remember, did you? Well too bad, you’re stuck with me and you’re gonna have a good time whether you want to or not. You’ve got a big day ahead of you. The only thing I want is for you to enjoy yourself..you have to promise me that.” His dumbfounded expression soon curved into a toothy smile, along with a hearty cackle. You managed to get one over on him and if nothing else, he could grant you that! You’d instruct him to search his bag, to which he’d find a card..sealed in a bow. How you’d manage to sneak that in, he’d never know but once he opened it, he nearly collapsed. Inside was a photo of him and his parents. He hadn’t seen either of them in years due to his work and then living states away back home but you could tell he loved them dearly. His mom had experienced some health issues recently but thankfully she was doing better but it was looking grim for a while. He’d call them every week, especially his mother whom he bonded with the most. So you took the liberty of reaching out and having them record a nice message to their son, wishing him a happy birthday. Telling him how proud they were and how much they loved him. He was already emotional and the sun had barely risen.

“Damn you, rookie. Who put you up to this?” Sniffling and laughing through tears. Because there was no way you were doing this of your own volition. Which was halfway true. Although you lost the bet, you’d still gone far overboard from what anyone expected. Spending rent like prices on this man and planning out an extravagant schedule. Even other first responders from his academy class who were no longer working for a set company came to fill in for the couple days. Turning on your heel, you’d giggle and walk towards him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Oh Ace, my sweet dumb boy, you’re so cute thinking that anyone alive could tell me what to do. Now let’s go before we miss our check in time at the hotel.” “Hotel? Makes me sound like a cheap slut you’re renting out for the day.” “You are a slut, my dear but you most certainly aren’t cheap.” Having checked in for two days. And already, it was shaping up to be a wonderful day. From there, you two would head to the Laporte Hotel in the next town over, where you’d be spending the day. The car ride back was much more lively as the two of you laughed, spoke and talked about different things. The most amicable you’d ever been. He’d tell you about his upbringing and how he’d grown up with Luffy and his other adoptive brother. He’d talk about cooking and helping around the house for his mom and hunting with his dad. He was genuinely excited and a part of you thought it was the cutest thing. Next on the docket was breakfast..you took him to this bistro where you guys had eaten once when you were invited to a summit for firefighters on public safety. You recalled the first time you saw him in that dress uniform. Hat and white gloves accenting the ensemble..he looked so good! You hated to admit it but that charisma and confidence he exuded while delivering his speech was such a turn on. His favorite thing on the menu were the crepes and you ordered him the biggest stack he could eat. You two chowed down on delicious foods before checking in with bags in tow. You even managed to snap a couple of photos and videos of him, wearing a bright smile in case he decided to lie and say he didn’t enjoy himself. He entered the room and jumped on the bed like a child..causing you to shake your head.

“Would you get down from there?! You know you’re getting up there in age, old man. One wrong move and that hip is out of place.” To which he retorted and stuck his tongue out. “I’m twenty eight not ninety eight, you smartass. Besides, I think you of all people know how great of shape I’m in.” Flashing you a wink, which only prompted you to snark your lips before turning around to pin your hair up before going to the pool. Platinum gray tresses atop your head from that new install you’d gotten. In all fairness, it was his fault it had to be redone anyway so you figured you’d change it up entirely. He wasn’t mad in the slightest because that color complimented your skin so well. “If you’re referring to that weak ass stroke game of yours, spare me—“ but it wasn’t even a full second before you could finish the sentence before you found yourself tousled over his shoulder with your half covered asscheek being smacked. “Oh shut up. You didn’t even believe that when you said it.” Cackling before tossing you onto the bed for a little pregame makeout session. It was nice, honestly and from the way he was kissing and caressing you, it was hard to tell who exactly was supposed to be getting pampered today! Even letting out a whimper when he licked and bit on your neck. “I know what I want more than anything today..” “..mmm, what’s that?” and his response: “that’s a secret. Classified information..” The spontaneity of his was such an attractive trait..a man of adventure and strong will. “Save your energy, baby boy. You’re gonna need it for later…”

but unbeknownst, he had no interest in waiting to unwrap his most sought after gift. It was around noon time when you guys hit the giant indoor pool. Filled with crystalline blue waters and most importantly, it was heated because the one outside was more than likely freezing. Swimming around and splashing water on each other. You’d even rent out the private jacuzzi, where he’d down flutes of champagne. Something he never thought he’d do in his entire life! Ace grew up in rather humble beginnings and in rough terrain. His entire life consisted of rough conditions..now here he was being catered to like a damn princess! It wasn’t his style in the slightest but it was something he could acclimate to, at least for a day or so..

“Never thought I’d be day drinking in a fucking jacuzzi like a divorced aunt but here I am.” Uttering with his arms outstretched as you swam over to him. “Well even a jackass like you deserves nice things every once in a while.” Teasing as you rubbed on his bare chest, trailing over his tattoo. Still insisting on committing to the bit of insulting him. Honestly, he wouldn’t want it any other way though! It was his favorite part of your charm and it showed that you guys shared a bond that he couldn’t with any other woman. He liked that you challenged him..that you made it worth the chase. He’d wear you down eventually and when he did, the moment would be that much sweeter. “God, I can’t wait to shut that pretty little mouth of yours later..” setting the tone for the sexual tension that was sure to be insurmountable by the end of the night. “We’ll see. You should know by now you can’t tame a girl like me.” Flicking your tongue around those glossed lips before wrapping them around your champagne flute, which made him twitch behind those swim trunks.

his resolve proved to be rather weak because the second you made it back to the room, swaddled in warm towels to dry your damp bodies, he’d just have to get himself a small sample. You’d been straddling his thigh in the water and although you were floating intermittently, you could feel that cock growing erect when you brushed it. So once that door was locked, you’d find yourselves in the shower..tongues deep down each other's throats; your head spun around as he fed you back shots. Holding the center of your stomach whilst he did so. From the bathroom back to the bed, your nude bodies made contact with the cool air as he flicked his tongue around on that exposed clit. Spreading you open on the crisp sheets and devouring that sloppy cunt. Slurping on that bud with strings of spit fluttering all around those plump lips..enjoying his feast. “..c’mon, baby. It’s my birthday…I think I deserve a little treat.” Taunting for his reason as to why he couldn’t hold back his urges. Hopelessly moaning and rutting the mattress as he spouted all sorts of debaucherous thoughts. Your white painted toes resting atop his shoulder blades as those brown eyes darted back into your skull and your breath caught. “I see one of my wishes came true. Finally got you to shut the fuck up.” “You got lucky. That’s it.” Even gliding a hand up to your throat for added pleasure. You were in for it today, that was certain! The remainder of the afternoon was spent lounging and lazing around, a luxury that didn’t come often in your profession. You spent every waking moment thinking of the dangers that surrounded you. You had witnessed gruesome scene after gruesome scene and oftentimes, the only way to cope was through your vices. It felt nice not to have that lingering over your head for at least a day. Your head on his chest as you slept and naturally, he took the opportunity to plant a few kisses on your forehead, along with snapping pictures of you with drool seeping from your mouth!

finally, the moment had arrived and the two of you were setting out for dinner at Viva!, the Latin fusion lounge that had been all the rave around here. You told him that you wouldn’t do anything too extravagant but you couldn’t help but to splurge a little. The two of you spent the next couple of hours getting ready. You’d FaceTime your friends whilst patting on makeup with cameos from the birthday boy himself. They were thrilled to see him enjoying himself..and the both of you looked absolutely stunning! Ace dressed in a black button down with the chest slightly open. Short sleeves to display his array of artwork..a gold plated belt buckle with the Gucci emblem in the center of his waist with black slacks on and suede loafers on his feet. The face of his gold wristwatch reflecting from the light, fragrant scent of cologne wafting from his body. He looked and smelled absolutely delectable. Unraveling your curls from underneath your bonnet, (y/n) sat before the vanity mirror with your makeup setting. It was whilst you were applying your lipstick that he’d steal another kiss. Swatting him away, you’d try to stop him before your hard work was muddled. “You’re going to ruin my makeup, quit!” Attempting to evade his barrage of smooches. But he was insatiable, absolutely enthralled with how beautiful you looked. “Might as well get a head start.” Only earning him a deep scoff and a hard eye roll!

“You’re impossible. I’m going to put on my dress, I’ll be ready in a minute and try not to beat your dick while I’m gone, you pervert.” “That honor goes all to you, my beloved.”

rising from your seat and strutting over to the bathroom, where you’d strip from your coverup and begin to place on the ensemble of the evening; a form fitting red dress with velvet material and a thigh high split. Strappy heels curling your calves and jewelry adorning your neckline and ears. Almost entirely different contrasts from your day jobs..it’d be hard to even recognize the two of you without yellow armored suits and soot covering your faces. You had to admit, it felt nice to be dressed up for an occasion that didn’t involve work conferences. You had been in there a little too long for his liking, mainly because he was growing impatient and wanted to see the final product. In truth, he was sweating bullets, wondering just how he’d react to seeing you all dolled up..knowing you’d gone through the trouble just for him. Even his palms perspired..

“Jesus, rookie. Do you have molasses in your ass or something? I swear you take forever to get ready.”

but you wouldn’t keep him in suspense for long. He’d rise to his feet and moments later, he’d be graced with the sight of quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. “Don’t rush me. I know it’s your birthday but you don’t have to be a jerk..so, what do you think?” the door swung open and you came strutting out, an absolute vision of beauty and the sole object of his desire! Ace couldn’t even fathom what he was feeling. His eyes stretched wide open and voice caught in his throat. If you guys stayed in this room any longer, he had no guarantee you'd make it out! So he’d merely grasp your hand, placing a gentle peck atop it. No jokes or snide remarks. “..you look absolutely beautiful, mi amor.” The compliment brought you sheer butterflies. Smirking as he led the two of you out of the room. Tonight was sure to be one for the books.

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Viva! was unlike any other place either of you had frequented before. Ambient orange lighting set the tone for the atmosphere..lively music thumping through the speakers with Spanish lyrics and sleek, elegant interior. You guys arrived right at the rush..the late night date crowds and parties of young people chopping it up. It was bustling but amid all the chaos, Ace only had eyes for you..

“Alright, so I gotta ask and you better be honest with me.”

surrounded by a table full of emptied plates that were once carefully curated and styled with beautiful dishes, now consumed along with intricately mixed drinks, you guys sat across from one another, discussing the day and various other topics. Akin to that of a real couple..

“Go for it.”

“So why do you hate celebrating your birthday so much? I mean, it’s the one day out of the year that you get to feel special. It doesn’t make sense.” It was something that you and everyone else was dying to know as well. But the answer wasn’t exactly a simple one either. Truth be told, it had always been a sore subject for the vice fire chief. It started in his youth and the habit had stuck with him ever since. A secret he’d disclose only to you.

“Truth be told…my family was really poor growing up. My brothers and I were raised by our grandparents mainly, because our parents were in and out of trouble. Not that I hold it against them or anything because they were products of their environment, I still love them..but we had to grow up pretty fast because of that. We didn’t have time to focus on trivial things like birthdays, we had to survive and that was our only goal. So I guess it stuck, y’know? As you get older, the less people tend to care about those things. It’s just another day..” suddenly, you’d feel your heart sink and become heavy with a tinge of sadness. This entire time you’d spent giving him hell and he’d come from the very same side of the tracks you had. You two weren’t all that different, maybe that’s why you couldn't stand him because he was all too familiar..reminding you of your own trauma and upbringing. Without saying a word, he’d continue on with his speech. Continuing to pour your heart out now that you had him feeling sentimental..

“…I know you were probably convinced by my brothers and the guys at the firehouse to take me out. Hell, I don’t think anyone would willingly want to be around me this long. Even so, I appreciate you, rookie. For all of this. It means a lot.” ..in that moment, something within you broke. Those steel, guarded walls that had been shielding your heart finally began to crack. In that moment, Robin’s words would begin to sound off in your ear and all you could do is laugh. She was right! Dammit..she was always right. This man was so much more than what you thought of him and it took this whole ordeal to come to grips with that. Lowering your head, you’d begin to chuckle and reach over for his hand.

“You really are dumb. How many times do I have to tell you..no one gives me orders. Not even you..I’m exactly where I want to be right now. So enjoy yourself and stop acting as if you’re wrong for finally doing something nice for yourself. It’s your night.”

it was all he needed to hear, honestly. So he’d do exactly that! He’d indulge in all of the drinks, laugh until his stomach hurt, he’d even ask for your hand in a dance. Promptly teaching you how to do a quick bachata. He truly had fun, and for the first time in his young life, he lived without guilt or consequence. No limitations or reservations and he allowed himself to enjoy the things he denied himself for so long. Peace, happiness and selfishness. For one night, it was all about Ace! The staff would come out with sparklers blazing around a tray with a slice of lava cake plated in the middle. Reading ‘Happy Birthday Ace’ around the perimeter. He’d stare at the dessert, contemplating for a moment before you spoke.

“Well, what are you gonna wish for?” And he knew just the thing..the only thing he wanted..blowing out the single candle as he closed his eyes and set his manifestation into the universe. You’d catch the whole thing on film to commemorate the moment. It was a night that would remain freshly implanted in your memories for a long time. But it was far from over..

so fast forward an hour or so..from a quick Uber ride across town to the hotel elevator where you couldn’t keep your hands..or lips to yourselves, you’d vehemently make out the entire way to the room. Tipsy on one another with both alcohol and admiration..peeling each other out of those clothes and whispering naughty nothings into each other's ears. Him telling you how he was going to make you come until your mind went blank..and how you were going to let him use your mouth and throat to his heart's content. So debaucherous and lewd, but the steamy moment was only set to intensify. Because while you were gone, the hotel staff was equipping your suite with more of that delicious champagne from earlier, along with strawberries, ice, chocolate sauce and a few other things. He had no idea what was coming to him. As quiet as it was kept, you’d always wanted to spoil your partner like this and although your relationship was fairly complex, you’d take this all the same. So with pure lust fueling you, you’d rip one another out of those designer threads, letting them fall to the floor before you’d jump into his arms and he'd place you on the bed where he wasted not another moment utilizing those delicacies left here.

“Strawberries and chocolate, huh? If I didn’t know any better, rookie..I’d say you were a little freak. What’s next, handcuffs?” “Oh please, this pussy drives you crazy enough as is. You sure as hell wouldn’t leave me alone if I pulled that out.”

the real reason he couldn’t get rid of you is because you matched his wit perfectly! Always with a slick remark to his jokes. With you sprawled out before him, completely on display for his taking, you’d lie there as he dredged a strawberry over your lips before allowing you to suckle on it. Meanwhile, his fingertips, brandishing a piece of ice, slowly trailed down your torso all the way to your sensitive center. He watched your reactions in real time. Seeing you writhe, whimper and moan; begging him for more with your reactions. Tongue extended and lapped over that strawberry before biting into it. “More, baby? Is that what you want?” Taunting the question whilst that ice cube resided over your clit. Making it melt with the direct reaction to your sticky heat..such a beautiful sight. “Yes!..please..” the first time in a while since he’d heard you in such a submissive manner. He wanted you so badly..to sink his cock into you once more but he wanted to truly get you so stimulated and aroused, you wouldn’t be able to bear another moment without him. Very lightly coating his fingers in that sweet sauce, he’d allow you to suck every remnant of it off whilst still circulating that cube over your bud. Positioning that head up as if he were cradling you. “Good girl..show me how you’re gonna use that mouth. Keep sucking like that and I’ll let you get the real thing..” just that quickly, he’d turn you from sarcastic, snarky brat to his obedient, whiny slut. He couldn’t ask for more!

Ace persisted with his foreplay for as long as he saw fit; bringing you to the edge of climatic bliss, only to snatch it away. Upon training your mouth, he’d graduated you from strawberries and fingers to the beaming tip of his cock. Positioned on his knees as he instructed you to keep yours parted whilst his fingers explored your dripping core. Maneuvering around to stretch that tight little cunt to his liking. Meanwhile, your throat served as merely a vessel for his unrelenting pleasure. Gagging erupting as he pushed and forced your head down onto his shaft. Becoming far more aggressive than he was prior. It seemed that he was finally sick of showing restraint. “That’s it, baby…take it deep. Take that fucking dick down your throat. Gag on it—fuck, just like that.” His deep tone teeming with lust. Meanwhile, the only thing that you could do was whimper, moan and gurgle as he used your mouth so carelessly. Those eyes were smeared with the beautiful application of makeup you had worked so hard on. You looked an absolute mess but your body told a different story. That juicy little center was leaking from this brutal treatment. Loving the sensation brought forth by being manhandled. Choked, slapped and even your jaws getting filled with globs of saliva. Swallowing and licking his balls as he jerked himself above your face. “Yeah, look at me while you do it, baby. Let me see how much you love being my little slut.” He may have been bashful but the two places his confidence shone were on the battlefield and in the bedroom. This man was like an entirely different person behind closed doors. One you’d gladly allow you to use your body in any way he saw fit. “What do you say when I spit in that pretty mouth, huh? Don’t tell me you forgot your manners..” “..thank you, daddy. Give me more, please.” To which he’d oblige. Before long, you found yourself on top of him, positioned perfectly on his cock as it resided in your hilt. Although you were a complete wreck already, he was far from done. He wanted to claim you in mind, body and spirit..have you so addicted, you would feel like oxygen had escaped your lungs when he wasn’t around. Turned in a reverse cowgirl position, Ace clutched your hips and guided you up and down to his leisure. Your pussy stuffed to the brim and throbbing around his cock. All you could do was gasp as those hard thrusts jolted you around.

“You didn’t think I’d take it easy, did you? Nah, baby. I wanna hear you fucking scream. I want you coming all over this dick..”

firm in his intent, roughly bucking those hips into the plump of your ass. When you couldn’t contain yourself, he’d take the liberty of folding your legs behind your head in a sitting full nelson. An intricate but effective position. One he could claim that cunt in without limitations. Your eyes would fluctuate between open and closed, stuck in your skull and front and center. Your entire body was riddled with ecstasy and it wouldn’t be long until you’d find yourselves reaching that breaking point. Even so, it didn’t stop either of you from wanting more than your share. You wanted it to hurt..to feel every part of him. To fuck his frustrations, emotions and all out on you. All those times he couldn’t have a happy ending. For when he’d spent another year getting older but all alone..drowning his sorrows in a bottle, you wanted tonight to be the atonement for that. For him to feel nothing but joy!

“Oh my God! Right there, baby. Please..take this pussy. It’s yours..fuck—“

so through all of the salacious cries and dirty desires, you wanted to know above all else..he was special.

“Yeah? It’s all mine?” His tone was still rough but cooing as he relentlessly pounded up into you. Forcing tears down your cheek. Although they were purely of joy. That much was apparent by the look on your face. You were in utter bliss. So full of ecstasy and happiness! You’d never felt anything like this. What was it?…it was far more than just the normal lust you two experienced together. “God, I love this pussy so much..I love you. I love you so much, baby. Oh my gosh, I can’t get enough of it..” admitting so carelessly. He had no regrets. He’d known that he’d felt that way from the very start and maybe the alcohol made it easier to admit but he was done pretending. You were the only woman for him! So through tear filled eyes, you’d pant and try to hold it in, along with that brimming orgasm, but you couldn’t any longer.

“I love you more! I love you so much, Ace…please, I need you..”

those words were the ones he’d been dying to hear all along and he could tell you meant it. Meant every one..all he could do was think about how relieved he was. His heart couldn’t stop beating and neither of you could stop crying. It made an already surreal moment even more magical. When he’d instruct you to release at the same time as him. On the count of three, your trembling bodies explode like fireworks in a fit of pleasure and passion. The intensity dredged up so many feelings but only one thing was for certain when he found the strength to reposition you onto your back..cradling your face into his palm as he hoped to quell you. Telling you how great of a job you’d done. He had to know, he had to say it for real this time.

“Did you mean that, baby? Do you really love me?..” and it was simple. It was the same a million times over:

“Yes…I love you, Ace. And I’m so sorry it took me this long to realize it. You were never my enemy. I should’ve seen that sooner. I hope you can forgive me.”

touching his face and swiping his tears away with your thumb. All he could do was sob tears of utter bliss in that moment. He was finally able to be vulnerable, no longer able and not needing to hold back his emotions. It made you see just how much he needed you all the same. “Wait, what’s wrong?” You were worried. But truthfully, there was no need. Because as it turns out, you’d granted him the one thing he’d wanted more than any shoes or watches out of today and that was your heart! He wanted to hear you finally utter those words and he got it. To him, this was hands down the best birthday ever!

“Nothing at all. It’s just that..all my wishes came true tonight. If that’s not heaven smiling down on me, I don’t know what is.” “Because no one deserves it more than you..happy birthday, my love.”

and you only hoped that you’d get to experience so many more by his side!

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵

@ichigosluvrr @dancingwithdeities @hoesluvshanti

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bethsvrse · 6 months

Note

general daring headcanons with quackity 😻?

DATING QUACKITY HEADCANONS

PAIRING Quackity x streamer!reader

A/N I wrote this in class so this is lowkey short. Hope you like it though 😭🫶

(Also sorry if he’s a little ooc, I haven’t watch quackity in so long)

Not massive on PDA but will always has your pinky’s locked when your walking around and a arm around you shoulders when your sitting down

He’s very touchy in private though

Always having to be near you and touching you in some way when no one’s around

Quackity will never admit it but he loves being the little spoon.

Just resting on your chest whilst you guys are watching a movie *mwah* his favourite

He would always watch your streams no matter what

He also sends donos with a large amount of money to ask a simple question even if y’all are a room away

You were having a chill stream, putting on makeup before you went out with Quackity for dinner.

‘Where do you wanna go for dinner’ Quackity sent in a dono with $30 added and your eyes widened when you realised.

“Quackity what the fuck! Just come into my office!” You complain, chat going by really fast with laughs.

“Not bothered to get up <3” he sends with another $30 added

“Okay, I’m buying dinner then. You can’t keep wasting your money like this!”

“I’m buying dinner” it said with $100 attached

“I’m actually going to murder you Quack”

He called you mamacita as a joke once but it kinda just stuck

Chat freaks the first time they heard Quackity call you that

When you guys revealed your relationship, you did a whole stream reacting to ship edits

Most of them were super cute edits

Like ones of you guys staring at each other with heart eyes

Almost everyone loves you together not including those weird 13 year old fans

Every time you guys hang out, he swears he hasn’t laughed that hard in his entire life

Quackity literally loves you sm and always promises you that he will never ever leave you

#bethsvrse #quackity x reader #quackity #quackity x fem!reader #quackity x streamer!reader #fanfic #dating headcanons #quackity headcannons #dating quackity headcanons #I love him sm #he’s so silly #and adorable #x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #quackity x you #quackity x y/n

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khaosrealms · 6 months

Text

YUE LAO’S BLESSINGS (part three!) / saying i love you— as if urged by the gods themselves.

a/n: i promise you all that a part to the princess series is in the works (along with many other things) but i saw y’all have been liking this a whole lot! as such, here you go— a part three to satisfy your needs ! 🩵

LIU KANG:

"I love you" from Liu Kang is all-encompassing, all-knowing. You know you're not his first love, and perhaps, you won't ever be the full holder of his adoration-- but there's no cruelty in that truth. "I love you" is a steady hand on your back, a gaze that never aches, a kiss where you are the first to part and him the first to watch as you return. "You are perfect." And he's so certain as he says it because he knows. Because Liu Kang is the maker of your existence-- but every step that you've taken to him is in your wonderful image.

KUAI LIANG:

"I love you" is devotion from Kuai Liang. Certainty, stability. It is the mornings when you wake with him, enveloped in his arms, and his eyes have yet to open. Trusting you with every ounce of his body and soul; smiling as you kiss him, his heart pounding against your chest. "I love you" is the times where he searches for you, whether in combat or training; to return back to you, his love, to protect and be protected by you. "There you are, my love." Kuai Liang sighs, with every bit of relief and adoration he can muster. Here, back in his arms; as perfect as the day he fell for you.

ASHRAH:

"I love you" are newfound words for Ashrah. The first steps of many in becoming human. They are awkward words on her tongue and stumbled movements. Hands held too long, kisses left too quickly. "I love you" is learning from you, learning the ways you blush under her touch, the things that make you smile and moan. "You are my first love." Ashrah admits, tangled in her arms, the sweat of your sex still fresh on each other's skin. Smiling, every bit as radiant as the sun.

HAVIK:

"I love you" is your binding contract with Havik. It is a promise that you will be there, always, forever; through the chaos, through the realms, there with him till the world stops to spin. "I love you" is gasping for breath every time you kiss, begging for more time, for every chance you can spare to be with one another in the turmoil of it all. "Our love will never cease." Dairou promises, the pulse of his own heart, wretched from his chest, steady in the palm of your hand. His blood melding with your own in beautiful, grotesque harmony.

#mortal kombat x reader #liu kang x reader #kuai liang x reader #havik x reader #ashrah x reader #mk1 imagines #liu kang so so fine and for what...#this one i had a lot of fun w/ idk why #maybe bc these are all like #my boos #LOLLL #havik :unearthly groaning:#enjoy!#yue lao imagine

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yeyinde · 1 year

Text

riptide | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it." His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won His touch is featherlight. But his eyes– His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

(it's like holding a lit cigarette to your pulse.)

part ii of in undertow

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; gendered reader; f!reader; female anatomy; near death experiences, MAJOR spoilers for the game (seriously, if you haven’t played it are saving it for later, or you haven’t finished, maybe don’t read this yet); PINING; cigarettes after sex was listened to on repreat during the making of this; also, i had “THAT’LL DO!” and “AHUEVO” on a loop, y’all. blame that.

notes: whenever someone asks what “doing the most” means, feel free to point them to this. it’s 16K. fullstop. it was only supposed to be smut. this ended up more plot than porn. but i so wanted the pining; the ambiguity, the danger, the drama. (i mean, this has none of that, but i wanted it.)

i told my very Welsh dad i was in love with an English man, and he said how could you do this to me? and that is pretty much all you need to know about Welsh culture.

Porthmadog hasn't changed much at all since you last washed up on the sandy shores, one hand gripping the strap of your off-duty duffle bag, and the other clenched around your passport. Wound tight. Ready to flee. A constant state of fight or flight.

The air is heady with the scent of the sea. Algae. Seaweed. Salt. Your lungs burn with the thickness of it. The sulphur sits in your throat, sticking to your larynx. It clicks when you swallow, refusing to budge. It curls behind your teeth when you suck the air in through parted, salt-chapped lips; the taste lingers in that strange microcosm of being both achingly nostalgic, and woefully foreign in the same breath.

The streets, too, live there: a realm of vague memories flashing by as your feet tap against the cobblestone. Boots heavy with exhaustion, and jet lag.

You're not ready to face it. Not yet.

Head bowed, you stare at the quasi-familiar cracks on the sandstone, and wonder how everyone else is fairing right now. An hour after takeoff. Soap would have been dropped off, wouldn't he? Safe and sound in Edinburgh.

You're both luckier than your American counterparts—the ones who have a full nine hours left to go.

Bouncing from the Middle East to Europe is a blink.

Europe to America is a whole ocean.

You and Soap played rock, paper, scissors for who got to depart first. In the end, you won. Wales was closer, anyway.

You left them behind with a heaviness that settled in your pericardium, compunction dipping in the valley of your pinched brow.

A strange feeling leaks from the fissures.

Ghost didn't depart.

They didn't stop in England at all. Right to Wales, right to Scotland. America. Mexico.

You try not to think about your prickly Lieutenant, but he flashes behind your eyelids, anyway. A bonfire in the dead of night. Tendrils of smoke drifting into the midnight blue aether. You're too close to the crackling flame. The heat scorches your skin.

He, too, sits heavy in your chest. A spooled cluster of questions bereft of answers. An unknown chasm gaping below. What it all means–

You woke up when the interior lights of the jet flickered on a few rows ahead, the jaundiced glow rousing you from your slumber. Your temple rested on something warm. Firm, sturdy. You blinked into existence, the ghost of a breath on your lips; a passing dream now left behind to rot. A world, forever unattainable, dissolving into nothing. Sand on your fingertips.

The world knits back into the cold clutch of reality: you're on a plane, and–

And you find yourself staring at tightly woven black thread. A balaclava.

Your eyes dart up.

The pad in his hands bathes him in iridescent light. It casts shadows on his face, in the pocks of his mask, and illuminates the white of the artificial bones. The paint used is tinged blue, brushed with cyan where it meets the black.

His lidded eyes crest low as he stares at the screen—a profile open on a man named Zyani stares back. Your eyes don't linger too long, pulled, instead, to the man you're leaning against. The coal under his eyes is smudged, nearly eroded away in the inner corners. You wonder if he rubbed them earlier, eyes gritty and heavy, but refusing to close. He won't sleep on the plane. He never does.

You don't usually, either.

Why didn't he wake you? Why did he let you stay?

There is no time for discussion—not on a jet that reeks of testosterone with ears everywhere. It will have to wait; shelved for another time when Gaz isn't snoring a few pews away, and Soap hasn't been glancing at you in intervals since you sat down.

Bonnie… you can almost hear him say. What are you doin'?

You can hear the steady breaths he takes, the sound swells through you.

It's the first time you've seen him so relaxed since–

Where are you going? Loose-limbed, one hand still wrapped around his softening cock, the other settles on the bend where your thigh meets the crease of your hip, fingers ghosting over the knob of your bone. His eyes are half moons. I didn't say I was finished with you yet, pet.

You shudder, a quiet breath leaving your lips. It draws his attention. His shoulder tenses under you. His head tilts just enough for him to slide his gaze from the screen balanced on his thick thighs to your open stare.

His eyes are liquid. Honeyed words over smouldering charcoal. "Alright?"

Your lungs quiver with your inhale. Outside of the acrid smell of ammunition, ozone, and gunfire, he carries something musky in his scent. Driftwood. Salt—sweat, blood, the sea. It's potent. You breathe him in again, lids lowering. You hold his scent there, nestled in the gummy webbing of your lungs, dripping down your throat.

Your eyes feel gritty when they slip shut. Anchors pull them down. You nod your head, slow and languid, murmuring your assent in a barely coherent mumble. The drag of his rough fatigues under your cheek, the straps of his tactical vest grinding into your cheekbone. And then—awareness. It startles you back into reality. Your eyes pop open, meeting the black pools above.

You wish you could chisel open his head, and read whatever it is that might be lingering in those unfathomable depths. His expression is shuddered, hidden by the thick of his mask. Eyes lidded and heavy and narrowed right on you.

Intense focus.

Sometimes, the others talk about Ghost like he's a berserker. A wild, untamed beast let loose in the shadows. Even the vilest people pale when they see him—his larger-than-life frame lingering in the background—and it's fear that dances in the cut of their brow, in their shaking glare.

You heard stories, of course.

Those always paled in comparison to seeing him on the field.

You got it, then, why no one mocked him. Why even the worst of the worst never bothered with leading him around by the nose.

He asked a question, and they answered.

For a long while, you thought it was his heigh. His size. Immense power. Expert precision.

But no. It's just him. Those eyes. His presence.

He doesn't just receive attention, he commands it.

You should move. You're awake, now. There is no reason for such intimacy with your Lieutenant, for a man more distant and unreachable than the sea.

You should.

But you don't.

He's warm milk under your chin. Heat bleeds into your skin from the firm bracket of his body. Ghost smells good—sweat and timbre—and feels even better. You could sleep again like this. Lashes fan down, sleep digs into the back of your eyes. You force them open.

Your fingers are tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed tight to his chest; there's a note of domesticity in the way he breathes with you, a palpable weight that falls on you like a thick quilt. His muscles jump. Body tense.

Eyes on you. Always.

But then they're gone. A flutter. They cut out to the pews, and you follow his gaze. Price wades closer.

The bubble pops. You're clinging to your Lieutenant like it's a luxury you're allowed.

Like it's something commonplace.

There is distance in his eyes when they flicker to you. The molasses hardened into something once again unreachable. A wall now sits between you.

(Maybe, that conversation will never come, after all.)

You should have known better than to let yourself want.

The air is crisp when you draw it in. The chill hurts your teeth.

You slip your fingers out from the wedge of his arm and ribs, already mourning the loss of him under your flesh—ticking muscles coiled tight; velvet draped iron. Ghost says nothing when you move, but his gaze is heavy on you when you fold yourself back into your seat. Proper, now. Lieutenant and soldier. You press yourself as far away from him as you can until your arms dig into the plastic around the window, and sit straight—as if you weren't sleeping on his shoulder.

As if he didn't let you.

He looks away when Price takes the bench on the opposite side, offers a nod.

Price echoes it. Flashes a tight smile your way.

Then his eyes linger. Not on you. Not on Ghost. He rests his pensive gaze on the sliver of space between the two of you. Where Ghost's bulky arm takes several inches of space up on your own seat, flesh glued together, parting only at the elbows. He's too big to get away from. Takes up all the space—

(—in your lungs, in your head, in your—)

Price, mercifully, isn't the type of man to pry. His brows buoy on his head, a fleeting glance sent in Ghost's direction, and then he's all business. Astute leader. Battle-ready even on a sleepy jet.

He clears his throat. "Where are you headed?"

It's for you.

Gaz is going to America with the men you'd picked up for this mission. His offer for you to join was swiftly rejected. The invitations from the Mexican operatives, notably Alverez, to come and enjoy the coast were also rejected.

"Is Soap going home?" You ask, hands fisting into balls on your lap.

Price's smile is wan. "He is. Not joining Gaz on his American adventure."

"Misadventure, more like." Ghost's dry tone makes your toes curl.

You can still hear the way he growled out pet.

You huff. "I'm…"

There is nowhere for you to go.

—Well. Nowhere else.

(Your knees ache, chafed and raw. Pebbles dig into your skin.)

"Wales," you murmur. You hear the ruffle of fabric when Ghost dips his head to look at you. "Whatever is easier. I'll take a taxi."

"Right," Price nods. "Get some rest while you're home."

It sounds like a dismissal.

Baleen lines fill your periphery when you turn your head. Your gaze sticks to the crease where his chin meets his neck. You can't bring yourself to look up.

"Better go fight it out with Soap."

He doesn't stop you when you stand, when you squeeze past him, thighs brushing his knees.

He says nothing at all when you depart.

(Don't think about it. Don't get your hopes up—)

The town is silent save your heavy steps on the cobblestone. In the distance, the roar of the ocean crashes along the beige shore.

Something inside of you begins to crumble.

(Too late.)

The woman by the apartment block greets you warmly, but the words are a strange amalgam of vowels and consonants that do not belong together. Her accent sounds English. The words make no sense to you.

Your bewilderment must show on your face. Her smile dips, a touch of laughter paints her words when she says, in English:

Sorry, dove. I thought you were Welsh.

It feels a little bit like a slap to the wrist. Naughty child… mind your manners, and speak your tongue.

"I'm not…," you murmur, chastised despite having done nothing wrong.

Wales isn't where you came from. Here is not the place of your birth. It's a paradoxical realm: a land where you were taken to as a child, and told welcome home; all memories erased of the other times they said the exact same thing. A taboo, now. Faux pas. A fresh start (for the nth time). Welcome home.

It's the place you stayed the longest, though. Your developing years from a child to a teenager, to a spiteful preadolescent with too much to prove, and an ocean to live up to.

(You wonder if the pavement is still stained red.)

You know Welsh. Have spoken it for years. You came, fresh-faced and chubby-cheeked, and the ladies cooed while they taught you the words.

But it's buried. They are covered in dust; a forgotten relic. You remember pieces of the greeting, but your lips are no longer used to forming them. Your tongue is too heavy, too foreign.

You say nothing at all, trailing off into a stifling silence.

"Right," her brows knot, rheumy eyes regard you warily. "Do you need a hotel—?"

"I live here."

You bend down, peeling the pristine welcome mat back, and fish out the key you keep tucked away. Years of training echo in the background; a firm voice rings out, one that sounds suspiciously like Ghost's, barking out how that's trouble. You'll come home to a world of hurt if you keep doin' that, soldier.

(You already do.)

You pull your duffle bag up when it slips, and nod at the bemused woman.

It's not much of a homecoming.

It never is.

The flat you own is barren. A bed that feels too comfortable at night for you to ever truly relax on is shoved into the bedroom, a wardrobe with civilian clothes, a shoe rack in the foyer. A kitchen that's always empty.

You mostly sleep on the worn, old couch where the springs dig into your shoulder blades, and remind you of that night you spent in Sierra Leone, belly full of yabeh. Ghost a hair's length away from you. His gloved hand brushing yours.

The duffle bag falls to the tiles with a heavy thud. Your passport will go in the safe along with all of your other belongings—clearance badge, certificates, your guns—until the call comes in for your next mission.

You hope it's soon. That Shepherd and Laswell trudge up some calamity that will take you far away from this place. A long-haul mission. The kind where you go deep into the trenches, and when you surface, it feels like an aeon has passed.

It's too quiet at night.

Your home reeks of dust. Disuse.

You settle on the couch, eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling, and pretend you can't feel his shoulder under your head even now.

A world away, and you still think of him.

(Always, always.)

Shepherd calls you weeks later. A secret mission with the Shadow Company, he tells you. When you ask about the others, his voice is tight.

Just you, soldier. Just you.

Breaking up the Task Force isn't unheard of. Ghost does so many secretive missions on his own that meeting people he worked with in the past on a group venture isn't at all a rarity anymore. Price is the same. Soap, sometimes, too.

There isn't much else to do.

(You held your phone in your hand each night for those weeks, finger hovering over the CALL button. Two letters— Lt— on the contact screen. His profile picture is a dune of sand.

It never rang. You never called.)

You give your affirmative, and go to the coordinates where his operatives will be waiting for you.

"Show me what you got," he says, a challenge in his voice.

Your grin is sharp. "Always, Actual."

Phillip Graves meets you with a wide grin on his face. The American flag on his fatigues sticks out against the green. So used to the British flag, you can't stop your eyes from sliding down to it, drawn like a beacon.

(Maybe, in a bygone era, it, too, might have been home.)

"Welcome aboard, soldier." His eyes flash in the setting sun. Eager. Heavy. You echo it in your own smile. "Let's get these son'of'a'bitches."

You're back at the bottom.

The Shadow Operatives stare at you when they think you aren't looking. Low murmurs fill the jet— princess, chick, girl— and you gazed, pointedly, out the window.

Your hands itch; the phantom scabs prickle.

It makes you miss 141 more than you thought possible. Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost. They flicker in your mind, and you wonder what they'd do in this situation.

How would they prove themselves to everyone around them?

(Answer: they wouldn't.)

The only one who isn't pushing you in a box is Graves.

"Heard great things about you," his smile crests over his lips. Eyes hungry. Ready for battle. "Can't wait to see what you can do."

He worked with Ghost a month ago. You find this out when he mentions it offhand. Secret mission with your Lieutenant. Is he always that much of an asshole—?

Actual is in your ear, stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

But it's Ghost you think of.

(Always, always.)

"He's not an asshole," you say, shrugging. "Just a man who cares too much."

Almost immediately, you want to swallow the words back down. Stupid. Stupid. You force yourself to remain still, nonchalant.

(How presumptuous of you to think you know him.)

Military likes to gossip. It'll come back to him somehow. The little rookie who stuck up for him. Who said he cared.

Graves' eyes flicker. "That right?"

You blush. English is gone. The only language in your throat is Welsh.

(Graves' guffaw echoes in the jet.)

Graves purses his lips, rolling them from side to side, as you sift through the documents in front of you. He's been pacing the room for the last ten minutes while you meticulously translate each paper in your grasp. Agitation bleeds through the usual warmth in his countenance.

It's tense. A slaughter.

His compatriots flank all of the exits; sounds of gunfire resound through the compound.

The infiltration was easy.

This—

This is not.

"So…," he drawls, the thick accent is warm, but his voice is constricted; pinched. "Heard you were the best at sniffing things out. What do you think?"

"It's not—," you pause, eyes skimming the page, squinting at it.

"What?"

His tone is sharp. Icy. The usual warmth dissipates into a palpable tension; a tight unease.

The shift is strange. Focus on the mission.

"It's not just Konni in this. They're being backed."

"That so?"

You suck in a deep breath. "We should leave. Tell Actual what's going on–"

"Yeah," he intones, crouching down in front of you. His eyes are placid. "We'll do just that."

It all happens so fast. A clichè, really, but a fitting one.

Head turned out the window of the cargo van, deadly missiles being dragged behind. Your mind is full, racing. Nothing makes sense.

You wish Ghost was here. Price. Soap. They're the ones you use to bounce ideas off of: this is what is happening, this is the missing equation, and this is what I think.

Good, bonnie. Now, tell us something we don't know.

And what if the equation is wrong?

Crafty, soldier. How do we prove it?

And then the world shatters.

Konni Operates. A gun to your head. Graves yelling in the distance; spitting curses, threats. Actual in your ear— you'll die here, soldier.

Chaos. Death presses cold metal to your forehead, snapped words in rapid-fire Russian, too fast for you to pick up.

The only ones that leak through are oozing glee. I'm going to blow your head off.

A dead-end. You think of Gaz—the closest to you in age, passing jokes back and forth; playing Never Have I Ever when the missions lull, the others looking on with amusement.

Kids these days, they scoff.

Have you seen this video? He asks, dropping into the vacant seat beside you. Ghost looks up. It's a club in London.

Soap huffing when you ask if he wants to come. Too old for that, bonnie.

You kids have fun, Price says, lips twitching. A rare show of amusement from the man. But I'll have to pass.

What if we went to a pub instead, you geezer? You chuckle.

Geezer? He nudges Ghost to his left, eyes dry. You've been rubbing off on the kids.

You meet his stare over the plastic table. Smile turns shy. Wanna come with us, Lt?

He holds it. Halfmoon. Eclipse. Liquid black. Negative, soldier.

You try not to let the sting of rejection show. It's stupid. Stupid—

Nice one, kid.

Y'did good, bonnie.

Let's show these old boys what us kids can do, yeah?

Their voices echo in your mind. One rings louder than the others. A sharp bark. Gravel shattering. Move, soldier!

You're a dutiful soldier. You never disobey a command from your superior officer. From him.

White-hot pain splits across your temple. The world turns static. You're falling down, down, down—

Waves lap at your body, tugging you out to sea. The briny water fills your throat.

Stay alert, soldier. The General. Voices.

"Well, shit." Graves. He sounds distant. Far away.

You think of Sierra Leone. Your first mission.

Hiding in a concrete house with no windows, no doors, no cover. Gunfire booming across the landscape, cloaked in the pitch black darkness of night. Flickers of yellow-red light pop in the distance.

You don't breathe. Don't make a sound. Your hands tremble around your rifle. Eyes wavering.

Warmth against your back. You startle. A gloved hand over your mouth. The brush of a balaclava against your neck.

"Easy, soldier. They'll see you if you jump."

They'll see you—

"They dead?" A boot knocks against your calf.

You go limp.

"Yeah," Graves. Companion. Comrade. Be careful who you trust, soldier. All you have right now is yourself. Trust your gut; you're on your own.

Copper on your tongue. You let it pool between your teeth, keeping it held in the space between your lips. It tastes of pennies. You try not to choke.

Sir… you whisper the words against his tactical vest. Feel the shift of his body when he looks at you from over his shoulder. Let's get yabeh after this.

We're not on holiday, soldier.

Really? Feels like one.

You need to get out more.

Yeah… maybe…

C'mon, now. Stay with me, pet.

Always… sir. Always…

You drag him to someplace you'd heard of through your new friends–best yabeh in all of Salone; gotta try the Jollof, too, Sesay insists–and he fits in like a sore thumb.

You both stand out, really. Foreigners in the middle of a place visited only by locals. Him in his denim trousers, and short-sleeved shirt, tactical vest fixed on his chest; his mask stays on. A ball cap low over his brow. He exudes danger. The rippling musculature of a tiger. The stealth of a panther.

You—nondescript and tiny beside him.

There is something to be said about seeing your new Lieutenant in denim. In the custom facemask instead of the full balaclava.

With the baleen lines missing over his chin and neck, he almost feels too exposed to you. Too vulnerable. Too open.

You can't stop fixing your gaze on the scant flesh, uncovered, above the collar of his shirt. His arms, bulky, and big, fold over his massive chest.

He barely fits inside the small booth.

Your eyes dance. Amusement. A roseate veil shudders over you—a novice, a rookie—and high off of the success of a mission.

"Sesay says this is the best place in town."

"Sesay says a lot of things, don't he?"

You blink, fingers tapping against the worn wood of the table. It's hot in Sierra Leone. A wet swelter that brands your skin with white-hot intensity. It's different from the dryness of the Sahara.

Somehow, his tone is drier than the arid desert you crawled out of. Drier than the burning heat of the massive sun.

"That he does…," you agree, floundering.

Was this a mistake? Maybe you shouldn't have come here. What were you thinking? Dragging your superior out for dinner. You flush. It's barely discernable from the blistering sunburn over the bridge of your nose. Unfamiliar with the intense sun that scorches the land.

You're drowning, now. Wallowing in this limbo of uncertainty. Maybe you should have just come later with Sesay and Abdul. They asked you when you pestered for directions, but you met Ghost's stare from over their shoulders, and hadn't heard a thing of what they were saying once you met him in the middle.

He's a whole head taller than everyone he meets. Massive. The locals' baulk at him: this huge, terrifying being with a skull on his face, cutting through the throng of people like a tank.

There was so much going on once you started the mission. After the Intel was gathered, and the forces were ready, those long nights spent inside a tent that was barely big enough for yourself let alone the behemoth bulk of your Lieutenant came to an end. It was abrupt. Sudden.

It was just you and him.

And then it was a sea of people.

You'd spent the better part of a year pouring over documents in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Scorpions and sand, and him.

The tent was deadly during the day; balmy with a humidity fit for the Amazon. At night, any complaints you might have had about the heat turned into regrets. It was freezing. You could see white clouds of condensation when you breathed out.

You'd lie next to each other. Grains of sand is the only thing keeping you apart. He was warm—bonfire hot.

You'll be frustrated, mad. That's normal when you spend so much time with a stranger. You might argue, bicker. But just focus on the mission. This is a test of camaraderie as much as it is endurance.

It wasn't like that at all. It was—

Seamless.

His ebb and flow were easy to adjust to. Maybe, it was the fact that you were a neophyte that made it so. Too afraid to let the bundle of frustration rear when this was your first mission. Your first test.

But—

It wasn't quite like that. You found that you enjoyed his company. His barbed insults spoken in a flat, serious tone often flew over the heads of the men you had to work with, but you grew accustomed to them. Enjoyed them, even. He was—

An enigma. A year later, and you know nothing about Simon Riley, and as much as he'll allow about Ghost. There is distance still, but;

It wanes. It cracks. Fills with the sharpness of his sarcasm, the stoic dedication to his mission; the grains of sand that stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. The deep hue of red from the mask he refuses to take off.

You'll suffocate, you quip, eyes glued to the paper in front of you.

Don't worry about me.

That's a silly thing to say…

It ain't. You shouldn't.

Mindless, stupid: well, I do.

Silence. Brutal and stifling. Then: focus on the mission, Rookie. Not on me.

You'd hummed noncommittally. It slipped into the back of your head, eyes fixed on the numbers in front of you.

But it wells, now. When Sesay asks if you want to go with him for dinner, when he tells you how to get there, and what to order.

Not on me.

Your eyes haven't left his. He holds your stare.

The chossy wobbles, cracks. Your hand on his arm. C'mon, boss, let's eat. It stays there while you lead him through winding valleys. The heat of his arm—bare, veins ticking under your palm, too burly for you to wrap your whole hand around the thick of him—bleeds into you. You, cold-blooded, leach the warmth from his flesh.

And now—

He doesn't eat when dinner is brought out. Doesn't take his mask off.

You watch him through the steam that wafts off the Jollof rice, his eyes roaming around the room like clockwork, looking for something that might strike. Hyper-vigilant. Wary. Cold. Distant.

A puzzle not meant to be put together, but your fingers itch with the urge to try.

Why did he come, you wonder. Why didn't he say no?

As if hearing your thoughts, his eyes are on yours. Tendrils of translucent white fog the air between you. His brow pinches. Lids crest.

It punches the air from your lungs. There is a phantom heat in your palm. Your hands shake around the fufu in your grasp, tightening around the tacky food until it bulges between your fingers.

The syphoned heat begins to simmer in your belly.

It bubbles over, blustering through your insides when his head pulls close, chin over the table, and says:

You did good, rookie. Might make a soldier of you, yet.

You bow your head. "Cachu hwch."

"English, soldier."

You shake your head. "N-nothing, sir… burnt my tongue."

You wake up in an empty hospital room. It was early August when you left for Al Mazrah. The calendar on your wall says it's now late September.

The space in between is a blur. Left in the mud. Graves was taken. Was he okay–

You don't remember anything after the point of passing out in the mud, and waking up—sick from infection, burning from a fever—and finding yourself strapped down on a jet. Medics surround you.

You'll be okay, you'll be fine–

You'd passed out again. The world slipping away until you felt the heat on your shoulder blades. The scent of yabeh thick in your nose.

You move, sluggish and heavy, on the rough hospital bed, fingers gripping the sheets below.

You still feel the grit of sand against your arm.

Heat in your belly.

(Cachu hwch, indeed.)

Shepherd calls you a day later on the phone in your private room. Your prison. The men outside say you're not allowed to leave. It's dangerous.

"Did good out there, rookie."

"Thanks, Actual," you murmur, hands clenched around the receiver. "Couldn't have done it without your help. Without you."

You want to ask about Graves. About your team.

You remember the rapid Russian spat in your ear. And this one? You bite your tongue, body pickling with unease.

"Rest up, now. My boys will be keeping an eye on you. They'll keep you safe."

You are discharged at the end of October.

Hands pressed against the still-healing scar on your temple. They peeled the bandage off yesterday.

The infection made it worse. It wasn't healing with the sickness you had. You're lucky some local boys found you in the mud when they did. You would have died.

Laswell finds you outside. Hand against her throat, eyes wide.

She looks like she's seen a ghost.

You certainly feel like one.

The ride to your safehouse is punctuated by a game of catch-up. She tells you about the mission they went on, the one you were exempt from.

The phone calls from Soap, Gaz make sense now. Straight to voicemail.

Hey, you skimpin' out on us, yeah? Skippin' duty? Not like you at all. Kinda worried, y'know? Text me somethin'. You know I don't like callin'. Anyway… we're keepin' it together, yeah? But kinda freakin' out. Uhh… anyway—

Not like you to miss one, bonnie. Call me when you can, aye? Want to make sure you're okay.

Price calls nine times. Leaves no voicemail.

A single text from Ghost. Wheels up at 16:00. Expect to see you there.

You didn't get your phone back until today. These were sent at the end of October.

The clock on your screen reads 2nd November.

"No one knew…," you murmur, hands clenched around the metal. "Why didn't Shepherd—"

"Shepherd said you were sent on recon. Said something happened. He didn't tell the others—just me and Price. Didn't want to distract them from the job."

"When did you find out?"

"That you were alive?" Her lips thinned, skin paling. "Yesterday."

"Where are they now?"

"That's confidential."

A scoff. "Sure. Now, off the record…"

"Mexico."

Something doesn't feel right at all. It sits like an anvil in your stomach.

"Laswell…"

"Get some rest," she says, even. Her eyes are glossy when she stares at you. "We'll keep you updated. I'm sure everyone will be relieved to know you're alive."

Your phone rings two days later.

The screen flashes. Lt.

Your hands tremble when you answer it.

"It was Shepherd," he admits.

Your head swims with the admission. Shepherd. Did good out there, rookie. Now, stay good. Stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

"Is he–?"

"No," he grouses, the word a sliver short of being a growl. "He's alive. Graves is dead."

It hits you in the sternum—a punch unlike any other you'd received. Air knocked from your lungs, chest throbbing in agony, you sink down into your bed, fingers gripping the sheets until your knuckles bleach white.

This shouldn't have happened.

This is what you do. It's your purpose. It's your job. Your role. You were selected by Shepherd, by Laswell, Price for that, for your ability to gather information, to weed out the moles, the rats. To sniff them out, and puncture holes in their ship until they sank to the bottom, secrets leaking out.

The words roll out of your mouth before you stop them.

"I should have been there."

The tremulous quiver makes you wince. Weakness. You're not weak. You're not—

Ghost won't see it as such, you know this; he doesn't really react to the harsh emotions of others. He carries an unwavering focus, rapt attention to the overarching mission, the end goal; pragmatic, astute on the battlefield, he doesn't flinch.

It's a toss-up if he'll ever respond. If he does, it's usually with a dry, biting dismissal. Sarcasm with him often rides the line of being too sincere, and too flat. It's not just murky, but opaque. He'll say something—equal parts scathing and wise: it's already done, no sense dwelling on what you can't change. Do better next time.

The bite in his words hurt; it was enough to make even the most impassive man irritated by the blunt, almost cruel tinge to his tone.

But it's later when the message will unravel itself. When you're lying alone in your cot, picking over the things he said, and why he said them, and then—

Oh.

Do better next time.

Right.

A soft sound. The rush of air being inhaled through clenched teeth.

Then: "I'm glad you weren't."

Silence. Your heart thunders. I'm glad you weren't.

It could mean a lot of things. A lot of bad things, but:

He thought you were either dead, or missing, or just—gone. You get it:

The last job didn't kill you—the evidence stacks in your head; one conclusion drawn:

It should have. It was meant to.

Your brush with death was a footnote. Nothing at all in the grand scheme of things.

They wanted you dead. They failed.

Soap called you last night, voice tight. You good, bonnie?

Getting there, you joked. Actual had my back. Graves, too. I'm alive because of them.

You choke.

"You alright?"

It's on the tip of your tongue to say yeah. The usual response. Practised. Easy. Distant. But you think of his words, and your ears ring with the deep husk of his voice. He was honest with you. Open. And that's—

Your words are a rush, dipped in vulnerability. "I don't want to be alone right now."

Too much. Too honest.

Too open.

You flinch. Heart thudding in your throat.

Ghost makes you feel like an exposed wire. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Raw.

He says your name—a low, brassy rasp that tickles the back of your neck. It's rare for him to call you by your given name. It's much too intimate. Too—

Well. It's just too much. You want to lean into it, to drape yourself in the rich utterance. Have it whispered into your ear late at night, while he fucks into you the same way he bucked into his hand.

And in the morning when he first wakes. When he rolls over, body folding over your own. Lips against the shell of your ear. A husky rasp; the word dragged over gravel.

You want it, want him, in ways that are unattainable.

Domestic.

You gasp. "I–um. Thanks," you fumble over your words, head roaring with the realisation that there is more than just attraction in the way your heart flutters in your chest; the downy soft wings of a small bird ruffling its fresh plumage. "I'll… talk later."

Your name is barked through the phone when you pull it away. It's cut off before he can finish.

They video call you from some pub.

The sight of them together—Gaz, Soap, Price, Laswell, Ghost—makes you smile.

"Christ, bonnie." Soap's eyes are fixed on the line near your temple. Scabbed. Plum colour. Healing, but not yet there. An inch over, and you'd have been—

You flinch, shrugging. "Could be worse–"

"What happened?" It's a command. You try not to tremble at the bark in Ghost's tone. Perhaps Laswell didn't tell them everything.

His eyes are wide, the whites cresting over the puddles of black. You can't match his stare. You drop, darting to the clock in the corner.

It's Laswell who tells them about the mission with the Shadow Company. Graves. Shepherd.

"...Fuckin', aye." Gaz murmurs. He echoes Ghost's question. "What happened? No one told us anything. We thought— and then Shepherd said you were out for the mission. Not that—that you'd been— "

It falls silent. They don't know about the mission's end aside from Shepherd's lies. Laswell knows. She was the first face you saw in the hospital.

Let's talk…

"We were ambushed," you start, shrugging again. Blasé. Nonchalant. You pretend you can't feel the intensity of Ghost's stare through the screen. "I… they were going to shoot me. I got away. Got a scratch—," a scoff from Soap, a murmur of more than a scratch, aye; you ignore it. "They thought I was dead, so they left me there…"

There is more to it. Graves. The whispers in your head. Them, in your final moments. Agents outside your hospital door. Two inches from death. A day away from rotting.

You swallow it down. It doesn't matter. It happened and now it's over.

"Bonnie…," there is something raw in Soap's voice. It pricks your pericardium.

Left for dead. Abandoned by everyone around you. The ones you trusted the most. Your own team didn't even look. Had no time to mourn, no time to worry.

You know what they must see; the lines they must be drawing. How they, themselves, currently feel, and what they would do if it were them instead of you. It—

It hurts.

"I'd have joined you at the pub," you murmur, voice a shaky worble, before he can say anything else. "But–," you lift your head, eyes downcast. A facsimile of a smile flickers. You wonder if it hits the mark. "Maybe next time."

Price nods in your periphery. "Listen—"

"I'll be ready for Makarov," you interrupt. "I'm… I gotta go, though. Am I — can I be dismissed?"

"...Yeah, yeah you can."

You hang up without another word.

In the silence of your flat—in a land more foreign to you than the Sahara—you break.

Your night dissolves into a series of firsts in quick succession:

A knock on your door. No one knows that you live here. No one but Laswell when she dropped you off. The rheumy-eyed lady with knobby knuckles who mutters at you in warm Welsh. Words you pretend you can't understand.

Shepherd, too, because he needed a location to put down on paper. A place to find you if they couldn't get a hold of you.

You think it might be him—back for vengeance—and you hold your pistol in your hands, back pressed flat against the wall. One hand drops the brass doorknob.

"Who is it?"

A beat.

"It's me." A thick baritone—enough, you think, pulse racing, to rattle the door with his voice alone. "It's Simon."

Simon. Not Ghost—

Right. Off-duty, now. Until you get a lead on Makarov.

Your Lieutenant knocking on your door at—gritty eyes flicker to the stovetop in the kitchen—quarter to five in the evening is another first. Almost paradoxical, really.

Gun shoved into the holster, you turn to face the wood. Through the little window above, covered by a paper-thin curtain, you can see the dark shape of him, unmoving, as he stands on your porch.

There are a number of reasons why he'd be here, but only one makes you yearn.

You pull the door open, and the sight of him makes you dizzy. Hypoxia. Seasickness. Homesick.

He's dressed as casually as Simon is capable of. Black hoodie, wet on the hood from the snow that falls in clumps outside. A black beanie on his head. Skull mask flat against the bridge of his nose. Denim. Black boots.

The coal around his eyes is smudged. A nebula of pale skin through a black oasis.

"What—?"

"Shepherd." Right. He could have called. Got the Intel from Laswell. His words leave no room for argument when he lets out an amalgam of a snarl, a growl; it's ground to dust when he says: "we need to talk."

"Not—," you don't want him to see the emptiness inside. The vacancy. Militaristically barren. Lonely. "Not here…"

Shepherd was here, too. Not him, specifically—maybe. You don't know for certain. But his agents, definitely. Polluting the inside.

It's a flimsy excuse. You hear the threadbare conviction in your tone.

"Shepherd was here," you say, and then wince. "Not now, I mean—"

The words die on your tongue. Ghost— Simon —is smart. Of course he wouldn't think Shepherd was here now. He'd fled. Went into hiding. You shift on your feet.

He can read you like no one else.

(You wonder if anyone at all can read him.)

You flounder. "I don't want…not here…"

"Where do you want to go?"

Somewhere stiflingly hot. "Anywhere."

Simon doesn't press. He never does. His head rolls, tips toward the street. "C'mon, then. Get your stuff."

He reads it on your face, in the things you don't say. It reminds you of Sierra Leone— eat, rookie, you haven't all day; get some sleep, you're dead on your feet; I'll take the first watch— and the memory clots behind your ribs.

"Okay," you murmur.

You feel his gaze on your back when you turn around. The door is left open. He doesn't follow.

There is a chill in the air when you step outside, bundled up in a knit sweater that does little to stem the frigid sea breeze from cutting through the cracks in the threaded cable.

It's a cold night in Porthmadog.

Snow falls in clumps from the indigo-smeared sky, sticking to the cobblestone under your feet.

Simon says nothing as you walk out of the apartment block. He stays close to you, so close you could inch your elbow out and touch him. The heat from his body is a beacon. You're at war with yourself, struggling not to get pulled into his current, and swept out to sea.

Despite the closeness, there is a distance in the way he paces. Eyes roaming under the hood, taking in the lights strewn overhead, lingering on the alcoves where someone might hide.

Having him here feels a little surreal. Porthmadog is off-limits to everyone—it's a place where you come to rot.

His presence shatters the sense that it doesn't really exist outside of those long nights when you stare up at the ceiling, and want. A metaphysical realm that laps at the cracks inside of you, eroding the thick veneer you cobbled together over the years until it withers away, and you have to patch it up when you get called in for another assignment.

Intact soldier. Whole. Nile.

It's a place, now. Real. Tangible.

Seeing Simon—Ghost, Lt—walk beside you down Lombard Street, footfalls echoing through the winding road, makes something churn in your guts. It sits inside, and feels a little like finality.

How could you possibly come back to a place you pretend doesn't exist? A place that is just en-route to wherever else you have to go?

A place you come to because you have nowhere else.

You can't come back here now that the streets are tainted with the nitroglycerin scent of Simon. A bonfire on the beach. The burning logs doused in kerosene. The miasma will suffocate you.

It clots inside of your lungs, sticking to the gummy lining when you breathe him in.

He smells of bourbon. Cigarettes. Carries the scent of everyone else with him—Gaz's cologne: thick vetiver; the sickly sweet tang of Price's cigars; thick metallic: ozone and gasoline that Soap wears after a mission—and you greedily take it in.

You let it sit, red-hot barbed wire, against your chest.

Your eyes slip. Illegal. Wrong. They find him, always. Bathed in the streetlight above; flushed yellow. It casts shadows on him, and makes his eyes look lighter.

A peaking shoal in the middle of the midnight blue ocean.

He's dangerous. Makes your fingers prickle with want; with the urge to touch.

Makes you greedy.

Stupid.

Despite not knowing the area, Simon cuts through the supine street like he's familiar with it already. Maybe, he is. He must have looked at the map on his phone before he got here, eyes locked on the space, the landscape. Mentally cataloguing each hiding spot.

You follow him—a stranger in your own home—and cross your arms over your chest when the thick chatter carries from inside the shops along the street. Heavy Welsh. Warm milk and honey.

Salt in your wounds.

You don't belong here.

The familiar green of the carpet and flooring shop nearly makes you trip, but you steady yourself. Ball your hands into fists by your side, and drop your gaze to the cracked ground below.

You can feel the moment his gaze shifts, sliding over to you. It bores into your temple; abrasive, and grating.

Goosebumps erupt over your flesh. You blame it all on the cold—the stutter in your chest, the ache in your lungs, the shiver dancing down your spine. The frigid weather. The icy breeze.

Another shiver rolls through you, different this time, when you catch sight of the park.

Your chin hits the pavement. Palms sliding through jagged gravel. Knees splitting.

Your blood puddles on the grey rocks.

They crack you open. Nothing spills from the gaping hole.

"You with me?"

You blink. The reverie shakes, shudders. The little girl with her chin on the ground warbles.

Simon stands there, his back to the streetlights. His presence makes the image distort, and bend to fit him inside. It doesn't belong.

"What's a'matter with you?"

You flinch at his voice, and peer up at him from under clumpy, wet lashes, heavy with melting snow.

The words are harsh, but his tone is—

He steps forward, a few paces ahead. You didn't realise you stopped.

He doesn't come to a halt until there is barely an arm's length of space between you, and seeing him this close to you, his face concealed, blank and empty, has that strange feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach again.

His lashes are blond. It surprises you. You'd always imagined he had black hair. Black hair, black eyes.

It's blonde.

You don't know why it matters, why you can't stop staring at the soft wisps around his lids. They flutter shut, fanning across the smudged ink skin under his eyes. The tips are blond. The bottoms are ash. They're nice, you note, a flavour of that same something blistering through you.

His lids slide open, the corner tightening as his gaze sharpens, focusing on you. "Y'alright?" He asks again, waiting for an answer.

You swallow, and it tastes of sand. Gritty, and painful when it slips down your throat. Your voice is a rasp, a shiver above a whisper, when you say, "yeah. "

His eyes tighten again, deeper this time. Something flashes in those polychrome depths. Under the hat, his brow pulls taut together.

The indent makes your fingers itch, the urge to reach out, to soothe it, is nearly overwhelming.

"You lyin' to me?" He grumbles, an edge to his voice you can't place.

"No," you mutter, the words dragged out of you by force. "Just a —a headache."

He has a look in his eyes that makes you think he knows, somehow. That he can chisel inside your head, and rummage through all the secrets you try to keep.

Your neck aches from having to tip your chin back so much to even look at him, the 90-degree angle making you feel dizzy. The opposite of vertigo where you sometimes look up at the unending sky yawning overhead and feel that tendril of fear curling around you, admixing the awe, until you feel the urge to dig your fingers into the ground, and hold on. You can't fall up, but in those moments, it almost feels like you might.

Ghost gives you that same feeling.

His chin dips low, eyes lidded and heavy. You could almost mistake it for bland disinterest had his jaws not been working, gnashing together in a wordless tick. He says nothing. You watch the bones move. The fabric teeth snap.

All his focus is centred on the blood-red gash near your temple. The black sutures keeping the split skin together.

Ghost makes a sound, and you almost mistake it for a growl. Inhumane. Animal. It's pulled from his throat, but bitten off by his teeth before it can take shape.

You blink up at him, wide and owlish, when he reaches for you.

His hand is warm even through the glove. The rough fabric grazes your skin when he brushes your hair away with his knuckle. His eyes are fixed on your forehead, hardened, all militaristic concentration as he looks you over.

"It's—it's fine…"

"It ain't."

Gritty sandpaper. Harsh, abrading.

It's hushed, though.

Speaking above a whisper feels taboo. This whole thing does, honestly. Illicit, wrong. Ghost shouldn't be lasering his glare on your forehead, searching for a reason to do something about the anger that now brims in those dark depths. His knuckles on your skin feel sacrilegious. Touching you is exempt. Illegal. Off-limits.

But he does it, anyway. Strips the barriers pitched in front of you both like tissue paper, and holds his four knuckles to your temple, his thumb brushing a hair beneath the irritated skin. Gentle. Soft.

You didn't think these hands knew how to do something so delicate. That they were made, instead, to break. To crush. To ruin.

He might, yet: the pad of his finger feels like a brand when it ghosts over the soft curve of your forehead, soothing the phantom hurt, and you think you might just shatter if he doesn't stop touching you like this. Gingerly. Calming. A balm over your aching flesh.

You'd gotten so used to the pain, the constant throb in your head, that this respite from it feels like bliss. Nirvana wrapped in leather.

His touch is magnetic. It pulls a sound from deep within your chest, something desperate and wanting, and you can't snap your jaws shut quick enough before it's loose in the atmosphere, and cresting over him.

Ghost's gentle prods go still. With his thumb pressed into a place that makes liquid heat spume in your vein, you can feel it tremble when your tongue snakes out, gliding over your lower lip.

Your head swims. Phosphenes dance across the back of your lids, and you struggle to remember when you shut your eyes in the first place.

They flutter open.

His stare is fixed on your lips in a total eclipse, honed in on the slow roll of your blood-red tongue as it peeks out from the warm cavern of your mouth. The wet trail left behind is swallowed by his gaze. It flickers up, catching the bloom of heat under your cheeks. The darkened flush makes him rumble; the soft rattle of an engine purring. A frisson passes over his expression, lashes fluttering.

He's close. Closer than he was before. You can feel the molten heat bleeding into your skin with his proximity. Taste the gunpowder, the ash, and the ichor that clings to him; he smells of war when you breathe him in. Gasoline. Copper. A livewire scent that makes your lungs itch.

Dangerous. Powerful. Deadly.

Every synapse in your head misfires, sending off warning signs and sirens to run from the man that reeks of gun oil, and fire; napalm-scented demise with blood-soaked hands meant to ruin. But it only makes you lean in closer until the acrid burn of him corrodes your throat.

His body is warm, and the heat is stifling.

You're drunk off the fumes he exudes; reckless and wanting, and in the slurried molasses of your mind, you wonder if this is what it feels like for a gazelle to stand so close to a lion.

Something cold pools at the base of your spine, making you shiver. A warning—distant, ancient—but the calls of your ancestors are dimmed under the bulk of his shadow. The heavy iron in his gaze rests over you, and you imagine that his body pressed into yours would carry the same heft.

He's somehow bigger up close, you think. Wide shoulders, thick arms, a broad chest and waist; muscular thighs, firm calves.

He's not Adonis, but you imagine he feels just like marble all the same.

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

We. He says we, now. It's new. You shudder in his hold.

"I'm here," you whisper the words, afraid of breaking this strange spell between you. It feels like everything else around you has melted away until only you and he exists on this lonely street that makes you ache.

"You are…" he rasps; a low hush. Maybe he, too, is afraid of shattering it. "You did good, soldier."

His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won.

His touch is featherlight. But his eyes–

His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

A million thoughts run through your head, ones that taste like kerosene, and cauterise inside you like a cigarette to your skin. The heat blooms again, but it's not enough—all you can think of is how you wished you had more of him.

(You wonder if you run your tongue along his skin, kiss that acrid mouth, if he'd taste of napalm.)

Chiselled open, exposed to the air. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding the fumes of your burning need in his lungs. When he exhales, you can taste the smoke in the air.

His hand drops, fingers sliding down the curve of your face until he meets the plush softness where your chin and cheek meet. The hand he keeps on you is firm.

His eyes bore into yours. He wants your attention. Demands it. Then, he holds it steady until your mouth drops in a series of short, gasping breaths.

Your voice is featherlight when you say his name. His real one. Simon. It simmers in the air between you, and the scent of it almost makes his eyes snap shut, shoulders coiling. Tensed. Wanting. His muscles flex, bunching together in tight knots. Clench. Release. Clench.

It's only when you hear his haggard breath through the nylon, do you realise he's holding himself back from you.

Your belly flutters at the rumble roiling out of his throat.

Another command falls, deeper, darker, and your spine nearly snaps with how quickly you straighten up when he utters two words.

"Later, pet."

It's a promise. A demand. An out.

His mind made up, decisive and sure, he's now shoving the choice in your hands. Leaving the decision with you for safekeeping.

Like before, there is only ever one choice. As if you had any other answer for him.

When you nod, firm and eager, his chest shudders. "Fuckin' Christ–" it's a snarl, full of tension. Excitement.

His hand slides away from your face, and presses into the base of your spine, settling heavily over the curve of your ass. There is pressure, an urgency.

"C'mon," he rasps, jerking his chin to the end of the park. "Parked over here."

He keeps his hand on you, heavy and hot. A possessive branding as he leads you away from this place.

When you pass, your eyes drop to the pavement.

The gravel is clean. Your blood is nowhere to be found.

Your muscles go lax. You get pulled into his current, shoulder brushing over his chest.

Simon tightens his hold, and pulls you closer.

(Dragging you out to open water until you can't see the shoreline anymore.)

He leads you to a black jeep with tinted windows, and grounds out that it's rental when you press the heel of your palm into your mouth, futilely trying to hide a smile.

"It's nice," you quip, light and airy. "Very you."

"Just get your ass inside already," he says, pulling the door open for you. "Got a drive ahead of us."

His hand settles on your waist when you step up on the first rung, heavy. Firm. You want to lean into him. Have him pressed up against you like this for an eternity.

"Where are we going?" You breathe, shivering from the molten look in his eye. The heat in his chest.

He tugs you back into him, chin grazing the space between your neck and shoulder. His voice is white-hot in your ear. "My safe house."

Your eyes flutter. Heat blooms. "Simon—" his name is a whimper on your lips.

His fingers dig into your hips. "Fuckin' hell, pretty thing. You keep saying my name like that, and we won't make it to Southport."

There is no lie in the words that are forced out of his throat; inhumane, a growl. You don't want him here —in this town where you moulder.

Your fingers trail over his wrist. The coarse hair on his arms tickles your skin.

"Get me out of here."

His eyes sharpen. "Gladly."

Two hours and a half hours from Porthmadog to Southport.

A lot of time for him to reconsider. For that coldness he wears like a shield, that unbreakable distance, to pitch itself in front of him once more, locking you out. Perhaps, it'll be for good. Maybe—

Your hands ball into fists. Knuckles dig into the plush seat.

You know what you want. Know what you've wanted since before you stupidly opened your mouth— keeping my seat warm— and he saw it through.

But what about him? There was no time on the jet for a grand discussion, not when everyone was on top of each other already; not when Soap kept glancing at you, brow drawn tight, as if to ask really, bonnie?

Memories of Sierra Leone have you in a chokehold. Your purgatory, your limbo, your afterlife; when you were dying, it was all of him. Of the desert. Of the town that felt so warm, so inviting. The people baulked at his size but still ushered you over, offering snacks, and treats.

So tiny beside him, a woman laughs. You need to eat more. Your man should make you fat and happy.

You blushed. He's not—

Yes, yes… A wink. A coy grin. He watches from the dirt path as she presses bundled cassava into your hands. He says nothing at all. Your man. You like the sound of it more than you should.

You know what you want. What you've wanted.

It puddles inside of you. Droplets leaking through the fissures that have been splintering for years, now.

A man stands in front of you. Promise me, you'll get him.

You: young, naïve, nodded. I promise.

Ghost pulled you aside. He yells—quite often, in fact—but he's ice cold when he says, we don't make promises, rookie. Deadly. Your heart is in your throat when you apologise.

And then the scent of fire. A mission in Mesaieed left you and Gaz trapped. Helpless. Smoke clogging your lungs. Gaz wheezing under the intense blase; the noxious fumes billowing from the smoulder.

His voice in your ear. We'll get you out of there, rookie. Hang tight.

That a promise? You gasp, gagging from the black cloud drenching your lungs. Close to death, and cracking jokes. Confident. Assured. Nile crocodile lurking below the surface.

He isn't there to see your hands shake. You're thankful for it. Stupid, stupid—you want nothing more to impress your Lieutenant. Match him wit-for-wit. Vile joke for vile joke.

It surprises you when his voice filters through the line, one word slurred into your ear: yes.

Are you a man who keeps his promises?

Always. That's why I never make them. Close to a fiery death, and his voice crackles again. Why wasn't Jesus born in Liverpool?

Gaz coughed. Fuck's sake… Lemme die in peace.

Why, Lt?

There are no wise men or virgins.

Funny. I like that one.

Knew you would. Cover your heads.

The window above shattered. They saved you—just like they said they would.

(You realised then that Ghost cared for you, for all his subordinates, more than he let on.)

And now—

There is no turning back. Later, he said. He promised. A man who keeps his promises.

You think, then, of the look on his face under the streetlamp. Snowfall trickles between you. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes when he said:

"Thought we—fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

The words get lodged in his throat. They're ripped out with a harshness that bludgeons through you.

You turn to him, taking in his profile as he leans back in the seat, looking out the windshield.

As if he feels your stare, his eyes cut from the window, and find yours. He holds it until you taste smoke in your throat, until your lip trembles. Then it sinks low to your lap. One hand peels off of the steering wheel.

It feels like an anvil when it rests on your thigh.

"Almost there," it's a strangled rasp. A promise.

You nod. Your smile feels flushed when it pulls on your lips. Sunkissed. Warm. Expectant.

Your hand unfurls, fingers aching from the strain of your grip, and you curl them over his wrist. His pulse thuds under your thumb. You stroke it, and wonder what he would say if he knew yours beat the same.

The safehouse in Southport is not at all what you were expecting.

The winding road he drives on leads to a small, modest cabin on the outskirts of the town. Perched away from the rest of civilisation, it sits on its own island. Cut-off from the mainland.

The distance is something that makes a smile pull on your lips. So fittingly him —your lone wolf leader who only just learned the word we —but the sight of the house makes something gnarl inside of your chest. It's quaint.

Somehow, you'd expected a flat in the heart of the city. London, perhaps. Somewhere close to the airport, to the UK base used when you needed the closest weapons cache or jet.

The little abode in the middle of a farm doesn't mesh with the image you'd drawn of your prickly Lieutenant. It's too—

Wholesome.

"It's temporary," he grouses when he catches your teeth sink into your palm, a wide grin splitting across your face. "I haven't been back here in a long time."

"Is it yours?" You ask, turning to him. The jeep hums, idling. Neither of you makes any move to get out.

His fingers drum on the wheel. "Grew up here."

"I thought you were from East London."

"No. Moved there, then back here." He offers.

You nod. You get it.

"It's nice." You say instead, and it really is. A sprawling farmland with rolling hills in the distance where you know the sun hits in the morning. Where it'll bathe the boscage in ochre. "Peaceful."

"I'd have taken you to London," he grinds the words out from between his molars. "But it's too far."

Too far. Roughly four hours.

You've been sitting for nearly three. You shudder, eyes lidded when you turn to him.

A slow roll of your tongue has his arms flexing, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are stained white. Bleached.

"Maybe next time."

A promise. A question.

The vein in his forearm throbs. "C'mon, let's go."

You barely have enough time to pace a few feet into the foyer before it starts. You turn to look at him from over your shoulder—taking in the chimney, the chaise, the distinct lack of anything personal outside of a safe, a lighter on top of the fireplace—and he's suddenly there. Boots off. Hands curled into fists by his side. Head dipped down, and eyes more dangerous than you'd ever seen them.

That thrill pools—a warning. Run, run.

He stalks toward you, eyes burning coal. "Are you hungry?"

"No," you shake your head, swallowing thickly.

A step back. A step forward. They spark when you run.

"Thirsty?"

"N—no…"

Two steps bring him closer to you. Your back presses flush to the wall next to the fireplace, and he moulds over you like a liquid shadow. Dark, imposing. He's massive. You can't see anything but him.

Simon rests his forearm against the wall over your head, bending it at the elbow to bring him closer to you. The rough graze of his mask over your cheek has you panting.

His hand is a brand on your thigh. It slips down, fingers crooking in the fold of your knee, wrenching it up his hip. You gasp, hands grasping the bulk of his biceps when he drags your centre flush over the growing bulge in his pants.

Your head swims when he growls in your ear. "Is there anything you need to do before I drag you to my bed?" You shake your head slightly, pulse humming in your chest. "Because once I'm inside this pretty cunt, nothing at all will get me out. Understood?"

Your brain short circuits. A complete whiteout.

"A—affirmative." You choke, somehow coherent despite the absolute mess in your head. "Sir."

He rumbles. His chest pushes into yours; the sound reverberating through your bones. "Good girl."

He turned his back to you after he let you inside a modest bedroom, pulling the black sweater over his head. His back exposed—rippling muscles, etches of black from the tattoos—all pale skin wrapped in thick sinew. The sound you make has his shoulders coiling tight.

"Fuck, pet… I haven't even touched you, yet."

He turns, the mask slightly lopsided, and his beanie missing. His hair without the full balaclava sends a shock to your system. The newness of discovering something; elation bleeds in. His hair is ashen brown. Lighter than chocolate, darker than caramel.

You want to sink your fingers into the thick of it.

Thighs pressed tight together, your greedy eyes take him in. The way his hair—moussed from the hat—falls over his forehead; not cropped to the grain like Soap, and barely centimetres longer than Price.

He gazes at you. Waiting, maybe.

Your hands fall to your pants, eager to rid yourself of every barrier between your skin and his. You want him on you— in you. It itches like a sickness. Burns like a fever.

Your trousers fall. Fingers looped into the hem of your panties. He stops you, then, with his words.

"I took the mask off for the team."

You falter, bent down to push the panties the rest of the way off, and blink up at him.

The first thought, of course, is that Gaz saw his face before you. Gaz. The rookie rivalry (playful, carrying the flavour of siblings vying for their approval) makes you burn.

You swallow the jealousy on your tongue. "Oh…"

He waits, still.

"You don't have to…" you want to see him. He's a mosaic; an incomplete piece. You have two halves but the middle is murky. You try to fit them in your head, but the image doesn't line up.

"Lay back," he ordered, hands dropping to his belt buckle.

The image of him tugging the leather, veins rippling under the black ink of his burly forearms, feels unholy. It douses you with a want so palpable, your belly quivers with need.

You don't need foreplay, you think. Not when the sight of him pulling off a belt already has you melting. Has your pussy throbbing, your thighs slick.

"Damn, Lieutenant…" you mewl, dropping down on the bed, knees pressed taut together to stem the ache. "How are you so—"

"Simon," he rasps. The belt hangs in his hands. You wonder if he'd tie you up one day with it. Leave you quivering below him, completely at his mercy.

Or, would he let you use it on him? Let you bind this behemoth to the bed for your pleasure.

Your toes curl. The thoughts alone are enough to get you off, you think.

But it's the sight of him, then, standing over you, trousers hanging low on his hips, kept in place only by the thick thigh he slots between your knees, that really makes you shudder.

"Lay back," he orders again, hand dropping—white-hot, rough—to your shaking knee. His chin lowers, eyes staring at your pussy. "I want to taste you again, pet."

Fuck. Fuck —

He lowers to his knees, still somehow taller than you, and gazes at you between your bent legs. Dark eyes flashing. Goosebumps prickle along your flesh as he trails his gaze down the length of your body, settling, once again, on your cunt.

He looks as if he's going to devour you. Eyes wide, whites full, when he pries your legs apart, spreading your cunt for him once more. He hadn't seen you bare like this—beneath him for his own pleasure—and you feel the ghost of his breath on your sex when he leans in close, breathing in deeply.

"Bloody- fuckin' -hell, pet—" it sounds like a curse when he says it. A choked snarl. "So wet for me, and I haven't even touched you."

His hands are on the outside of your thighs, rough skin grazing the sensitive flesh as he trails them down to the soft flesh beneath your knee. With his thumbs hooked in the bend, pressing sharply into the cartilage, he wrenches them apart, opening you wider for him until your pussy is bared to him completely.

The groan he makes edges on the equinox of being absolutely filthy and wrecked when he drinks you in.

"Missed this pretty little cunt." His masked cheek rests on your knee, head cocked as he stares down at you. When he tips his chin, gazing at you, his eyes are blacker than midnight. A pool of ink. Desire brims.

He hooks your thighs over his broad shoulders, finger looping in the gap between his mask and the skin beside his nose.

You don't have a chance to see it. Fucking tease —

He dips his head before he tugs it down, and you feel the molten heat of his tongue slipping between your folds.

Your head falls back on the pillow, toes curling as that greedy mouth devours you once more. The stubble around his chin prickles the skin of your thighs. His grip is so tight, you already see blooms of blue pooling beneath the tips of his fingers.

The first time wasn't a flute. Simon presses his mouth to your cunt like he can't get enough; lips sealing over your throbbing clit, tongue lapping at you in even, thick strokes that make you see white behind your eyelids. It's good, so good —

He's going to ruin you.

"Simon—"

You remember those filthy groans rumbling against your slit, and your hand lifts, reaching down to tangle in his locks. A tug—sharp, pointed—makes him pant into your pussy, makes his fingers tighten until you can feel capillaries bursting under his firm hold. Until his short nails make indents in your flesh.

"Yeah, pet," his voice is molten rock; you throb, aching, from the sound alone. "Just like that…"

His mouth is on you again, devouring you whole.

You lift your head, staring down at the black eyes that bore into you, the thick locks of hair spilling out between your fingers, and you break.

You fall back with a groan, arching your cunt into his eager mouth, desperate for more. More of that liquid bliss that spools in your core, that has you leaking a puddle under his chin.

His hands shift, sliding down the meat of your thighs until they wriggle under your ass. Your flesh spills between his fingers when he grips you tight, lifting your hips, your cunt, to him.

Simon helps you buck against him, lets you cant your hips into his face, nearly smothering him with the sopping heat of your centre. When you're mewling, panting, with your head tossed back, and rapture in a quiver of his name spilling from your lips, he shifts.

His hold changes, and one hand falls back. His lips seal around your aching clit as a finger—long, thick—presses against your entrance. His tongue laves over you when he slowly presses it inside, crooking it to stroke against your fluttering walls.

The choked sob that leaves your throat is a mangled wreck of pleasure, of want.

"More," you mewl, but the plea barely has a chance to pass your lips before he's dragging his finger out until only the tip keeps you open. "Please, sir—"

He thrusts it into the last knuckle, groaning against you at the slick, wet sound that it makes. "Fuck, pet. Always so wet for me, aren't you?"

"Always," you gasp, fingers gripping his hair tight. "Simon, I need more—"

He pulls his finger out; another joins it when you whimper. The stretch feels good. Heat blooms in your belly. You won't last long. Your thighs quiver with each roll of his fingers pushing in as deep as they will go; with each stroke of his tongue over your clit.

You're going to cum—

"Simon—"

The coil snaps, pussy clenching on the thick fingers wedged inside of you, hips canting into his eager mouth as he rides you through the spasming pleasuring that ripples through your abdomen.

"That's it… that's a good girl," he slurs against you.

It's almost too much when he forces another finger into your throbbing cunt. You keen at the stretch, at the too-full feeling of him splitting your walls.

"Simon, I can't—"

"Yes, you can. You're taking me so well already."

His voice is liquid sex; the wrecked sound of him makes your toes curl, and your spine arch. You want him inside of you. You want to know if he'd make those same grunts of pleasure with your pussy wrapped around him.

High of the sudden burst of endorphins, you look down at him—sloppy with your wetness, his face hidden by your cunt—and you tug his hair until he meets your blown-out gaze.

"Fuck me," you try to demand, but the word comes out as a shaky plea.

"Too tight, pet," he rumbles. "Gotta get you ready for me."

Three fingers buried to the last knuckle, and he says it still isn't enough.

You'd think him cocky had you not the pleasure of seeing him hard and aching already. Big, fat cock leaking between the seal of his palm. You shiver, head dropping to the pillow.

It's all you can do but take whatever he gives you—long, thick fingers stretching you out, brushing the gummy walls inside that flutter when his mouth seals over your clit. It feels like an eternity since he pulled you inside the room.

A tug of your hand makes him groan. You meet his stare, pleading. Breathless. It's too much—

And not enough.

"I don't care," you slur, drunk and stupid on the way his hot mouth glues to your cunt. "I wanna feel you inside of me for days, sir—"

"Fuck!"

It's a harsh snarl that makes you whimper. The sound ripped from his chest, and rubbed raw as it was scraped out. His forehead is pressed to your mound, breathing you in once more.

His head lifts.

It's dark in the room. You can't really make out the entirety of his features—the familiar long nose, the cut of his jaw. His lips. It's bathed in black, in shadows, but through the glimmer of the washed-out moon that spills inside, you can see the distinct wetness gleaming on his mouth, his chin.

You whimper, eyes burning with tears of desperation. When he speaks, it's shredded rocks. Gravel. Low and dark.

"You're gonna feel me for weeks, pet."

It's a dangerous precipice. His voice alone shatters your resolve, and seeing those full, pink lips form the words that will ruin you, it's overwhelming. Your cunt throbs, walls shuddering in pleasure ripped through your being.

He feels it against his fingers; it makes his eyes flutter. His tongue sweeps out. Eye hooded, half-mast as they take you in.

He sits back, hands slipping to the crease of your knees. His chin dips.

"Hold 'em open for me, pet."

You gasp, belly knotting tight from the command that drips from his drenched, wicked, mouth. Your hand reluctantly falls from the soft locks to do as you're told. The warmth of his skin brushes over your fingers when you take his place, keeping your legs bent, spread, for him. You're on display. Open, wanting.

His hand, now free, reaches for the bundle of fabric pooled at the base of his neck. The mask is fixed into place again—a needless action, you think, pouting. Gaz saw his face in better lighting.

(You hope he had the wherewithal to take a picture for you.)

But there is something to be said about how illicit he looks, mouth now concealed from your view until just his eyes are visible. The coal is rubbed off, shadows along the crease, the corner of his nose, under his eyes, but it feels dangerous like this.

With the mask on, he's Ghost. Deadly. Dangerous. Fearsome. Men cower from him. His name alone scorches the earth, and makes the underbelly tremble.

And he's going to be inside of you. Claiming you, taking you. It's a cigarette thrown on a sea of gasoline. Your skin, fervid, begins to blister.

When you look up, it's ink-blot eyes in a sea of white. Red tendrils in the corners; rivers of ichor.

If he keeps looking at you like that, like you're a feast for him, you might go a little crazy, a little delirious.

Simon stares for a moment longer, hand dipping below the bed to grasp himself in his hand. A grunt at the touch, a flutter of his lashes, and then he moves. Coiled muscle; rippling flesh. He looms above you like a Cimmerian god—drenched in tenebrose, mask soaked from your slick—his haunting eyes gazing at you like you're an offering meant to be savoured.

His thighs—thicker than the tree trunks in the distance—slot beneath yours, and the sheer width of them makes you dizzy. The bulk is bigger than your head. Simon must notice the way you're drooling over them, knuckles white as you stare, open and hungry, wanting, as he takes a small amount of mercy on you. He shifts until the bulk of it is pressed taut to your core.

Your back arches, legs trembling. Fuck—

You want to ride his thighs. Want him to perch you on his massive lap, and have those molten eyes fixed on you as you use him to get yourself off.

You could do it, you think, mind blanking out; that soporific pleasure slurring all logic from taking root until a gossamer spools inside, filled with want. With greed.

"Wanna ride you…" you slur, wrecked on the notion alone. "Your thighs. They're so big, Simon, fuck— you're so big—"

"I like that idea, pet," he rasps, thigh notching closer to your throbbing cunt, smearing slick all over the coarse hair that covers his flesh. "Wanna see you desperate for it."

"I am…" you whine, breathless. "I want you so bad, I can't stand it…"

His hands fall, bracketing his burly arms beside your head until the absurd heft of him fills your vision. The muscles in his core pull taut; veins in his arms pulse.

He told you to keep your legs spread, but your fingers itch with the need to touch him. To feel him against your palm.

His cock hangs, daunting and thick, between his legs, head brushing your belly. Prespend smears over your skin; warm, tacky. You want a taste—

When you tell him as much, chin tipped backwards to whisper the words into his neck, he shudders above you. His cock twitches, spits more prespend on you. You want him to cum on your face, you gasp, words liquid, slurred. You're not entirely sure they're in English. You don't think you have the capacity to think beyond want, want, want—

"Yeah?" He rasps, elbow bending as he drops to his forearm. It brings his chest flush to yours. The dark smattering of hair rubs against your nipples. His face is a constellation: white jowls, black eyes. The look alone makes you smoulder. "Don't worry about me, pet."

You're shaking your head, but the protests die on your tongue when his hips slip between your thighs, prying you further apart. Completely spread beneath the bulk of his body, you crumble.

He knocks your hands away, a low murmur of his approval slipping past those sinful lips for listening to him, as if there was ever a choice, and he notches your knees against his hips, pressing himself closer to your core.

Finally free, your hands spring down to grab him, gripping his bicep in a vice just to feel the way it jumps under your fingers, and the other flat against his heated chest. His pulse thunders against your palm.

"Gonna give it to you, now."

You wanted it— ached for it—but as he feeds his thick cock into your pussy, you wonder if maybe you'd been a little overconfident before. That, perhaps, he was right.

It's swallowed down, smothered with a whimper. His stupidly fat cock will not break you.

"That's it, pet," he slurs, mask pressed tight to your ear. "Take it… C'mon, now."

He pulls back, widening your thighs, and then pushing them up until you're nearly folding in half beneath him. The movement jostles his cock, and it nudges something inside of you that makes you spasm around him.

"Fuckin' hell…" he groans, sinking in deeper. His eyes are fixed on the spot where he stretches you taut. Skin raw; cunt pushed to the mettle. "Almost there… look'it your pretty cunt take my cock…"

The air is punched from your lungs when he pushes in deeper, when the blunt head batters up behind your belly button. He knocks against your cervix, and the deep ache has tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

"Go on, pretty thing," he husks in your ear, words drenched in pleasure. Your fingers dig into the bulk of his body, crescent moons embedded into his skin.

He bludgeons into something inside of you that has you see stars—galaxies burst behind your eyelids, and heat, supernova hot, burns low in your belly. It burns at the place where his cocks ruts into you so deeply that you can feel him in your sternum, almost taste him in your throat. It liquefies your body. You melt into a conduit under him; a receptacle that leaches pleasure from the stretch of his cock inside you.

Your body slackens. There is a give; something breaks. And he's suddenly deeper than you knew existed, than you ever thought possible. You feel him almost knocking against the cap of your womb. Each persistent jerk has your pussy clenching around him, milking him, trying to get him deeper.

As if that was possible. As if there was any room left inside of you for him to claim.

You're stuffed to the brim; overflowing with him. You can't take anymore.

You sob brokenly when his hips pull back until only the mushroom head of his cock splits your aching, raw cunt open. The seam of you flutters around him, as if begging to be filled again.

He grunts, a hoarse, low noise dredged from the depths of his chest when he shifts, his cock spearing back into you.

It nearly makes you scream. Your nails rake over his flesh, desperate to find purchase amid a crumbly chossy that threatens to send you plummeting down a precipice, hurtling you toward an unknown abyss.

"Easy, now," he commands, the bark of his voice bitten between clenched teeth. "You're gonna make me cum before I've gotten my fill of this cunt, pet."

"Want it," you slur, babbling on the liquid bliss roaring through your veins. "Want you to fill me up, Simon."

A snarl of your name is the only warning you get before his cock is battering against your gummy walls, blunt head jarring into that little place inside of you that has phosphenes filling your vision, has your lungs aching with hypoxia. Head dizzy, chest shuddering with each breath. You can't get enough of it. Of the heady scent of him, the sun-drenched heat.

Simon is normally so controlled, constrained, and you find yourself fracturing into pieces as his ironclad resolve seems to shatter with each squeeze of your cunt. It's a dizzying feeling to reduce your cold-hearted Lieutenant into a rutting beast, spoiling himself with each tight clench of your soft insides against his thick, hard cock.

Your eyes open, wet lashes flutter and stick to the crease of your eyelid, and you find the way his brow is pinched tight together as he burrows himself deep within you, until the taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, absolutely breathtaking. It's enough to get you hooked. Enough to make such an utter mess of you, that you don't know how you'll recover from this.

It's an intense feeling having him seated so deeply within you. Edging deliriously along that equinox of unfathomable bliss, and the sharp, distinct too much—too full quiver of pain. It's a pinch within your guts, a deep throb that follows the unending plume of pleasure so blistering as it batters into you, that you almost find yourself getting swept away by the sheer thrill of it all. Mindless, driven stupid by the way he takes, the way he ruins.

(You don't ever want him to stop.)

It's one thing to have his mouth on you, but another thing entirely to see how he breaks when he's inside of you. It's addicting. A powerful high that renders everything else static.

Pleasure, red-hot and dizzily intense, lacerates through your core, spooling at the base of your spine. It fills your limbs with molten bliss until nothing remains except the way he pounds inside of you, filling you over and over again with every inch he has to offer. You think you might just go insane if you don't have him. If you don't get to feel the delicious drag of his cockhead rubbing against your pulsating walls.

Your hands slide over his skin. The muscles clenching under the pads of your fingers as you drag them up, over his arm, his biceps, his broad shoulders.

The bulk of his back makes your fingers itch. You sink them into the corded muscles, clinging to him as Simon drags you to that hazy place where euphoria clots inside of your veins, and the heat you syphoned from him bubbles, frothing over.

It's pulled taut—an elastic band that stretches well past the breaking point, and makes your fingers sting when it snaps. You convulse beneath him, sobbing out barely coherent words that sound like a quivering war cry of his name, of how good he feels, and how you're mad with the taste of him nestled so deeply within you.

Your nails digging into his skin, his name on your lips like a gospel, the molten clench of you around—it all congeals together until he's snarling in your ear, a raspy grunt that makes your toes curl, that has you seeing nirvana once more. It's your name—somewhere in the mess of his growl, his groan—that is pulled out from him, and pierces you deep, makes your core tremble at the ragged sound of it, broken and hoarse.

He throbs like a heartbeat, cock pulsing as he sputters out a thick pool of cum. It's almost too much; your pussy is overstuffed, forced to take both the heaviness of his cock, and molten spume that fills you to the brim. It leaks out from around the plug of him, pushed to the base until not even an inch remains, and you feel it gathering under you.

You want a taste of it. It swells inside, fills you deep, and you wonder if he'd let you lick it off of him.

You murmur it into his drenched chest, more slurred words that only vaguely sound English. Maybe it's the tone of your voice—ruined and raw, and drunk of the taste of him—that punctures through, but it hits the mark. Simon buries his head into your neck with another gravelled rasp of your name that sticks to his throat, breaking over the vowels. His softening cock twitches within you.

Words, or sentiment, whispered into the crackling atmosphere that smells of sex and kerosene, and goes straight to his groin.

"Cheeky little—," he starts, a husking grumble, but you squeeze your sore, aching sex around him, fluttering like a soft heartbeat, and it dies with a groan.

The victory doesn't last long. Your raw, abused cunt aches from overstimulation, a throbbing sting from your tender flesh making you wince. You're too keyed up. A ragdoll against the shoreline, caught in the current that batters your body until you feel like one massive contusion.

Fucking Simon feels like surviving a war. It feels like clawing your way out of the trenches, tasting the heavy, gunmetal tang of acrid artillery fire in the air, and standing victorious. Brutalised, dazed, and numb from the beating, but full of the banquet of victory.

He keeps you under him, still buried to the hilt, and pants into your neck. Flushed with exertion, his chest red and drenched in sweat, you slip your hands through the mess of him, and find purchase where the knob of his spine protrudes from his flesh.

Simon's head rises. His eyes—quivering, glossy ink—lidded and sleepy with pleasure, and that tangible post-sex haze that permeates the air, find yours.

Sweat drips down his forehead, over his brow, his temple. It's swallowed by the fabric of his mask, lopsided on his cheeks. Red peaks over the black horizon. A deep flush the same bloodied hue as his chest.

(You wonder if it tastes like ichor.)

His eyes shudder, body trembling from the ripple of it.

"Fuck me, pet…"

You tip your heavy, mushy head back, and grin. Big, and wide. The smile of elation. Of success. "I already did."

He huffs, heavy and full, through his nose. "Bloody hell—" in response to your tease, he grinds his cock against your aching walls.

Your breath is sucked in through clenched teeth; a breathy, high-pitched whimper.

"Mae hi wedi cachi arna i…"

"English, pet."

Your ankles try to link at the base of his spine, body drawn like a bow. "Your cock ruined me."

His eyes are rapacious, tainted with the fervour of conquest.

"It was meant to." The smoke in his timbre makes your toes curl. Your lungs smoulder with the heat of it.

Simon has you seeing nirvana again, and again before the light outside crests through the thin curtains.

He rolls you under him, ankles hooked on his shoulders, and makes you watch as his cock spears deep inside of your well-fucked cunt.

Eyes on us, soldier. Don't you dare look away.

On your knees, head nearly smothered by the pillow, he covers you with the entirety of his bulk until everything around you is pitch black with the shadow he casts. He looms over you, chest pressed against your back, and fucks you slow, and deep. The position almost has you blacking out from the depths he reaches like this, and the burn of the stretch as your pussy pulls taut against his cock.

You can take it. This pretty cunt was made for my cock, pet.

Your favourite is being lowered onto him. Chests pressed together. You bury your hand in his damp hair, your face in his neck, and sink your teeth into the column of his throat until the salt of his skin nearly drowns you.

Fuckin' hell…

(In response, his hand brands the cheeks of your ass with the perfect impression of his massive palms.)

He lays back with you barely lucid, aching, sprawled on top of him, and runs his hands down your spine, husking in your ear about how good you've been for him, how pretty you look blissed out from his cock.

His words are mercury in your head.

"...wanna be good for you, Simon," you murmur into his collarbones.

He shudders under you.

His chest is slick with sweat when you rest your head on it, pulse thudding under your palm. His arm around your waist is an anchor, locking you tight to his side.

You'd woken up to the sun bleeding through the window, the room thick with the balmy swelter of sex. Ashes in your throat, salt on your tongue. Simon's heat burrows into your marrow.

There is a lot to be said, you think. Words that you were too cowardly to admit when in the soft, dazed atmosphere of the plane.

Only one thing buoys to the forefront. The only things you'd been clutching at this whole time. Life on the line, and all you could think of was the dunes outside of your tent. The searing heat on your back.

(Not on me.)

(Always, always.)

"...Since Sierra Leone," you confess into his flesh, mouth pressed against the side of his pectoral. His ashen chest hair tickles your nose.

Simon tenses under you. The soft strokes of his fingers–bare, warm–on your hip still.

You wonder if you misread things. If you made a mistake. Your mouth parts on his flesh. The briny taste of his skin is sharp on your tongue.

You won't apologise. The words are there, the confession lingering in the air like opaque tendrils of smoke. It's in his hands now. This little thing that flutters within your chest, tucked away for safekeeping since he turned to you, eyes dark and narrow, and said you did good, rookie.

His fingers coil over you, tightening against your flesh.

"Everything…" he rasps. Everything. It's pulled out of him; rolled over barbed wire.

Confused, you raise your head, brows knitting together. Everything—

A total eclipse. The ocean in the dead of night. Endless, unfathomable pools of black. The current threatens to drag you under to those depths that shudder in front of you.

The words die on your tongue, ashes in the back of your throat.

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? So, what do you have to lose, soldier?

A smile splits across your face; a sun dawning over the beige spalls that seem to never end.

It tastes of the sea when you press your lips to his. You feel sand under your fingers, his pulse on your palm.

—Price calls it, has known since Mesaieed. He'd bet on Gaz, maybe even Soap. It never crosses his mind to think of Simon.

—But thinking about it now, it was obvious from the start.

("Sierra Leone. Wanna take Gaz with you–"

"No. I'll take the rookie.")

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic #simon riley #Simon Ghost Riley #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw2 spoilers #cod spoilers #simon riley cod

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barleyo · 8 months

Text

Hybrid.

Recom! Miles Quaritch X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back from hiatus, sorry, I've been gone for so long. I got this idea while listening to one of my favorite nsfw asmr creators (feelgoodfilth, please go check him out y’all). Love you all, thanks for reading!

Tags: breeding kink, medical fetish, p in v, handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies

Wordcount: 1.7K

“Colonel Quaritch?”

“Hm, yeah?”

The woman walked into the small waiting room, taking only a few steps while clutching a clipboard to her chest.

“I’m ready to run your tests. Would you follow me to the back office?” Her lips pressed into an awkward line, the pissed look on Quaritch’s face telling her that he wasn’t in the mood for a smile.

He stood up, head leaning down uncomfortably in the room. The ceilings got a bit higher when they turned the corner to her office, allowing him to reach closer to his full height. An examining table sat in the middle of the office, and an overhead light stood above it.

“Do I–?” Miles’ hand loosely pointed over to the table.

“Oh, yes, please. Careful of the light, Colonel.” The woman took her seat on a spinning chair, scooting it toward the table with her wheels. “Careful– careful now,” she said, holding her arms out as he roughly sat on the table, trying to protect his large body, as if catching him would have done any good.

He snorted, lip pulling into a bored, fixed snarl. “Yeah, so sorry, miss,” he said, voice anything but apologetic.

She gave a small nod, eyeing her papers clipped to her board, scanning over them quickly.

“Ah– no matter. So, Colonel Quaritch, I have to run a few simple tests and check-ups before we start the extraction process. Please, hold still.”

Extraction.

“Lord, this damn thing couldn’t take any longer, could it? Fucking Christ,” he snapped, patience thinning by the minute.

The RDA just wanted to piss him off at this point, he thought. The whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth, from start to finish. Creating recoms with lab grown Na’vi bodies was getting too expensive, so this was the alternative. Why make them from the government and taxpayers’ money when they had all they really needed: a few female recoms, a few male recoms and a way for them to mix.

“I know, I’m sorry– I know this can’t be pleasant for you,” she said. She was trying to be as sympathetic as possible, but it wasn’t a great process for her to deal with either, especially when the medical wing was understaffed.

“You have no idea, girl.” Miles groaned impatiently and spread his legs out, trying to work out the stress and kinks from his joints. “Can we just get this over with?”

The nurse nodded and scrambled over to her desk, pulling out an otoscope. She ushered him to lower his head to her level, having already pumped her chair up to its maximum height. “Hey, hey, hold still,” she inserted the tool, holding his blue ear to stop it from flicking as she looked through the lens. “Okay, all good.”

“What’s even the point of this? Can’t I just jizz in a fucking cup and leave?” He took a deep breath and his nose twitched in irritation.

“That– that comes later,” she said, face warm at his vulgar language, “just a few more tests, I promise. Now,” she pointed at her mouth, “open up, I need to take a look at your teeth.”

“What? Why?” Miles drew his eyebrows together, looking her up and down.

“I’ve got to make sure your teeth are healthy, and strong before we pass your DNA down to our other soldiers,” she said while still pointing her fingers at her mouth. “C’mon, show me that handsome smile, eh, Colonel?”

A sigh escaped his muscled chest, stripes seemingly shaking as he breathed.

“Fine.”

She brought a small light to his mouth, lifting her head up high to see all of his teeth. They were sharp and barred at her, shining in the reflection of her light.

A few other meaningless tests were performed, each draining Quaritch of his patience more and more. If he had to do one more fucking thing, he was going to—!

“Here you are. Now just take this and, uhm, you know,” she said, passing him a sterile cup to fill. “Fill it to the top, if you can.”

She looked away and started to turn to her desk before she heard a zipper. Her head snapped over to the table to see Miles removing his heavy cock from his cargos, giving it lazy pumps.

“No, there’s– there’s a bathroom for that…!”

“It’ll take like two seconds,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “not leaving just to blow a load.”

She barely heard his response as she watched. She was too busy feeling her grip on the corner of her chair tighten, eyes hooked on the sight of his pretty, blue cock growing in his fist.

“I, uhm, I think,” she paused, still watching as her voice trailed off.

“Huh? You think what?” He looked at her, smirking at her knuckles going white as she held onto the chair. “I think, little miss, that you want to come help me with this. Am I right?”

“That’s not professional,” she coughed out, turning her head away from him, arms going up to cover her chest.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to help a patient in need? Don’t leave me here to suffer,” Quaritch teased, feeling his impatience being replaced by smugness.

She bit her lip, eyes squinting as she thought.

“Oh, nurse,” he called, voice smothered with satisfaction, “I need your help.” He let go of his dick, feeling it spring back to hit his clothed abdomen. A string of precum stuck to his shirt as his cock twitched.

She walked over to him, pushing the wheeled chair to the corner of the room and out of her way. Taking his cock into her hand, she looked up to meet his blown, amber eyes. “Just to help? T-to hurry the process, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, “but, I wouldn’t mind if you took your time.”

Giving a few, testing strokes, she held as much of his cock that she could manage in her small fist. She went slow, from tip to base. Miles shuttered a bit, hips threatening to snap up into her hand.

“You’re a little fuckin’ tease, aren’t you? Gonna– fuck,” he clenched his jaw, “gonna actually take your time, huh? Ain’t know you’d listen t’me.”

Taking her other hand, she takes her fingers and traces around his tip, collecting the slick and rubbing it in. She felt it kick in her hands, and gave it a sharp squeeze.

“God, just– let go, c’mon.”

She let go quickly. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to!”

Quaritch took a breath through his nose and patted his lap. “Come here, come on. That’s right.”

She sat, facing him. Her blue scrubs made euphoric friction against his cock, gliding across the length as she got comfortable.

“I’ve gotten a taste of you, darlin’,” he started, “I won’t be able to hold back. Can’t cum inside that fuckin’ cup.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, mouth parting slightly as she felt his hands reach under her shirt. “Colonel?”

“Ain’t no point in growing another recom in a lab with my DNA,” he started, leaning to her neck, letting the warmth of his breath hit the exposed skin, “when I could put my DNA inside of you. Gonna let me breed you? Huh?”

He held onto the swell of her breast under the shirt, running a thumb over her hard nipple.

“Gonna let me fuck a hybrid into you?”

Her mouth hung open for a second, unanswering. “Colonel….”

“Answer me, missy. Gonna do it? Let me fill you up with a fuckin’ alien baby.”

A slow nod was all he needed to see. In a swift movement, she felt her body turned and pushed, her back on the table.

“Careful, please,” she mumbled, lips raw from her chewing them nervously.

“No time for ‘careful,’ honey, I gotta take you nice and rough.” Quaritch pulled her pants and panties down, balling the fabric up and tossing them into a corner in the office. He brought his fingers to her cunt, collecting the slick leaking from her hole. “Worked up, huh?”

He placed one hand over her thigh, pulling her legs apart. She instinctively tried to close them back, unsuccessfully.

“Keep ‘em open, I need to get you prepped for me.” He took one finger and rocked it into her, reaching to the far back of her walls. “All this talk got you wet already,” he said, feeling his finger slip in and out with ease.

“Wait, I’m close, really close,” she said, legs starting to shake.

A dry chuckle left Quaritch’s mouth. “Yeah? I won’t stop you. Cum.” His fingers curled into the gummy spot in her, abusing the sensitive area. A soft clenching trapped the digit, tightening over him for a few moments. “There, there you go.”

“Thank you, yes– fuck!”

“One load ain’t enough for you, huh?” His eyes were completely blown and lust-filled. “God– your greedy little cunt, milkin’ me dry.”

“Please, one more time– one more. Want your babies so bad!” she moaned, voice completely punched out. Her whines were breathless, and broken.

Quaritch gave a soft hum as he continued at the same pace, slotting his hips between hers roughly. The squelches of her messy, wet cunt filled his ears and egged him on further. Dribbles of his cum from earlier dripped out of her with each of his thrusts.

“I’m just gonna seed you, girl. Spill my fuckin’ cum all in you for second time so it takes.”

Her walls clenched around his cock at his words, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“You like that, yeah?”

“Yes, yes—”

“Keep clenching on me, keep me nice and hard,” he growled into her ear gently licking the shell of it after he finished talking, “God– you got me right on the edge.”

“Don’t make me wait,” she sobbed, feeling herself go blind from pleasure.

“So greedy, so– so impatient.” Quaritch held onto her hips, using her hips for further leverage as he fucked her into the table.

“Cum– cum in me, please, Colonel, one more time.”

Her begging threw him over the edge, and he spilled his second load into her, his cock kicking as he did.

“Fuck, sweet girl, there you go. Not even gonna pull out of you, gotta keep you plugged up.” He sat up, pulling her on his lap, dick still inside.

“Do you think I’ll actually, uhm, you know?” she sighed, looking a bit concerned.

“Get pregnant? I don’t know, girl. Maybe not. Or maybe you will, and you’ll get full with some little recom soldier babies.” He ran his hand over her cheek before speaking again, “Maybe I should fill you up again. Third time’s a charm.”

#barleyxnighteye #fanfiction #smutfic #smut #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #recom quaritch #recombinant #james cameron avatar #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #colonel quaritch #avatar twow #miles quaritch x y/n #avatar x reader

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tightjeansjavi · 2 months

Text

The Rite of Movement | part six

“I’m sad again, don’t tell my girlfriend”

A/N: fun fact about the little black cat in the moodboard! It’s actually my friend’s cat Artemis 🥺 love that little fur baby to the moon and back! Don’t let the title fool y’all…it’s a little sad of a chapter but don’t worry!! Everything is going to be fine!! I pinky promise 💗

~word count: 4.0k~

Summary: Joel opens up to you about his past at Brazzers and before he met you

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, established relationship, discussions of toxic societal norms, the adult film industry, past relationships, grief, intimacy, communication, unconditional love, unprotected piv, cock warming, mentions of alcohol, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Calloused fingertips gently pluck wire guitar strings that once were coated in a fine layer of dust. Muscle memory takes over with each gentle thrum of the chords. He hasn’t played in years, the temptation arising, but never fulfilled. He used to play for Sarah, unable to say no when she’d curl up in his lap and watch him lightly pluck the strings. Carmen would watch from the kitchen, a soft smile etched on her face seeing Joel and her daughter bonding so soon.

Whad’ya wanna hear tonight, babygirl? Should we play your ma’s favorite?

Sarah curled up with her cheek pressed against Joel’s chest, his chin came to rest along the top of her head of curls as her small fingers reached out to pluck one of the strings, the baby song, Joelie! She giggled softly, and Joel’s heart melted into a puddle.

I love you, baby

And if it's quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm the lonely night

I love you, baby…

He can never say no to you, not when you look at him with those eyes, and in a honeyed tone asking him to play you a song while you’re sitting side by side, the comforting crackle and pops from the fire pit, a light quilt draped across your thighs, and Artemis curled up in your lap, purring happily.

“Whad’ya wanna hear, baby love?” He rasps, turning his head to the side, resting his chin along his shoulder as he looks over at you.

“Something that makes you feel, Joel.”

He swallowed the growing lump rising in his throat, glancing downwards towards his fingers lightly plucking the strings, “Somethin’ that makes me…feel?” His throat felt parched, brows furrowed inwards. “Okay.” He said softly, inhaling a lungful of air, clearing his airways. “I’m shit at singin’, jus’ so you know, baby love.”

“Don’t care, Joel. I wanna hear you.” You said softly, knee brushing against his as you rested your cheek against the cushion, a gentle expression on your face, eyes soft and holding adoration.

His fingers trembled under the soft glow from the fire as he began to strum the chords, To Make You Feel My Love. He was a bit rusty at first, missing a few notes here and there, till he fell back into a comfortable familiarity.

When the rain's blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I would offer you a warm embrace, to make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one to dry your tears, I could hold you for a million years, to make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong, I've known it from the moment that we met, there’s no doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue, I'd go crawling down the avenue, there ain't nothing that I wouldn't do, to make you feel my love, mm…

His voice was warm, raspy and lulling. It held a gentle timbre that sent a warm tingle down your spine, tugging on your heartstrings in tandem.

He stumbled over the next verse, voice cracking and fingers losing their grip on the strings. He didn’t realize he was crying, hot wet tears streaming down his cheeks until he felt your gentle palm on his jaw.

Storms— are raging on a rolling sea, down the highway of regret—

“Joel.” You said softly, thumb brushing across his cheekbone, brushing away his tears that were flowing like a river, “Joel, hey. Look at me, baby. Look at me.”

“I—I’m sorry.” He choked, “I-I’m jus’ a bit rusty is all, baby love. S’been years since I’ve played this old thing.” He sniffled, jaw clenching and unclenching as you smoothed your thumb back and forth across his damp skin.

“Joel.” You reiterated soft, yet firm.

“I don’t even understand why I’m cryin’. Where did those tears come from? They weren’t there before. Must jus’ have somethin’ in my eye. Maybe it’s the smoke from the fire—” he rambled on.

“Joel Miller.”

That seemed to catch his attention as he met your gaze, blinking a few times with dark lashes wet and glistening. His lower lip wobbled and you had never seen him like this before, never this vulnerable, never this scared. Never this afraid of judgement that would never fall upon his shoulders, because you loved him unconditionally. No amount of fat tears, or stuttered speech would deter you from loving him.

“C’mere.” You said in understanding, gently prying the guitar from his grasp and coaxed him into your awaiting arms.

He wordlessly wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly with his face buried against your neck. His hands slipped under the back of your hoodie, feeling desperate for skin to skin contact to further soothe his emotions. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, hot breath fanning your neck, tears soaking into the neckline of your hoodie.

“Joel, what are you sorry for? Because of your emotions?…baby, it’s OK. You don’t have to apologize for being emotional. That is nothing to be sorry for.” You said softly, letting one hand rest at the back of his head, gently scratching his scalp with your nails while the other was rubbing circles against his back.

“I know—I jus’, I got caught up in the moment s’all. It really has been years since I last played…” he trailed off.

“Do you want to talk about it?…”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, fingers gently flexing along your lower back. “I do—I jus’ need a minute.”

“It’s okay, Joel. I understand, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” You reassured him.

She loves me, for me. She’s holding me, and wiping my tears. She sees me, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than here in her arms.

“I know.” He whispered, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere either, baby love.”

You nodded in understanding, gently brushing away a loose curl that fell across his forehead. “For all your pretty, and all of your ugly, I’m here.”

He took a few minutes to compose himself, racking through memories in his brain that were flashing like images on a silver screen. When he and Tommy went back home to Austin, Joel had reentered the dating culture expecting success, and was met with the complete opposite. Women in Texas had opposing values compared to the women he encountered in LA. It had gotten to the point where he was beginning to truly believe that he wasn’t deserving of love or partnership.

“If you want women to like you, I suggest that you seriously consider finding a new career that doesn’t exploit women for their bodies. You didn’t actually think that you’d get a free pass, did you?” His date sitting across from him laughed and reached for her purse in a haste.

He felt defeated and beaten down as he sunk further against the the back of the chair, “If you would just let me explain why I chose this career, and that I am not exploiting women for their bodies—”

“You fuck for a living, Joel. It’s disgusting. Good luck to you, cause you’re gonna need it.” She said unkindly, slinging her purse over her shoulder and walked off.

He ground his jaw back and forth, clenching his teeth together as he felt the bitter sting of rejection pierce his heart out that was laid out on his sleeve. He reached for his wallet, suddenly feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on him in the intimate restaurant. Heat spread from his neck to his face in a bright flush of embarrassment and shame.

He paid the bill, apologizing profusely to the waitress both verbally and with a handsome tip. He gathered up his feelings, tucking them back away into a box as he swiped his thumb across the side of his nose, feeling tears begin to prick and pool.

“Joel, you just haven’t met the right one yet.” Tommy tried to explain to him over a couple beers in Joel’s backyard. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Ain’t worth it.”

Joel scoffed under his breath, taking a swig from the beer bottle as he shook his head, “Tommy, you don’t understand. Women like you. They think you’re charming and barely bat an eye when you tell them about your job, but me? As soon as the words ‘adult film industry’’, or ‘pornstar’ come out, the narrative flips. And I am apparently not a feminist, I’m a disgusting person who exploits women for their bodies and I’m a pervert.” He laughed bitterly, feeling angry tears threatening to spill over,

“How is anyone going to see my heart if they’re not willing to look past what I do for a living?” He sniffled, “I jus’ have so much fuckin’ love to give, and no one wants it, Tommy. No one.”

Tommy shakes his head, dejected, devastated for his big brother. "I don't know, Joel. But if anyone is meant for love, real, true love, it's you. So I have to hold out hope."

You continued to gently pet his hair and while he silently worked through gathering his thoughts. You would sit out there with him for hours if he needed more time.

“Do you ever…have memories that jus’ pop up outta nowhere? Like, you’re jus’ goin’ about your day, and you just stop because you remembered something, or a memory pops up?” He suddenly said, eyes flickering to your gaze.

“More often than I’d like to admit.” You confirmed, encouraging him to continue.

“I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I haven’t played guitar in a long time. We’re talkin’ years. I’ve lost track if I’m bein’ honest. Anyway, memories of my past just creep in every now and then, and I want you—to know those pieces of me.”

“And playing guitar brought those memories to the surface? That’s understandable, Joel.”

He nodded, confirming your assumptions. “Yeah, exactly that. Anyway, I don’t know where to start I guess?”

“Wherever you feel most comfortable?” You suggested.

“Well, remember how I told you that I quit Brazzers on my 30th birthday? I did more than just quit. I pulled a complete 180 on my life in a matter of hours.” He started, taking a deep breath before he continued, “I was in a serious relationship at the time with someone who I had seriously considered spending the rest of my life with, y’know?”

“I understand, Joel.” You said softly.

“My girlfriend, Carmen and I were together for a few years. I met her on my 27th birthday at some bar close to the apartment Tommy and I were living in at the time. It started off casual if I’m being honest. I was apprehensive of telling her about my job because I knew that it probably would be poorly received. We just—we clicked. I felt like I could be myself around her and vice versa. We started getting serious at some point, and I finally told her that I was a pornstar. She initially took it a lot better than I expected, but she had a secret of her own to tell me.”

You couldn’t help the smile that was slowly tugging on the corner of your lips as you listened to Joel recounting memories from his past before he met you.

“That secret happened to be her 6 year old daughter, Sarah. She was the sweetest kid, baby love. She was a little shy at first, but I took the possibility of being her stepfather in stride.” He glanced downwards, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was going to smile. “I loved that little girl like she was my own. And I truly wanted Carmen and I to work out, but she never accepted me for who I was. She resented the fact that I was a pornstar, and that ultimately led to me breaking up with her. I didn’t want to fight for someone who wasn’t going to fight for me, y’know?”

“I think it’s completely understandable why you broke up with her, Joel. I think one of the bare minimum expectations in a relationship is acceptance of who you are from your partner. I could see if you were doing something harmful to either yourself or her or others, but she had no right to judge you for the choices you made in your life.” You reached for his hand, interlocking your fingers through his hand gave it a gentle squeeze. “Isn’t that what we all want in life? Is acceptance for who we are?”

“I think it was also only a matter of time before one of us was going to cut the cord. And I truly believe if I didn’t quit Brazzers that day, her and I would have still been together, but I imagine it was inevitable for us to break up. I wasn’t even mad at her for it either. I was…disappointed because I loved her unconditionally. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, and I just had to accept that she wouldn’t do the same for me.” He sighed, brushing his thumb across the outside of your hand in a gentle sweep.

“Did you end up telling her that you quit working at Brazzers?”

He shook his head, lips curving downwards into a frown as he met your gaze once more, “no. I never told her that I quit because she would have believed that I quit for her when that wasn’t the case. I didn’t want to compromise who I was just to appease her. And I have a feeling that if I did tell her I quit, we wouldn’t have broken up, and that would have benefited no one. It fuckin’ hurt like hell afterwards though. I jus’ remember Tommy coming back from his smoke break and he found me on my knees outside on the patio just this blubbering fuckin’ mess.” He stifled a chuckle.

“You realized that you deserved better, Joel. Not everyone comes to that realization, but you did. Life’s too short to be with someone who won’t be there for you the way that you were for them. But of course it hurt, and I can only imagine the pain that you felt after the fact because you thought that this person was your endgame. You already had the mindset of fully settling down with her, and then you had to make the tough decision with both her feelings in mind and your own. And you know what? I’m proud of you.”

He had an incredulous look plastered on his face when you said that you were proud of him. “You’re…what? I don’t understand. Why—why are you proud of me for that?”

“Because instead of staying in a relationship that was never going to work out, no matter how hard you tried, you pulled the plug and told yourself that you deserved better. And you do, Joel. It’s no one’s business to know why you chose the career path that you did. To shame and judge you for something that they’ll never understand because society views sex work as something to feel shamed for. It goes against the ideal norms that have been instilled in us since birth. People don’t like that, Joel. And that’s not to say that Carmen wasn’t good to you in some capacity, but the resentment was there and nothing was going to change that.”

“Yeah, and the person who I do deserve is sitting right across from me. I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t pull the plug when I did. Maybe I would have never quit Brazzers and moved back to Austin to start Miller-Co. Maybe you and I…would have never met. Because you? You—fuckin’ get me. From the second that you and I met, I just got this feeling in my chest that you were going to have a major impact on my life, baby love. And as cliche as it’s gonna fuckin’ sound, I believe that everything happens for a reason.” He breathed out, big brown eyes glassy, his nose twitching as he let out a soft sniffle.

“Alright, who’s cutting the onions now? Is it you, or is it Artie?” You softly giggled, fighting through your own brewing tears because you had never loved someone so deeply till you met Joel. It was surreal to feel an instant connection to someone, but he made things easy in the sense that you could be yourself around him. You found that you could speak your mind, you could be passionate, sad, angry, happy, and he never made you feel small for your larger than life feelings. Never made you feel like you were too much, or too little. His love for you was effortless, unconditional.

“I mean it, baby love. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve never laughed more with another person than I do with you. I’ve never felt more honest with myself and my feelings till you walked into my life. I tried dating here and there shortly after I ended things with Carmen because I just wanted to feel something again, y’know? I just didn’t realize how judgemental people could be till I left LA. It got to the point where I felt like maybe all the women telling me that I should be ashamed, and I’m this disgusting pervert were right. Maybe a man like me isn’t deserving of love. Tommy reassured me that I just hadn’t met the right one, and he was right. I hadn’t met you yet.”

Ring. Ring. Ring. I need a fucking ring. He thought to himself.

This is going to be the man I’m going to marry, right? Please tell me he’s the one. I don’t want to do this all over again with someone else. He’s my person. I know he is. You thought.

Neither of you were sure who leaned in first, or if it was just a gravitational pull between your bodies that drew you both in, but suddenly you felt his hot breath fanning your lips, and those dark espresso colored eyes reflecting the warm glow from the crackling fire staring directly into your soul. If only you had known that he wished at that moment that he had a ring.

And when your lips met, slotting together like two puzzle pieces, it was brief due to a soft meow from your lap and Artemis had crawled her way between you and Joel, swatting playfully at one of the strings on his hoodie. He detached his lips from yours, looking down at his little fur baby with adoration as a warm chuckle slipped past his lips. “You, Missy, are a real cock blocker, y’know that?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and gathered her up in his arms. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay? You want anything to drink? I was gonna open up a nice bottle of Chardonnay? You in, baby love?”

“Oh, a glass of Chardonnay would be lovely, baby. But hurry back, okay? I’m not finished with you yet.” You leaned over the cushion, brushing your lips against the corner of his jaw before settling back into a comfortable position.

“Oh, I ain’t finished with you either, baby love. And that’s a fact.” He winked suggestively and stood up, cradling Artemis against his chest and you watched as he headed back towards the house, and disappeared through the back door.

You let out a content sigh, gazing up at the millions of stars visible on this crystal clear night. Your thoughts consisted of Joel, and how he made you feel like you were always the only person in the room. And how your love for one another was a two way street. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d meet someone like him. And when you heard the back door open and close, and his footsteps approaching, your heart skipped a beat.

You watched as he slowly sank down against the cushion, two wine glass stems held securely in one large palm, and in the other a bottle of Chardonnay.

He looked over at you as he worked the bottle opener corkscrew into the cork, twisting it slowly with the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up over his forearms that were lightly flexing with each twist. Before he could finish opening the bottle, however, you were crawling into his lap, situating your thighs on either side of his hips as you straddled him.

He leaned his back against the cushion, pausing his movements of opening the bottle, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as you looped your arms around his neck, fingers gently playing with the curls at the base of his hairline.

“What’re you doin’, baby love?” He rasped softly.

“Can I sit on it while you finish opening that?”

“You wanna sit on my cock while I pour us a couple glasses of wine? Mmm…I had a feelin’ that’s what you were gonna ask me, baby love.” He chuckled.

“Yeah…I just want to feel you, baby. Do you want that?”

“Of course I want that, baby love. Lucky for you, I went with no underwear this evening.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully as you giggled, peppering kisses across his jawline and just below his ear.

“Is that so?” You nipped playfully at his earlobe, scraping your teeth against his skin gently.

“Mhmmm.” He rumbled out a response, feeling his cock stir to life in the loose confines of his cotton sweats. “Anytime you want, baby, all of me s'yours.” He confirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

You reached between your bodies, gently palming him through the fabric as he lifted his hips upwards so you could pull his cock free. He used his freehand to help you pull your own sweats down just enough that they were over your hips, and he used his thumb to pull your panties to the side, assisting you as you grasped the base of his cock and slowly seated yourself on him.

He let out a low grunt as you shifted your hips to get more comfortable while he finished uncorking the bottle of wine with a soft pop. You felt him grow harder inside of you, the girth of his cock stretching you open as your body accommodated to his size: a perfect fit.

“Feels nice.” You both said in unison letting the feeling of being connected mind, body, and soul, wash between you.

He reached for the two glasses, somehow managing to steadily pour the wine into both and set the bottle down so it wouldn’t tip over. He handed you your glass, clinking them together gently before you both took a sip.

“Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah, baby love?” He had his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes staying locked on yours as he brought the rim of the glass to his lips and took another sip. You felt your walls clench around him just from that simple action alone.

“I think for the next video we film…I want it to be with you and Tommy.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, letting his freehand drop down and grab onto your exposed hip, pressing you in further to him as his cock twitched inside of you, “I think we can arrange that, baby love.”

You let out a soft gasp that was replaced with his warm lips kissing you, tasting the tang and sweetness from the wine on your tongue. And even though you were just sitting on him, enjoying the intertwined feeling of being connected, he dropped his hand from your hip, moving it between your bodies till he found your clit and began to rub the sensitive bud in gentle, orgasm-inducing circles till you were gushing around his cock from the stimulation alone.

He drank down your soft moans, whispering praises and sweet nothings that were only meant for your ears. And even as the fire began to die, and your glasses were empty, wine warming your bellies, you stayed like this, connected as one.

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callsign-venus · 3 months

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Be Mine | Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: It’s a February weekend and Jake has a surprise for you — but you don’t know if you’re ready.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: LOTS of fluff

a/n: My first Jake fic! This was inspired by the fact that I just found out Glen Powell was at my work at the same time as me, and I didn't know (I could have met him 😭). I might have cried a little when my coworker told me lol. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy this x

You loved weekends with Jake. You loved the soft falling sunlight that woke you instead of the alarm clock, the extravagant brunches he cooked instead of spoons clanking hurriedly against cereal bowls, and the prospect of spending the whole day together instead of a quick kiss in the doorway and a promise that he’d see you that evening.

So when you, half asleep, reached for him and your hands skimmed over bed sheets instead of his broad chest, you snapped awake, just as if your alarm had gone off.

“Jake?” You rubbed away the sleep in your eyes.

No answer.

Sometimes he worked weekends, but he would have told you if that was the case. And you couldn’t hear him in the kitchen, much less smell bacon or coffee. With a groan, you realized you would have to get up to investigate. You scooped Jake’s naval academy hoodie off the floor and pulled it over your head. It smelled like him, mixed with just a hint of your perfume.

The house was empty, no weekend warmth to chase out the chill that fell whenever you were home alone. It didn’t help that the sun was heavily curtained by dark gray clouds.

On the kitchen counter, there was a folded note. Your name graced the paper in his boyish handwriting.

Good morning sunshine,

I had to run some errands, be back in a few.

If you want to wear something nice, I was planning on taking you to the beach when I get back. I’ll stop and get us breakfast, so don’t cook yourself anything.

Sorry I left before you woke up, I hope you’ll accept my apology.

Love,

Jake

P.S. I love you beautiful

The P.S. was punctuated with a little doodle of you. It wasn’t exceptionally well done, but it made you giggle.

You tucked the note into your pocket and carried it with you to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

You’d nearly finished when you heard his car pull into the driveway. You set down your brush and tore through the house, nearly tackling him with a hug as he walked through the door.

“Woah, precious cargo,” he said, as he wrapped an arm around you, a paper bag full of breakfast tacos crushing against your back. An iced drink sloshed in his other hand.

You pulled back to see he’d also brought your iced coffee order from your favorite cafe. A cold feeling spread through your core.

“Did I forget something? It’s not our anniversary is it?” You asked.

“No,” he laughed. “You didn’t forget anything. Can’t I just treat my girl?”

“Of course.” You took a sip of coffee and tried to let it wash away your unfounded worries. Jake loved treating you, but something about his demeanor felt different, just a little bit on edge. There was a tick in his jaw as he set the bag of breakfast tacos on the table like they were breakable. The cold feeling spread to your fingertips.

It disappeared when you joined him at the table, and a genuine smile softened his features. You dug in, dousing the breakfast tacos in salsa verde.

“So good,” you said.

“I’m gonna have to bring you home, these breakfast tacos have nothing on the ones in Texas.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of going home to Texas with Jake. Plunging into cool watering holes in the peak heat of the day, when the sun scorched so brightly you couldn’t walk outside without sweating. Hot summer nights where cicadas sung and you could see more stars than you ever thought possible. A football game under giant stadium lights, and he’d kiss you when his team won.

You’d never been to the state, but to hear Jake describe it, it was true love. Second only to you, of course.

Jake snuck a few sips of your coffee.

“Hey!” You plucked the cup out of his grasp. “That’s mine. Didn’t you get your own?”

“Already drank it,” he said around a bite of breakfast taco.

Try as you might, you couldn’t stay mad at that face, and you pretended not to notice the next time he stole a sip of your drink.

“So,” you dabbed a napkin to the corner of your mouth after you’d finished your second taco. “What errands did you have to run at the ass crack of dawn?”

“That is a surprise,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yep.” He swept the trash into the takeout bag. “Do you want to go find out?”

You wanted nothing more.

The clouds were like gray marble over the world and the wind ushered a chill into the late morning air. Even though you’d picked out the cutest outfit, you grabbed Jake’s hoodie and threw it on before you walked out the door. It was your favorite piece of clothing – it enveloped you like a hug – but you much preferred Jake himself sitting next to you in the driver’s seat, holding onto your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. With him by your side, everything was better. Even his car smelled sweet, like fresh fruit.

He glared at the cloud cover. “I should have picked a better day.”

“It’s fine. I love this weather.” You rubbed your free hand over his bicep, and his hand relaxed against yours.

Soon, the ocean crested over the horizon. It churned dark gray, like a reflection of the sky, broken only by whitecaps. It wasn’t sunny like the beach days you and Jake had spent with the Daggers the past summer, but the sight was still beautiful.

Jake pulled into a parking lot on the bluffs overlooking the beach. As soon as you got out of the car, a gust of salty wind buffeted you. Jake tried to apologize, but your laugh rang clear over the whipping wind, and he had never known a sweeter sound. If he could hear your laugh for the rest of his life, he would be buried without a single regret.

He grabbed a picnic basket out of the trunk, took your hand, and walked you down to the beach, where the wind was creating chaos out of a picnic blanket and a bundle of pink and red balloons. Jake ran to bring order, but there was nothing he could do against nature itself.

“I’m sorry,” he said. A balloon bounced against his head. “It looked so nice when I set it up. This wind…”

“It’s ok. It’s still beautiful. Thank you.” You pecked him on the cheek. You were thankful, of course, but the surprise picnic loosened something inside of your chest. Why had he planned it? Had you actually forgotten an important day?

You sat criss-cross on the quilted blanket. With your weight holding it down, the blanket stayed in place against the wind. The balloons, however, shed their tether and danced away. Jake sprung up and gave them a quick chase, but they were much faster, and floating up towards the gray sky. He jumped, but he missed the ribbons by a few inches. Still, he ran after them for a few more yards.

When they were well out of reach, Jake jogged back. He was breathing heavily, and sand caked his feet and calves. You stopped him before he could try to apologize.

“I enjoyed them while they were here.” You looked up to see them still floating, heavenbound. “I’m still enjoying them now. Plus, I got to watch you run after them like a dork.”

“Hey!” He protested through strained breath.

“Kidding,” you said.

Jake started unpacking the picnic basket with flair. First, a bouquet of flowers – more than a dozen roses of your favorite color nestled between fluffy baby’s breath and sprigs of soft eucalyptus. Holding it made you feel like a bride.

A pang of anxiety struck you. You loved Jake. You couldn’t imagine your life without him. But you’d been dating less than a year, and you knew the rumors that servicemen moved fast. What would you say if he pulled out a ring?

You didn’t have time to worry; he was already pulling out a bowl of fruit. Strawberries, mangoes, kiwi, some cut into little hearts.

“Did you do this?” You grabbed a slice of kiwi shaped like a heart and popped it in your mouth. When he nodded, you asked, “How? When?”

“In the supermarket parking lot this morning. I brought a cutting board and a knife.”

He was dead serious. The thought of him, cutting board on his dash, carefully carving fruit for you in a parking lot made you laugh. No man had ever done anything that thoughtful for you.

Jake wondered if communion wine was as sweet as your laugh, as capable of salvation. He decided not.

He pulled out a bakery box last, and you noticed how carefully he held it. This must be the surprise. Your chest felt heavy as you imagined what could be inside.

You didn’t know what you would do if you opened the box to a cake that said Will you marry me? If you looked up and Jake was on one knee, his eyes sparkling like the ring in his hand, launching into a monologue about how he wanted to spend his life with you. Because you couldn’t deny how much you needed him, like cut flowers needed water. This brilliant man whose hard exterior crumbled with one look at you. Who knew you like an extension of himself. Who sat in a parking lot and cut heart-shaped fruit for you because he wanted to see you smile. You would do anything for him to stay yours. Yours to please. Yours to hold. Yours to love.

You couldn’t say no. You couldn’t lose him.

He set the box in front of you and took your hand in his. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for the past few hours.” You gave his hand a squeeze. This was it. You were on the precipice. The ocean roared down below. If he asked you to jump with him, would you?

Your breath caught in your chest as you lifted the lid. Inside, a frilly pink cake. In white frosting on the top, Will you be my Valentine?

A laugh shook you, and relief unfurled under your skin. You wrapped your arms around him with such force that you both fell onto the picnic blanket.

“Yes,” you said as you attacked his perfect face with kisses. “Yes, yes, yes.”

When he couldn’t take your onslaught any longer, he wrapped his giant arms around you and crushed you against his chest. There was no place safer for you in the entire world. You swore your hearts harmonized, both perfectly in time with the beat of the waves against the sand. You could have stayed like that forever, but eventually, Jake succumbed to the sweet allure of the cake and let you go. As he cut into the soft pink shells of buttercream, your mind drifted somewhere to the future. Your hands melded with his around a knife handle, slicing into another cake – this one at least three tiers tall and white.

Jake shook you from your daydream by offering you the first slice of pink cake.

It was delicious. Your favorite flavor and his, married perfectly between layers of dark and pale pink buttercream. As you ate, the impenetrable cloud cover finally yielded to the wind, and the sun stretched its lazy rays over the two of you. Somehow, Jake ended up with a dab of frosting on the tip of his nose. You swiped it away with the pad of your thumb and licked it clean.

You felt some relief at not getting engaged. But with the taste of cake in your mouth, and the golden sun warming Jake’s skin, you felt a tinge of bittersweetness. Maybe some part of you had wanted him to ask, even though it was so soon.

But you looked at the picnic spread – the heart-shaped fruit, the bursting bouquet, even the balloons, long since claimed by the sky – and you were assured it would not be long before he got down on one knee and asked for your hand.

You knew what your answer would be.

#top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fluff #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin

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kaylalovesmaneskin · 1 year

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Detention

A/n:heyyyyy loves I’m back with another story i promise i will try to upload a lil more but I have been busy with my personal life and I would hope y’all would understand stand and I will get back also for my next story please comment or suggest someone bc I’m running out people to write but with out future a do let’s get into this story also by the way y/n will be in college in this story so she’s like around the age 20-24 and rheas her own age 🙌❤️‍🩹 Taglist @ellior1111 @tommy-lee-slash

Paring:Rhea Ripley xFem!reader

Warnings:lesbian sex teacher x student relationship and swearing and a whole lot of smut🤭

"Well that's stupid." Your friend muttered, looking at her phone. "Seriously. If I get stuck with Mrs Jackson. again, I'm going to die!" I cried out, hitting my head on the lockers. "Oh, you'll be fine. It's just one hour anyway." she said, putting away her phone. "Yeah, one hour that I could be spending with you...or sleeping." I added. She giggled, "Go to detention you trouble having ass kid." "Yeah, whatever. See you tomorrow." I chuckled. I sighed, flung my backpack over my shoulders and walked down the hallway. People passed by me, bumping into me without so much as a side glance. Just like the fucking airport... I scoffed and headed to my homeroom where detention is to be served. It's not like I was bad kid or whatever but I blame Ms. Ripley. Every since she fucked me in math class 2 weeks ago, I've been horny as hell for her. What does this have to do with detention? Well, I'll tell

~2 WEEKS AGO~

"Duuuuuuude, I'm so fucking horny right now." I whispered to my bestie. "And you feel the need to tell me this why?" she questioned, looking up from her phone. "Because you're my bestie and you should know everything about me." I teased. ”l don't need to know that much about you. But just do it in the bathroom. No one's gonna catch you as long as you're quiet." she shrugged. I chewed my bottom lip. I didn't have much of a choice really. I can't keep ignoring it and I have Ms.Ripley next hour! My horny vibes are going to be through the fucking roof. I sighed and rushed into the girls bathroom, locking myself in a stall. I stayed quiet for a couple minutes, making sure no one would walk in. I slowly reached into my pants, moving down my stomach to my panties. I closed my eyes and pictured Ms. Ripley’s tits and the feeling of sucking on them. My mouth started to water just by the thought of it and I found myself quickly rubbing my clit on my panties. I let out soft whimpers, just wanting to touch her again. I held onto the stall, rubbing faster just about to reach my climax. I opened my mouth to let the moans flow out a little louder than before. Oh my God, it was so risky yet so fucking hot and I could feel my juices flowing down my inner thigh as I moved my hand into my panties. "Oh, Ms. Ripley.." I moaned, gently sticking a finger in. I rode my finger, wanting to scream with pleasure. I exhaled shakily, wanting more than a quick release. I wanted her body pressed against mine and our chest rising and falling as we fucked each other endlessly. Fuck, I want her so bad! I slammed my finger into me and I let out too loud of a moan. I covered my mouth as the bathroom door flung open. I kept going though, because I was so close and if I'm being honest, I loved the feeling of being risky. Loud heels clacked on the floor as my eyes rolled to the back of my head, about to cum. "Oh, y/n you naughty girl. Touching yourself without me watching is so bad." Ms. Ripley whispered through the door.

I gasped quietly, stopping all fingering movements. Oh fuck... I slowly pulled out my finger and unlocked the bathroom stall with my other hand. I hid my cum filled finger behind me. There Ms. Ripley stood, her black short hair beautifully hanging by her ears down her hourglass figure body. Her chest was bulging out of her shirt and she looked down at me with a smile."M-Ms. Ripley ..." I whispered, my pussy throbbing. "Y/n..." she replied, making me wet. "Hm...detention." was all she said. "W-What!?" I cried out, exposing my other hand. She stared at it before quickly grabbing my arm and holding it up. I whimpered as she licked her lips before sucking on my finger. She dropped my arm and trailed her eyes up my body. "Detention." she muttered, walking out.

~PRESENT TIME~

So yeah, that's what happened. Am I mad.. yes. Hell yes. But she was so fucking sexy that I couldn't stay mad. I entered the classroom and threw my backpack on the ground next to my desk. I rolled my eyes to find an empty teacher's desk. Big fucking surprise. I scoffed just as the door opened and in walked the sexiest person alive. I gulped and sat up in my seat. She looked at me before turning around and locking the door. Oh...? She closed the blinds to the windows and stayed by the wall. "Here." she said, pointing in front of her. I quickly stood up and walked over to her. I stood so close, her tits were almost in my face. She had a fake thinking look on her face as she decided my fate. The air in the room was so thick you could cut it with a steak knife. "Now why. would you think it was okay to pleasure yourself without me?" she questioned, grabbing my tits. "I-“. "You.. you?" she squeezed. "I was just feeling really horny so I-" "Who did you think of?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "You." "Good girl." I blushed. She massaged my breasts for a little, making me wish she would just fuck me already. I bit my lip as she gave them one final squeeze before undoing my shirt. She pulled it over my body and stared at me and my exposed breasts. The more she stared, the more I wanted to hide. Her gaze was so intense it felt like she was judging my boobs. "You have amazing tits, did you know that?" she inquired, taking one in her mouth. "Oh I- ngg~gh" I moaned, as she sucked on one. "God, they're so good." she whispered, teasing the other one. Her tongue swirled around my tit, making it feel special. She roamed the well known tits, claiming them as hers. I resisted the urge to touch myself as I let her know how much I loved her mouth. She sucked on one making a long drawn out moan before letting it go with a loud POP. I exhaled with a lip bite as she slid her hands up my breasts so my tits went through the gaps in her fingers. I swear I'm getting high just by her touch my God. "On the desk for me." she said. I looked back before slowly backing into the desk so I could sit on it. I got on the desk, spreading my legs slowly just to tease her. She flashed her pearly whites and walked closer, grabbing the bottom of my pants and ripping them off of me. I gasped as she left me in my black panties. The cold air hit my legs, making me go stiff. "Relax...Lay back." she whispered, pushing me back against the desk. I lifted my legs waiting for her to do something. She pulled off my black underwear and threw them somewhere. My vision was to the ceiling as she kissed my pussy so gently I could barely feel it. I whined to which she slapped my thigh. I gasped and shot up. "Do that again." I demanded. "Again..? Like this?" she asked, slapping my thigh again. "Yes..." I moaned breathlessly, leaning back down.

"Or like that?" she questioned, hitting my other thigh. I moaned loudly, knowing I would bruise later. She rubbed the spot she recently hit as she used her tongue to just get the surface of my pussy wet. I shivered, wanting more. She stopped rubbing and used her other hand to open up my flower. She moaned happily before applying her warm, wet, wonderful tongue to it. She stuck it in me and tasted every part, wanting to get to know me and my body. "Fuck, you taste good." she whispered."Fuck!" I moaned loudly, closing my eyes. She sucked my clit before adding in two fingers. I clenched, not ready but got used to it quickly. I sighed as my body moved with her fingers as she pleasured me. She used her thumb to rub small but quick circles around my clit as she licked and sucked other areas of my pussy. I squirmed on the desk, whimpering and moaning her name constantly. "Oh fuck I'm so close! Don't stop..." I begged, wanting to just cum all over her face. "Mmm.. cum all over my finger you naughty girl..." she taunted. My body was shaking and my eyes rolled to the back of my head and I reached my limit. I gasped as my cum shot everywhere on her fingers and boobs. I moaned, satisfied. "Oh, you didn't think I was done did you?" she asked, unbuttoning her shirt. "What?" I asked, trying to catch my breath. She let her shirt fall to the floor and she unhooked her bra with a smile. She leaned over the desk and her tits hit me in the face. "Suck." I stuck her tit in my mouth and did as I was told. Her moans turned me on as I kept going, rubbing the other one. She giggled, slowly but surely touching herself. Fuck, I feel another orgasm coming! She moaned louder as she took her tit away from me. She climbed on the desk, resting comfortably on my hips, her pussy just barely touching mine. "Scissor me mommy." I pleaded. She sat on my pussy and rocked back in forth. I hit the desk with my hand and moaned loudly. She went faster, so fast to the point where she had to hold onto the desk for support. The desk rocked with us as we fucked and our bodies become one in this classroom. I screamed happily as she rubbed directly on my clit again. “Fuck!" I moaned, her boobs moving with us. Her moans collided with mine as we both released ourselves together. I moaned tiredly as she got off me, panting. I rolled over, laying on my belly, trying to breathe. She smacked my ass and laughed. "Good fucking girl."

THE END HOPE YALL ENJOY

#fem!reader #rhea ripley smut #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley imagine #mami rhea #rhea ripley fanfic #the judgement day #smut #fanfic #lesbian #teacher x student

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samkerrworshipper · 6 months

Text

togetherness | pt.2

longawaited and has been sitting in my drafts for weeks now cause i wasn’t quite sure if i liked the direction it’s gone in… but highliting different issues n stuff so i hope y’all enjoy! again i’ve edited this on my phone whilst reading from my kindle lol so not going to lie i’m aware that the editing could be shocking… there’s a few more parts sitting in my drafts so lmk if y’all want more

warnings: child exploitation, themes of sexual assault of minors, just general hurt with protective n supportive tillies

“Now that we’ve settled that, is there anything, anything at all that you’d like to tell me that I could help you with?”

I gulped, there were about six things I could think of just off the top of my head. I was tentative though. I could feel tears starting to form in the back of my eyes as I tried to make the decision in my head.

“No judgement?”

Sam’s immediate nod in response was comforting and apparently enough to get me talking.

“It’s going to sound stupid and I don’t even know what you could do about it considering that I’m probably somewhere in the wrong with it as well.”

Sam looked like a mixture of intrigued and perplexed.

“Y/n, even if I can’t do anything about it, you look like you just need to get it off your chest, I can be that for you as well, just tell me what’s been bothering you so much.”

I sniffled and nodded at Sam, this situation was so abnormally vulnerable for me.

“You know that I was rough around the edges when I got here, I know you haven’t heard the whole story, to put it simply I went through a rough patch when I was 14 and 15, before I got here. I’d just had spine surgery, I thought that I was never going to walk again, let alone play football. I turned to a lot of things, drugs, alcohol, anything. I ran away when I was 14, I don’t remember much of it, just that when I returned home my parents had had enough and they sent me off to the AIS for Tony to train me. Anyways, I’m rambling. Somewhere along the road I sent some explicit videos, photos and texts to my ex boyfriend, graphic ones, there’s a lot of them. He’s been posting them on reddit and twitter and they haven’t gotten any attention yet but with all the media coverage and bad press I’ve had recently I’m worried they are going to be brought up and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Sam’s expression was one thing, completely deflated and shocked. She was typing furiously into her phone whilst she was listening to my story. It took a few minutes of silence for her to reply to me.

“First off I want to start off with telling you how grateful I am for you sharing that information with me, it can’t have been easy and you are incredibly brave for telling me. I’ve got some follow up questions that I need to ask, you don’t have to answer them, I’d just appreciate it if you could try your best, okay?”

I nodded quickly in reply to Sam.

“Okay. How old were you when you sent these videos and how old was your boyfriend at the time?”

“I was 14 or 15, he was in his mid twenties.”

“So that puts him in his late 20s or early 30s right now, if my maths is correct. Did you take these photos and videos or did someone else?”

“I took most of them but he took some.”

Sam nodded at me again.

“Okay based on that question I can tell you that this ex boyfriend of yours is legally in possession of child pornography, that’s an indictable crime. If you want this to well and truly stop then we can go up that path. I want us to talk about this with Tony, it’s ultimately your decision but I think it would be very sensible to take this up with him at the very least. Y/n, you have done absolutely nothing wrong, I need to stress to you how important it is that you understand that. No one is going to blame this on you, because it isn’t your fault, you are a victim of a crime. That isn’t something light. I promise you that I have your best interests in concern when I’m telling you this. I have to ask, have you talked to anyone else about this? Your family? A therapist? A friend? Leah?”

Leah Williamson, my arsenal team captain and my best friend/mom/girlfriend. I shook my head at Sam, I’d wanted to tell Leah, she was the only person I probably trusted enough to tell but I hadn’t seen her in weeks.

“Do you want to talk to someone about it?”

“I was going to talk to Lee about it, eventually. Just with her ACL and us being in different places it didn’t make much sense, plus this stuff is so fucking stupid I didn’t want to bother anyone with it, I’m sorry for bothering you with it, Ellie was right I’m being fucking selfish.”

Sam’s face was unreadable, it was clear she was pretty deep in thought. She sat across from me for a few minutes, in thought, before she stood up and walked around the table, sitting herself down beside me.

“Can I give you a hug?”

I nodded and relaxed a little bit as I felt Sam’s arm snake its way across my shoulders, inevitably bringing me closer to her and into her chest.

“Williamson would want you to tell her, she’ll probably be mad that you didn’t tell her earlier. You are not being a bother to anyone, you have human emotions and this situation you are in is a hard one. You aren't being selfish, you are asking for help, which is a very human thing and you very clearly need it right now, there is nothing wrong with that. Now, how about I call Williamson for you, I’ll see you if you can get down here? I’m going to call Tony down here, I’ll brief him and he’ll help, okay?”

“I don’t want to tell Tony, he’s going to be mad and he’ll probably tell me this kind of behaviour isn’t wanted on his team and then I’ll get sent home.”

I could feel the material of Sam’s jumper that she must have thrown on after training soaking up my tears, that was embarrassing.

“I know you don’t want to, and I can promise you that Tony is going to be nothing but supportive, you’ve done nothing wrong. There is nothing illegal about what you did, now or then. Tony is not going to send you home, I promise. Now, do I need to call Williamson or can you do it?”

Realistically I probably could have, but I really didn’t want to.

“Can you?”

Sam nodded at me immediately, which comforted me a little bit.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I couldn’t. She should be in Sydney right now to watch the Lionesses play tomorrow night, yeah? I’ll talk to her and we’ll see what we can work out for you. I don’t have her number though, so can you call her on your phone and I’ll talk to her.”

I nodded quickly, shakingly pulling my phone out of my pocket and pushing it out onto the table. I very quickly pulled Leah's contact, I’d called her last night so it wasn’t hard to find. She was the only person in the world that I could talk to when I was at my lowest, the only person who actually cared about me. So last night, whilst I was mid panic attack, on Ellie's and I’s ensuite floor I called her and she’d talked me through it. I should have told her then, it probably would have saved me this whole interaction with Sam, but I hadn’t wanted to worry her anymore, so I blamed it on pressure of being selected to start this week and she’d accepted my answer.

We’d been texting most of the morning, her asking me if I’d gotten sleep and if I was feeling alright, I’d answered shortly with an array of 'yes', because I didn’t want to worry her anymore. I passed the phone over to Sam once I found her phone number and she clicked the call button before pressing the phone up to her ear and standing up from her seat, starting to pace between the seats.

“Hey Leah, this is Sam, Sam Kerr, from the Matildas. Look, I’m here at our Sydney training facility with Y/n, we’ve just had a pretty serious conversation with her about some problems that she’s had recently and I was wondering if you were around so you could be here for her.”

Sam pulled out her own phone again as I assumed she listened to Leah’s response. It amazed me as to how fast her fingers danced across her own screen, it was a different kind of multi tasking.

“Yup, Mmm. Alright, I’ll send you the address, it’s not far from you guys hotel from recollection. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being able to do this for her, I’ll see you soon and we can talk about it then.”

I gulped as Sam said her farewells and then hung up the phone before walking back over to me.

“She’s coming down, should be here in fifteen or so. She sounded worried about you, mentioned something about you having a panic attack to her on the phone last night and that she was concerned about you. I’ve texted Tony, he’s finishing up with Ellie and then he’s going to be down here. I’m going to get Steph to meet Leah downstairs when she gets here and she’ll bring her up, Y/n, we’re all here to support you however you need, alright?”

Me and Sam stayed silent in the room until about ten minutes later there was a distinct knock against the door.

“Sam, it’s me, unlock the door.”

Steph’s voice was pretty distinct, even through the heavy door. Sam stood up almost immediately, walking to the door and unlocking it before a grumpy looking Steph and a flustered version of Leah made their way through the doorway before Sam had the opportunity to relock it. Leah’s eyes went straight to my own, her whole facial expression was very controlled, she could command an entire room with that face, I knew from experience.

“Are you okay?”

Her words were directed at me, and only me. I pressed my tongue against my front teeth and lip, trying to decide how to answer the question.

“There’s some stuff that’s been happening that I haven’t told you, I’m not in trouble, or at least that’s what Sam is telling me. It’s some stuff from my past, when I was a kid. Explicit images and photos, on the internet, from when I was a kid. They popped up a few weeks ago, starting when I was in Spain with you before we came here. I didn’t bring it up because I thought I was at fault for it as much as the person who has possession of them. Sam told me that it isn’t, that I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry, I know it was fucking stupid and I should have told you about it or not done it, I don’t even remember taking any of the photos or videos, it just happened and now I don’t know what to do because I don’t want it getting out to the public and I just, I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Leah’s face relaxed a little bit as I progressively talked and rambled. Once I was done she walked over to my spot, seated on one of the chairs and wrapped her arms around me.

“Hey, it’s alright, we’re going to sort this out. She’s right, you didn’t do anything wrong and you should have told me earlier but I am so grateful that you are telling me now, yeah? You are so brave kiddo, that’s child exploitation and whoever has possession of those materials is the one who’s in the wrong, okay?”

I nodded into Leah, Steph and Sam were whispering between each other behind us.

“You have to take legal action though.”

Those words made me feel like I’d been stabbed and my guts had been ripped out of my body cavity.

Leah let go of me very gently and pursed her lips.

“Because this isn’t going to go away if you don’t, and I know that you are strong but you aren’t going to be able to live if you know that this person who has possession of these materials is still out there. You’ve been checked out for weeks now, since before Mallorca. You aren’t going to check back into your life until this goes, I know it. I need you checked in, I need you to be my girl, not the skeleton of your own body that you inhabit as a coping mechanism when something bad happens.”

I think Leah would have said more if it wasn’t for the incessant knocking against the door that came again. Sam was the one who went to the door again, letting Tony in. He looked flustered as well, and a little bit worried. I’d known the man since I was 15, he’d seen me in some pretty interesting situations. Sam intercepted him before he could say anything, pulling him aside and giving him what I assumed to be the rundown of the last hour.

“I don’t think I can handle this getting out, it will, if I take legal action this is going to get out and then I’m going to be Y/n Y/l/n, the Matilda’s exploitative rookie and I’ll never be back here. My career will be over, Jonas won’t want me back, everything I've worked for will be done.”

Leah took a deep breath before wrapping her arms around me and working her hands through my scalp and hair.

“If you take legal action you will be supported, I’ll make sure of it. We are a part of a community of women that uplift us for everything you do, this won’t be any different. There will be some who judge, there is always going to be someone there to judge you. Y/n, you need to do this for your sanity, I won’t lose you to your mental health again, not like last year. Kerr has done the right thing here, bringing this up, it shows me that she cares a lot more about you then you think, it also shows me that she knows what’s best for this team and you. She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t think this was the best course of action.”

I nodded into Leah, trying to convince myself that her words were correct. Eventually, after Sam had given Tony the full rundown he sat down across from me, exactly where Sam had been beforehand. Sam and Steph both stood behind me and Leah, Sam’s arms resting gently on my shoulders, it was grounding.

“Sam’s told me about what’s happening. First of all I want to say how sorry I am that you are going through this, it’s not something that anyone should have to deal with, ever. Second of all I want to let you know that this team, this whole nation is in support of you. Look, it’s too late for me to take any action now. I’m going to get the police to come down tomorrow morning, you aren’t in trouble. I just think that they are going to have a better understanding of this situation than any of us could. They’ll come down, we’ll have a talk about all of this, they’ll ask the questions they need to. We don’t need to make any decisions now, we’ll talk to them, Sam and I will be there to advocate for you. After that we can make decisions about taking legal action and whatnot. Otherwise I just wanted to tell you genuinely, from the bottom of my heart how much we all care about you and value you here, we are all going to be here for whatever you need in the future, you are a valued part of this team and family and we are all here to look out for your needs, okay?”

I gulped, I could feel fresh tears springing to my eyes again. I was petrified of the police, to say the least, but Tony’s voice was so reassuring. He was the father that I’d never had and when I was 15 and he’d met me I’d been in a bad place, I’d needed him to be that figure in my life and he had been. He gave me a routine, gave me something to wake up for every morning. I probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for Tony. He’d given me a chance when no one else had been prepared to and for that I would always be in debt to him for.

“Okay, I’ll get in contact with the police, we’ll get a constable down tomorrow morning and we can have an open conversation with them about it, you are not in trouble, nothing is going to happen that will end in consequences for you. I think though that you need to head back to the hotel and get some proper sleep, your body needs it. So head back, don’t worry about any of this, because I’m going to sort it out and we’ll talk about it in the morning with a clean slate and mindset, alright?”

I nodded at Tony, I didn’t really have much to say.

“Thank you Coach.”

He nodded at me, before standing up and walking around to the other side of the octoval table and giving me a pat on the back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, don’t worry about this anymore, it’s going to be okay. Get back to the hotel, we’ve got an early wakeup tomorrow.”

I nodded at Coach, watching as he left the room just as quickly as he’d entered it.

“I’ve talked to Steph, her and I are rooming together so we’ll switch, she’ll stay with Ellie and you can come and room in with me, I think we’ll keep it that way for the rest of the tournament.”

I looked over at Sam, nodding along with what she was saying. Leah reached her arms around me, a big bear hug.

“And I am here, I expect you to check in with me, at least twice a day. When you guys head off to Melbourne or Brisbane I’m not going to be able to be there, so I need you to stay in contact with me, okay? Anybody does so much as look at you wrong I want to be the first to know, okay?”

I nodded at Leah, half in fear, half in adoration. She was the only person in the world that I actually trusted in. Our bond had been forced, when I’d moved to London to play for Arsenal I’d been moved into the spare room in her apartment and in a very short amount of time we’d created a bond that extended beyond the realm of friendship. I loved her, she was the first person besides Tony to give me a chance and he was obligated to give me on, Leah had chosen to fight for me and to stick by my side even when it wasn’t easy, she was a good person, better than I was sure I’d ever be.

“We’ll drop you back to your hotel on our way home Williamson, it’s the least we could do considering you got here so quickly, can you just give us five minutes to grab our things from the locker room?”

Sam’s voice held no room for argument, she was insisting on giving Leah a ride home and Leah didn’t try to object.

“Please, call me Leah and if it’s no trouble I would really appreciate it. I can meet you guys down in the foyer in about five, I need to go to the loo, so whilst I’m doing that how about you guys go and get your stuff together?”

Sam, Steph and I all walked back down to the change rooms in a comfortable silence. It was when we actually made it back to the rooms that I realised I still had my boots on, the cleats that were spotless from not even getting any wear at training. The cleats that a few hours ago had seemed impossible to tie up. I made quick business of pulling them off of my feet, throwing them into my kit bag and pulling out the pair of Nike dunks that I’d worn in earlier when we’d all come down here for our match analysis. Sam and Steph both made quick work off slipping out of their training kits and changing into sweat pant duos that matched with me. After they’d gotten changed and refreshed we all grabbed our bags and whatever other things we had lying around before making our way down to the foyer.

Leah was waiting for us, tapping her foot violently against the marble floors. When she spotted the three of us out of the corner of her eye her stress ceased almost immediately. I’d learnt a lot about Leah in the amount of time I’d known her. One thing about England’s captain was that she was not as fearless as everyone credited her as being, she put on a brave face, a bloody good one, but she was just as human as everyone else and sometimes it showed, especially when she felt uncomfortable in a situation or she didn’t think she deserved to be where she was. I’d moved in with her initially just before she'd led the Lionesses to their victory at the euro’s, and at the time Leah had been a basket case to be nice. I think that was how we’d bonded, through our similar insecurities of not being good enough to fill the shoes that had been passed down to us.

“C’mon cap, let’s get going.”

Leah smiled at me and nodded. We’d been keeping our relationship under wraps for a few months now. Neither of us were insecure in our situation and we were happy to enjoy our private, happy and blessed life together. Plus we hadn’t really seen much of each other in the past month or so, being caught up with our obligations to our national teams. Leah was also very committed to her rehab and I couldn’t be there for every step of that so we’d spent some time apart. We’d both agreed when the new Arsenal season rolled around that we’d tell the team, but still keep it under wraps from the public for as long as we could. Neither of us were worried about the public finding out, I was out, had been since I was 14. Leah wasn’t officially but she’d also never dated a man and in the eyes of the female soccer world that pretty much means you're gay. It would come out when it did and we were prepared for that to happen.

We walked out to Steph’s car, piling all of our bags in the boot before Sam and Steph slid into the passenger and drivers seats whilst Leah and I both took seats in the backseat. Somewhere along in the drive her hand made its way to my own, resting gently on top of my knee cap. I interlocked our fingers and smiled up at her, this was the part of a secret relationship that I liked, getting moments just between the two of you that only the two of you understood. The sweet nothings. I felt my heart plummet a little bit as we arrived out the front of Leah’s hotel and I realised that I was going to have to say goodbye, potentially for a few more weeks. That was the suckish part of being a professional athlete messing around with another professional athlete, there wasn’t always a timeline on when you’d see each other next, sometimes it was just situational.

I made the call to walk Leah to the door of the hotel, when we got to the doors I gave her a hug, a big, long hug. She hugged me back, tightly. Leah was good at hugs. When we finally had to come apart I looked up at her, with my big green eyes and apparently she couldn’t resist because she reached down and honoured me with a peck. It was nothing more, a small gesture but to me it was everything.

“I love you okay, be safe, text me, call me. I am always here for you, don’t keep me in the dark on things that you think are going to burden me, they aren’t, call your therapist, please.”

I nodded at Leah, she was using her captain's voice with me that she knew I couldn’t refuse.

“When you get back to the hotel I expect you to eat some proper food, not of those bloody granola bars that you insist are nutritional, proper food. Hydrate, at least a litre of water. Sleep, you deserve to sleep, let yourself sleep. Call me in the morning and tell me how you are feeling, okay?”

I gulped and nodded at Leah, an action that I was becoming aware I might have done too much of tonight.

“Love you too, thank you for being here for me.”

“Anytime, I’m only ever one call away, now go home.”

I gave Leah one final look before walking back to the car, closing the door behind me only to be bombarded with googly eyes from the two co captains sitting in the front of the car.

“You and Williamson?”

Sam’s voice was the first one to break the sound barrier, it scared me a little bit.

“Yeah.”

I made it sound like it was a non fact, like every person on the planet knew that I was in the bed sheets of the Lionesses Captain.

“Fuck, I knew it, McCabe owes me fifty quid.”

Steph’s voice was steadier and surprised me a little bit.

“We all had bets, how long have you guys been together?”

“We’ve been dating for 6 or 8 months, fucking around with each other since I joined Arsenal so about a year or so.”

Steph’s eyebrows rose to the top of her forrid, obviously very surprised by my answer.

“You're trying to tell me that you and Lee have just casually been hiding a relationship behind closed doors for months.”

“I mean we’re roommates, it wasn’t that hard to hide, plus we just aren’t rabbits who need to fuck on every surface unlike Sam and fucking Kristie, I’m never going to be able to mentally burn the image of you two getting at it on the pool table after the olympics, that was fucking traumatic.”

Sam’s face had flushed, we constantly brought it up with her. After our bronze loss to the US in the olympics a lot of the team had gone out in celebration with the Americans, what I hadn’t expected to find that night when I’d walked into the room that I thought was the bathroom was Sam eating her secret girlfriend out on the table. It had messed with my brain permanently.

“Hey you're the one who’s always bringing it up, maybe you were secretly into it, secret fantasy between you and Williamson.”

I loudly gagged from my spot in the backseat, extremely displeased by Sam’s imaginative imagery.

“Nobody thinks that Sam, it’s just you and all of your lost brain cells.”

There was something so comfortable about the dynamic between Sam and Steph, something so sisterly and bonded. They were like family, they messed around with each other and pushed each other but they loved each other and the both of them knew that at the end of the day. They might not have been the closest on the team, they weren’t each other's best friends but they were family and that was all that mattered.

“Whatever you say Stephy.”

#woso #woso community #leah williamson #marry me rn #sam kerr #leah williamson x reader #matildas x reader #matildas #tillies #samantha may #sam kerr x reader #tears for fears #crying lil bit #i’m sleep deprived #it’s 12am #idek #idek anymore #idek what to tag this

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