#I wish I could comfort you from the thing you won’t talk about that happened before you became what you were | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elsweetheart · 11 months

Text

cats cradle

synopsis: ellie and her failed lab experiment bestie navigate her first ever heat.

♪ lana del rey, the weeknd — stargirl interlude ♪

cw: whew, this is gonna be a lot. fem reader, reader is a failed lab experiment which gives her cat like appearance in a few ways (ears, tail, claws etc) not furry porn, reader is mentioned to be 20 purely just for detail purposes but you can just change to whatever in your head idk, readers tail touches ellie in the night without knowing really lol, smut / strap on sex / foreplay / dry humping, overstimulation, small blood kink feature but nothing crazy at all, reader is just crazy and horny and primal, cockwarming. lmk if i missed any !

an: alrighty, here it is. i cannot stress this enough — if this isn’t your kind of thing, please just don’t read it. i won’t be offended if you don’t, i just don’t wanna hear any bs in my inbox please! this was experimental and i don’t even know if i like this fic or not so please be gentle. to the people who have been so sweet and encouraging throughout my up and downs of writing this, thank you and i love you! as usual, minors and ageless blogs do not interact you aren’t welcome here. enjoy! 🐈‍⬛ 🤍

WINTER

Spring would be here soon. That was all you could think of, a dull anxiety thrumming in the pit of your stomach at the thought. You stared at the solitary bright yellow flower peeking through its blanket of snow, the downfall of ice from the blizzard outside the window beating it mercilessly against the wind— and yet it stood, continuing to pop back up, almost like it was taunting you. You wished you could love spring. The thing about seasons changing was that they happened without permission and whether you liked it or not. Truthfully, you loved the idea of flowers and dresses and warmth on your skin, but it made it all the more difficult to hide the…elements of you that people wouldn’t understand. You weren’t talking about scars, or hair or bumps, no. You were talking about —

“What’cha lookin’ at.” The mellow voice of your best friend Ellie Williams broke you out of your thoughts, traipsing up behind you to sit with you on the window seat, tucked into an alcove below rotting bay windows in the abandoned house the two of you were holed up in on patrol, whilst the blizzard outside came down hard. She gets comfortable, drawing her knees up as she leant against the chipped paint, accommodating to make more room for you. Your head snapped towards her, towards her grey hoodie that — wasn’t you wearing that last night? shutup, and her khaki green jacket zipped up over it, jeans and Converse and messy bun tucked into the nape of her neck. Pretty. Always pretty. Always just a friend you couldn’t touch. Not how you wanted to, anyway.

“Nothing? Just watching the snow fall.” You sigh out wistfully, knowing you’d both rather be in bed on this early, freezing cold morning.

“Yeah? Y’looked worried about something.” She rasps, toeing you with the dirtied white tip of her maroon chucks and tilting her head. You dart your eyes back to the yellow flower springing up to see it finally get pummelled down by a huge globe of powdery snow. Hah.

“Just scared the snow will cover up the door and lock us in here.” You nibble your lip, tugging your pink wooly hat tighter over your head, ensuring it was still in place. She shook her head, casually, and her blasé attitude to most things often eased any anxieties that dwelled within you.

“There’s a smashed window in one of the rooms I checked, can climb out if we need to. S’why it’s so fuckin’ freezing in here.” She rubbed her arms in tribute to this statement, puffing out her cheeks for a moment. “You not cold?”

“Oh, I’m cold.” You flit your eyes over her with faux judgement. “Just not being a baby about it.” She huffs out a laugh, folding her arms.

“Fuck you, dude.”

Dude. You roll your eyes. Always dude, but ‘baby’ in your late night daydreams. You scrub the thought away.

An hour passes, and the snow is still coming down hard. 8:54AM.

“Okay, I’m sorry — what do you mean you’ve never played truth or dare before. Have you like, never met someone your age?” She’s smirking, always relishing in your lack of general knowledge because honestly, it made her feel like she had more to offer and teach you. You’re drawing a palm tree on the window’s condensation, the tropical sight doing nothing to mask the dreary weather outside of it.

“Okay first of all, we aren’t the same age — you’re twenty-two. That’s a few more years of experience to learn stuff that I haven’t.”

“And how old are you again? Eighteen?” She pretends to think.

“Twenty. And you knew that, idiot.”

She snickers, muttering a teasing “Baby face.” under her breath, drawing a comical penis shape with her finger beside your palm tree making you tsk and swat her away.

“Secondly, no— my old camp were all like, old people. I was the youngest there. Didn’t have anyone to teach me any of your weird games.”

It took you about twelve years of your life to realise that normal preteen girls didn’t have pointed ears atop their head, or a tail, or retractable claws and fangs. You knew you were different, yes. No one else in your small camp had features quite like yours, and you really knew you were different because you spent your life in hiding. Under protection. Ears shoved under hats and tail bunched beneath tight jeans. Hence, you know — the fear of warmer weather approaching.

You didn’t quite know where you came from and you were okay with that. Whispers between the couple that raised you, talks of your real dad being a scientist before this all went down which explains things… enough. You didn’t really want to know how you ended up this way, because it couldn’t have been good — or ethical for you to grow up part girl part animal.

19 years old, and you had moved into Jackson. Found at the gate. No more camp. No more found family. Just a girl who survived, stood in the snow. You’d met Ellie, a friend of Jesse who’d found you — and the two of you had hit it off instantly, as friends of course. Ellie liked how different you are to her, pretty naive with lots to learn in comparison to her hard edges and weathered attitude. When you weren’t biting back playfully at her sarcasm you were the ray of sunshine she’d needed in the snow globe that she lived in. She’d even stepped up to take you with her on patrol and ease you into learning how to fend for yourself a little, a skill you never acquired with your old group. That brings you here, sat on a window seat, trapped by a blizzard, doing very little learning. Okay, back to you Ellie.

“Truth or dare is not weird, I swear. Look, we can play it. Pass the time whilst we wait for the blizzard to chill out. You in?”

“Okay.”

“So,” She crosses her legs now. “You can pick, truth or dare. If you don’t answer your truth, I get to pick a dare. And uh, vice versa. Yeah. It’s simple.”

You nod, and she continues — rambling in typical Ellie style.

“Like, okay. Truth or dare?”

“Dare!” You grin happily.

“Alright, I dare you to run into the blizzard naked.”

“Uh — truth! Truth!” You change your answer, making her laugh.

“Alright… tell me about your first kiss.” She’s giddy, on the precipice of a laugh, dying to make fun of whatever story you come out with and you falter, dragging your eyes back to the window. The palm tree you drew in the condensation is starting to drip and create long clear lines down the window.

“I already told you, never met people around my age so… haven’t had one.” You shrug, peeling a bit of old paint off the windowsill. You glance up and she’s nodding with her lips turned down, trying really hard not to look judgy because she wasn’t, she swears and she didn’t want you to feel bad. She tucked away the thought that she found it cute. Found you cute. The thought of being your first kiss flashed through her mind as quickly as she erased it.

“Alright. No shame in the game. We’ll get you there.” She pats your foot reassuringly and you tense up in embarrassment slightly, a claw spiking through the knit of your glove making you close your palm into a fist on your lap. Ellie had heaps of experience, which kind of made your confession more embarrassing.

“Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Her answer is almost instant.

“Boring.” You giggle.

“Whatever.”

You sigh… eyes wandering around the room, over the dusty canvases on the wall with paintings of mountains, perhaps the very mountains that surrounded your town— you couldn’t tell. What could you ask her? What did you actually want to know? What didn’t you already know? You bite your lip, eyes flickering around.

“Take your time.” She raises an eyebrow and you huff at her impatience.

“Okay, tell me something you’ve never told anyone else before. A secret that’ll literally bind us for life.” Your eyes twinkle and now it’s her turn to falter. She doesn’t want to glance at her covered arm, but she does anyway. Not that you’d ever be able to guess her big secret. No one could, you probably wouldn’t even believe her.

“Good question, see you’re getting the hang of it.” She raises her eyebrows, impressed and you bask in the sound of the icy winds outside, head slowly tilting to the side as you watch her grow a little uneasy. Ellie Williams, your best friend had a big secret. And you knew all of her secrets, so you were doubly intrigued. You knew about the time her and Dina got too drunk and kissed before practically yelling at eachother that it felt too wrong and they’d never do it again, you knew about the time she didn’t wanna trade any items at the little store for food so she selfishly shoved a can of tomato soup in her pocket and ducked out, knew all the rest of them because you remember her drunkenly shoving her hand over your giggling mouth and whispering “You actually can’t tell anyone, okay? Shit, why do I tell you these things?”

“Okay. I’m immune.”

“To being slapped? Answer my truth or face your forfeit.” You were grinning ear to ear, like she thought you would and — she nearly wanted to just leave it there. Let you believe she was joking. But oh, your perceptive self. You saw the falter of her bashful expression, the way honesty coloured her face and for once she couldn’t make eye contact. Surely not? “Immune?” You repeat, more like a statement but you’re confused nonetheless.

“Uh, yeah.” There’s no humour in her tone and yet you’re still smiling, waiting on her still to smirk or chuckle or something. When you just stare at her, she starts to undo her jacket. “I can uh, I can kind of prove it, I guess?” She pushes her hoodie sleeve up, and you’re faced with the tattoo you’ve stared at many times before. The pink pad of her finger traces along the inside of her arm, and your eyes focus — honing in on the faint scar curtained behind the dark blue ink. “There… was a bite here. Me and my friend were together when we were kids and we both got bit. She turned and… yeah, guess I’m still waiting.” Her eyes were distant, and yeah — Ellie played jokes on you sometimes. You were gullible and naive, not having faced the usual prankish behaviour of people similar in age to you before but this? She wasn’t that great of an actor. There was actual, real life pain behind her avoidant gaze.

“You’re serious?” You furrow your brows and she purses her lips, a pinkie-finger of gesture held in the air.

“Swear.”

You stare at her arm, and she reaches for her jacket again — feeling the chill of the house again despite an uncertain heat creeping up her neck. “How do you know it wasn’t just a one off?”

She shrugs. “Guess we’ll know if I get bitten again.” She chuckles dismissively. You go to speak, tell her how life changing her secret was but she’s quicker. “Alright, your turn. Now I’ve told you something no one else knows you gotta do the same. Biggest secret, go.” She exhales, and it feels like the room is alleviated of some of the pressure.

“Excuse me, what if I wanted to pick dare?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Well then.”

Your ears twitched and you brought your knees to your chin. Ellie was just so vulnerable with you, but you’d always been told — under every single circumstance not to tell anyone about your…rarity. It was something that not even you understood, so sharing it with others could put you in danger. People often lashed out at what they didn’t understand, you were told it was that way in the old world too— though you’re sure people weren’t quite dealing with being a hybrid with a literal animal.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for my secret.”

“Dude, I just fucking told you I can’t get infected, you’re not gonna top that.” She exasperated, prodding your leg with her knuckles. She didn’t beat around the bush with her secret, or make you beg for the reveal — so you figured you’d cut straight to the chase. You pulled your hat off your head, ears standing to attention — hearing just that tiny bit clearer. Ellie raised an eyebrow, not sure what she was looking at, about to make some kind of comment like ‘Uh, your secret is that you have hair?’ — until her eyes darted up and stayed there. You pulled off your gloves too and held your hand between the two of you, sharp claws extending. Ellie jumped, and you pulled back shamefully.

“What is… what am I… what am I looking at?” She gawked breathlessly, eyes widening at the way your ears twitched shyly, the outside of them coated by fur the same colour as your hair, the inside of your ears pink, sprouting wispy white hair from it. Ellie could barely keep her mouth closed.

“Yeah, so… I’m like a girl who is also a cat who is also just a girl— nothing weird I swear — apparently my dad was a scientist and he made some fucked up combination DNA and — ah, it doesn’t matter. I’m a freak. Laugh it up.” You ramble, waving your hand in a way you hoped was dismissive and in that moment a gun to your head wouldn’t have made you make eye contact with the auburn haired friend parallel to you.

“Hey, wait — I’m just trying to… holy shit?” She furrows her brows before chuckling. “I feel like I’m having a weird ass dream right now, dude.”

You reach for your hat to shove it back on, and her heavy hand lays on top of yours. She watched the way your ears flattened like aeroplane wings and you frowned a little. “I’m sorry… I’m not laughing at you. That’s… fucking awesome. You’re like a comic book character, man.”

Your eyes lifted from her hand, heart thundering in your chest both from her reaction to your big reveal and her hand laying on yours. “So, a freak.” You go to move your hand but she grips it.

“No, just… cool… don’t… put your hat back on yet. I’ve got questions.”

A pause sat between the two of you, and she broke out into a smile again. “Fuck you, your thing totally beats my thing.”

“Thats not a question, Els.”

11:20AM

“So does this mean you’re immune too? Pretty sure animals can’t get infected.”

The window had fogged over completely now, view of beyond the window obstructed but you didn’t mind. It felt more enclosed, in a good way. The outside world didn’t exist anymore.

“I’m not fully an animal though. Don’t wanna risk finding out.”

She sat back, looking at you incredulously. Not like you were a spectacle, or a circus performer from the old world — but like you were something magnificent. Like a unicorn, or a fairy.

“This is gonna… take me some time to get used to. You sure you’re not fuckin’ with me?” She turns her head suspiciously.

“Oh I’m pretty sure. Had to live my whole life with cat ears and a tail, would be a awfully sick prank.” You huff, focusing your attention on scraping off the shimmery pink nail polish you had acquired on a previous patrol. You’d painted them to distract from the subtle claw-like appearance they had even when they weren’t extended.

“You have a tail? Show me.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll just pull down my pants.”

“Oh shit, yeah. My bad.”

You sat together, and you shifted under her gaze, palms itching to pull your hat back over your ears, shielding yourself from her prying gaze. This was… out of your comfort zone. You trusted Ellie with your life, sure. But this was a lot. You’d been hiding this element to your self your whole life and suddenly you’re practically hollering it from the mountain tops all because you were enticed to share a secret during a silly little game? Who else would you tell just because they’d given you positive attention?

“You wanna touch my ears?” You blurt out. What the fuck?

Ellie’s smile grew, telling you her answer and it was too late to take it back now. She slid her ass forward a little, knees pressing directly against yours now and lifted her hand slowly, carefully, almost as though you’d spook like a real cat if she moved too quickly. You seemed to blink, and then she was right there, her face so close to yours that her warm breath fanned over your face making your eyelashes tickle at the breeze she created. She clears her throat, eyes just floating up above your hairline and you feel the pads of her fingers gently trail down the backs of your ears.

She lets her knuckles gently smooth back the velvety fur coating, before getting more comfortable — short blunt nails scratching right in that sweet spot behind them. With the ball of her hand gently pressed to your temple as she scratched, you melted. The best way to describe it would be the feeling of sinking into a hot bath after being out in the cold wind, rain and snow. A sheet of goosebumps lined up across your arms and up your spine, your tail struggling in your jeans to curl up in pleasure. There was a gentle humming sound, like an engine maybe… a low rickety wind passing through a wooden floor board…

“Are you purring?” She cooed, and your eyes fluttered open. You don’t even remember closing them. The ghost of an alarmed bullet shot through your body but it just… felt too nice to react. Your pupils were dilated to fuck, it was almost startling to see.

“I guess.” You chuckle, a shudder flying through you, the warm purring sound continuing on. “Sorry.” You offer, but it’s half hearted.

“No, don’t.” She whispers with an impressed smile, eyes pinned by your intense gaze — voice gentle, as if not wanting to break the intimate force field she’d created around the two of you. “You’re so… cute.” She grins enough to show her teeth now, you rest the weight of your head more into her hand, pushing for more scratches now that her fingers slowed down, distracted. Your eyes flutter closed, sleepy and euphoric— and then open once more, a constant battle between wanting to just melt away, and also wanting to look at Ellies beautiful face so close up. She seemed to get closer each time you opened them, eyes drifting from your blackened gaze… to your lips…

Maria’s voice was the last thing you expected to hear in that moment and you both jumped. It was static-y, buzzing, making your head snap towards the radio Ellie had let clatter to the floor beneath the window seat. “Blizzards gone and cleared up now, two of you can start headin’ back now before it decides to pick up again.”

You swipe at the fogged window creating a viewing hole through the condensation, snow settling now instead of batting down hard against the ground. You sigh out, and you’re not sure if it’s in relief of the weather clearing up or the tension breaking — but Ellie seems to be shaking herself out of it too.

“Alright, uh — y’ready to head back out there kitty-cat?” She’s back to her usual self, hopping off the window seat and scooping her backpack and radio off the ground, securing them back onto her person.

“Ready as ever. Can’t wait to go home and nap.” You stretch, now standing beside her waiting for instruction. She sways in your direction with a smirk, raising a brow.

“A cat nap?”

“Are you gonna do this from now on?” You hide your amusement, leaning on your hip. She chuckled to herself, pulling her gloves back on before nodding her head for you to follow — taking off in a casual stride.

“Sorry. Let’s go get Shimmer from the garage.”

You pout, padding along behind her as you think of her stood there alone. “I hope she wasn’t too cold. She was shut in there for ages.”

“She’ll be fine. Old girl’s a trooper.”

SPRING

You didn’t regret telling Ellie, infact you were so glad.

It seemed to have brought you closer, the two of you against the world. The weather had finally cleared of snow by mid April, the green returning to all of nature. She’d helped you accommodate, coming to your home in the mornings and helping you pin your ears down to your head, gently manoeuvring your hair to sit on top of them, inconspicuous. Asking you “Does that hurt?” and “Can you hear?” in a sleepy morning voice. You, on the other hand would sit there trying not to pur at her touch. There was still some bite in the air, especially around evening time so you could still get away with stuffing your tail into your jeans, but the two of you often walked around in the sunshine on the days one or both of you weren’t outside the gate on patrol. Nights were spent having sleepovers, falling asleep cuddling because you know — it was convenient and cold at night time, especially convenient if you were getting up early for a patrol together. Definitely not because you wanted to spend every waking moment together.

You had been curled up reading, relaxed, ready to head to bed in an hour or so when there was a knock at your door. Your ears perked up, and you scuttled out of bed and looked through your peep hole, relieved to find the wind bitten, pink cheeked face of your best friend. You figured she’d just gotten back from patrol, swaddled in a khaki green windbreaker and jeans, hair in your favourite style — half up half down. You swing the door open, ushering her in.

She doesn’t mean to ogle you, but it happens anyway — eyes drawn to your bushy tail shyly curling round your thigh, a hole cut in the back of your pyjama shorts specifically for that reason when you turned around. “Hey you, couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way back to my house. Plus, I got somethin’ to show you.” She wiggles her brows, heading to your room.

“Y’want a drink?” You call after her to which she promptly replies with “Please!” already disappearing into the warm comfort that was your bedroom. Your bedroom, a God damn hassle for Ellie to construct. You had… a vision, and that vision became Ellie’s problem when you’d started to build your little home space. “Els if you see any pink blankets on your patrol today please please please grab me one?” “Ellieeee I need a picture frame, like — a cute one.” “If I don’t get a fluffy throw cushion for my bed soon, I might die.” The list goes on. Her patrols were ever-filled with heavy backpacks, trinkets carefully balanced on top of eachother or stuffed into pockets. She smiles warmly at the memory, walking around your room — taking in each item along with its memory of finding it and smuggling it back into Jackson. Her eyes are glazing over your bed sheets now, thinking about you curled up in the you-spaced shape you’d left on the blankets, thinking about you fast asleep in the night beautiful as ever, thinking about you writhing on them with less clothes on — gross, Ellie — shake it off.

A matted tuft of darkened hair peeped from your mass of bed covers and Ellie squinted, bending over to get a closer look before pinching it with her fingers and lifting it. A clump of hair sat in her palm and she raised her eyebrows. Was that a —

“What you lookin’ at?” Your voice is sudden, lighthearted, right behind her— and she jumps, turning her head over her shoulder to glance at you guiltily. You stand wide eyed and innocent, a glass of water for her clutched in your hand.

“Jesus, fuck — we gonna have to get you a collar with a bell on it or what?” She rolls her eyes, clutching her chest before recovering, taking her glass and sipping as she holds up her findings. For a moment, something twitches in you down below at the thought of wearing a bell around your neck for Ellie. The feeling is warm and homely and disgustingly horny and you feel a little shame. She swallows her water an ‘ah’ and explains “Was just uh— I found a fur ball.”

You look at the clump of hair in her hand, then up at her, then back to the clump — and then you’re moving past her. You straighten out your blankets, revealing a hair brush and hold it up— plucking the ‘hairball’ from her hand and grasping it side by side. “From my hairbrush… doofus.”

Ellie makes an ‘o’ shape with her mouth and chuckles, scratching her arm awkwardly after placing down her glass — feeling maybe she’d jumped to a conclusion. This feeling is unfortunately confirmed when she sees your brows furrow, softening in stature ever so slightly.

“Do you really think I’m like… dirty and animalistic? I don’t get fur balls, Ellie.” You sound defeated and just a smidgen whiny, but she’s a sucker for it and grasps your arms gently either side with two strong hands.

“No! I’m an idiot! I’m sorry. Total jackass.” She reassures and you tilt your head, pout turning into a gentle smile. This gives her the green light to move things along. “However, I did get you a little something that might help us understand your… condition a little better.” The auburn haired girl is already shucking off her black beaten up backpack, struggling with the zip for a moment before sliding out a thick hard back book, a manual of some kind. Her eyes are on you, searching for any sign of offence and you catch the title when she spins it around proudly — ‘Caring for your kitty’.

She’s off like a race car with an excited explanation before you even get the chance to breathe, opening it up and flicking through it. “Stopped at that old library today, you know the one we thought the entrance was blocked off and we couldn’t go inside? Well — Jesse found another way in — so I was just lookin’ around, seeing if there was anything interesting and I found this bad boy. It tells you everything you need to know about caring for a cat and well… don’t wanna be a dick but… I’m caring for a cat, kind of.”

As she spoke, your grin only widened — pathetically, and totally embarrassingly so, because it was going against everything you had taught your self. You’d wanted to push this side of you down for what, your whole life? And then Ellie comes along, with her pretty green eyes and her tattoo and her hand veins and her — whatever, and suddenly you’re completely and utterly embracing the fact you’re like, absolutely fucked up, genetically? Crushing on your best friend makes you do crazy, stupid things. You bat your eyelashes at her, regardless.

“You care for me?” It was kind of a joke, but your voice came out softly anyway and Ellie couldn’t look at you because of it, continuing to thumb through the pages, very concentrated, what was that one page again?

“Why’d you think I brought this big ass manual back? Wanna look after you.” She mutters. You soften completely, and she realises that she said that out loud. You look at her, and she looks at you — and then she looks away because God damn, she’s falling in love. “Anyways. Thought we could go through it together. You got those sweatpants I left here? My jeans are like, damp.” She rambles, and you let it slide — though you’re positively floating when you point her to your dresser, pressing the neatly folded grey pants into her arms with a hazed out smile. “Thanks.”

You turn around when she changes. You’re not sure why, she’s wearing boxers — and you have some skirts stashed away that are probably shorter and more revealing (which you unfortunately couldn’t wear due to having a tail) but you look away anyways, out of respect. You clamber back onto your bed waiting for her, and soon she’s sliding up beside you in just her black tshirt and sweatpants, comfy and warm. Ellie clears her throat, sitting up against the headboard and opens the manual for the two of you to check out. “Ahem, caring for your kitty. With special thanks to Juliana.” She reads formally and you giggle, scooching closer until your cheek is pressed to her arm so that you could see the book. “Shout out to Juliana.” She comments, flipping the page.

You snuggle in closer to her, because well — it feels natural. The two of you had always been affectionate since becoming friends and since you’d shared your secrets it had only become more binding. When Joel had comment that you two were literally attached at the hip, it was by no exaggeration. The fat of your cheek pushed up enough to shut one eye as you practically tried to merge with her bicep, warm breath tickling her light arm hair.

“Y’always smell like oatmeal.” You comment, voice sleepy from her warmth and she’d barely even gotten the chance to read anything yet.

Her hand freezes on the page for a millisecond as she acknowledges your statement. “So— wait, oatmeal? That’s gross dude. I don’t wanna smell like oatmeal.” She complains, causing you to lift your head having busted out into a giggle fit. She lifts her hand and sniffs it, looking at you with a displeased expression trying to decipher your observation.

“No! It’s a good thing I like it. It’s just… Ellie smell.” You rub your eye tiredly and she’s fighting every urge not to kiss all over your cheeks at how God damn adorable you are.

“Oatmeal. Great.” She chuckles, shaking her head before nudging you with her elbow — a silent command for you to lay back down on her so that she could read.

And the two of you did, for a little while anyway. The manual was more helpful than the both of you had originally thought, and you came to realise that you had a lot more in common with the animal than you’d had believed. Between each paragraph, the two of you would launch off into conversations and comparisons, Ellie asking you questions about your behaviours and habits. It made your heart swell at how much she truly cared. “Kitten will feel attached to her owner when being scratched behind the ears.” Ellie reads out monotonously, thinking, before reaching up and scratching behind your ears. “To say I’m your owner would be a little crazy, I must admit. Can’t deny you some good old scratches though.” She chides in amusement, watching your happy smile melt into a dozed pur. You can own me, Ellie — God you can —

She read and read and read until you were nodding off, eyes fluttering shut and disappearing off into a dream land as Ellie’s raspy voice trails off, fondly watching you as your lips parted a little, more of your warm weight sinking into her side. “Okay.” She whispered, to no one in particular— and closed the book quietly, stretching to reach behind her and place it on your bedside table, turning off your lamp too.

Ellie was always a light sleeper, maybe she was paranoid or just protective — because she seemed to wake up constantly when she’d stay with you. Not that you didn’t make her feel more relaxed than anyone ever had, because you certainly did. She just… fuck, she didn’t know. She needed to be alert at all times. Just in case.

Tonight was like any other time, stirring at the cooing of a heavy wind outside the rattling windows. Her eyes found the back of your head immediately and settled a little, comfortable and dozed with the feeling of your ass grazing her front and the warmth of your back blanketing her. You slept like two people in love and if she were more awake she’d probably mourn the relationship that was out of her grasp. Too much of a pussy, too much of a risk to ruin things. But this, this she could enjoy in her half awake consciousness.

She was about to drift back off, perhaps a deeper sleep this time knowing that everything is alright and you’re safe from the harsh winds of Spring. Until, she felt a prodding. That was the best way to describe it. Like you were poking her, despite both of your arms being curled at your front visibly. She panicked for a moment, which woke her enough to open her eyes and gaze down at whatever the hell was poking her in the stomach. Your tail.

It curled at the end like a question mark, curious and wandering. She watches, fascinated at how you could be sound asleep and yet your tail had a mind of its own. It knocked on her, like it was asking for entry before it poked lower, lower, Jesus, lower. Without time for her to respond, your tail slots itself between her thighs, curling around and cupping her cunt. She gasps, bringing a hand up that was originally going to cover her mouth, but ran over her own head instead, frozen and unsure of what to do in this situation.

Why was your tail touching her up whilst you slept innocently on the other end of it? She knew you were sleeping for sure because of the quiet snores and the even quieter hum of your pur — making her wonder how she never noticed it before you’d told her about your rarity. Your tail slithered like a snake as if trying to get comfortable, which made Ellie’s mouth hang open as it practically moulded itself to the shape of her. The agile tip of your tail curled around, brushing against the material of her sweatpants all the way up to her clit and she winced, enough to stir you a little. Your tail seemed to go a little limp as you groan quietly, your sleep disturbed. God, what if she wakes up and finds me like this? Her fucking tail getting me off. That’s weird, oh god — you’re a creep Ellie. Move, move now. Jesus.

She spins around so the two of you are back to back, staring at the wall. Ellie clenches her thighs so that your tail can’t slip through them and grope her again, frowning as she squeezes her eyes closed in shame at how good it felt. It was wrong. Wrong and creepy and awful and she hated herself for letting it go on for that long. She willed herself to sleep, repeating those words like a mantra.

The next day you plant flowers together in the community garden. She doesn’t bring it up.

SUMMER

There were certain pages in the manual that the two of you would skip. It was too awkward, too intrusive — pages you would separately read in your own time.

If you don’t get your female cat spayed, they’re going to go into heat. How exciting! And if you’re experiencing kitty in heat for the first time, you’re probably wondering: how do I cope with this? Dealing with a restless, frisky kitty may seem like a challenging task, but it’s not nearly as difficult as you may think. We’ve outlined plenty of quick tips and suggestions to help calm your cat down in the short term, as well as some solutions to prevent heat in the long term. In just a few minutes, you’ll be able to give your loving furball the support and respite she needs during this tough time.

Ellie snickered when she read it the first time, a night where you’d fallen asleep at her house, curled up on the end of the bed by her feet. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, it just happened — trying to give yourself space on the particularly warm evening. Not everything in this manual applied to you, like you’d insisted plenty of times — you’re mainly all human. Despite the purring, you hadn’t felt you’d demonstrated any feline-like behaviours (Ellie disagrees strongly, but can’t bring herself to argue.) That night she had sat up later, reading about cats in heat — wondering if… you’d ever… what would she do… no, Ellie. Stop.

When summer had approached, something had flipped. Things were normal until they weren’t— and at first you could blame it on the weather, the serotonin flooding everyone’s systems from the influx of Vitamin D, being able to wear less and enjoy more. Days seeming longer. Life seeming better. You’d grown more affectionate with Ellie, not fighting the urge anymore to be touching her at all times. Gently sinking your teeth into her freckled skin when you felt the urge, wrapping your tail around her leg when you’d stand side by side in your kitchen, clambering onto her lap with the manual and urging her to read some more so you could get sleepy and comfortable and fall asleep on top of her. You saw the way people would look at the two of you around Jackson together, they thought you were together — and you didn’t mind — even though you weren’t. Just two super close best friends.

When the calendar had rolled over to July, things seemed to intensify by ten. Things were changing, urges growing stronger. You couldn’t control yourself purring when Ellie would simply enter the room, kneading your claws into your seat of the canteen area pulling up threads, needing to be near her. Practically vibrating the floorboards in total bliss when she’s give you a friendly, subtle ear scratch in public being careful not to unpin your ears. Saliva pooling inside your mouth with the urge to lick her all over when she’d arrive to your home late at night after a rough patrol, ready to crawl into bed beside you and surrender herself to your grabby paws hands. Wanting to pounce on her when she’d greet you by the gardens, knuckle knocking gently beneath your chin with a friendly “Mornin’ kitty-cat.” Worst of all, the growing neediness you’d succumb to each night you weren’t together, mewling as you’d grind against a pillow pretending it was her thigh, soaking the sheets. You were starting to accept that you were experiencing your first ever heat.

You particularly enjoyed summer evenings in Jackson. The air was was balmy and warm without the scalding, overwhelming sunshine like there was in the day. Most if not all citizens would be in the town centre at movie night or the bar — which created a perfectly calm and empty landscape for walks. It was one that day, the one that’s about to unfold — that you were particularly dazed. You felt high, sensitive, walking on air. You wear a bell around your neck now, a giggly patrol gift from Ellie — something that tinkles quietly and could be confused with simple jewellery to the untrained eye. It sounds each step you take, a comforting noise that was special to you and your best friend. Your summer dress grazed above your knees, and due to no one being around, you didn’t quite care that your tail would occasionally peak out when a warm breeze would pass through.

You stroll past the flowers you and Ellie had planted in spring, stroll past the empty playground with the wooden climbing equipment that you had to continue walking on from to not give into the urge to dig your aching claws into. Your mind was set on finding Ellie — Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, who’d supposedly just be returning home from patrol. As expected, nothing quite getting past your astute cat wisdom — there she stood, facing away from you in just her adorable oversized white tshirt, greenish brownish greenish flannel and long baggy denim shorts. Your whole body felt hot and the sight of her, heart pumping and palms tingling. Approaching slowly, you hear her quietly talking to Shimmer as she undresses her of her equipment, occasionally stopping to give her affectionate pats and love. Ellie was always good with animals.

Figures.

You step closer, alerting Ellie of your presence. “Here kitty.” She smirks, continuing to remove Shimmer’s saddle before turning over her shoulder, eyeing you briefly.

“How’d you know I was here?” You swoon, dumb smile on your face as you step up to her. Probably too close, but something inside of you was clawing to be able to smell her, be able to feel the warmth radiating off her body. She doesn’t react to the proximity, just lifting a finger and jingling the bell at your neck. You fight a shudder when her coarse fingertip grazes the soft skin of your neck.

“Hard to miss you. That bell was definitely a good investment, you’re not sneakin’ up on me anymore, huh.”

She continues tending to Shimmer as you watch, a fond smile on your face.

“How was patrol? ‘Missed you.” You tug at her flannel sleeve for attention and she chuckles good naturedly, rolling her eyes.

“Wasn’t gone for that long, was I? You’re always missing me lately. Is somethin’ up?” She turns her head to you again inquisitively, concern flashing through her eyes — as well as the stream of bright light from the sunset through the crack in the barn wall. She squints.

“Uh…” You sigh out softly. Yes. I need you. I want you. Come here. Fuck me. “No. I dunno.” You shrug, forcing yourself to look away, defeated. No, you’re here for a reason. “Can you come over tonight? Sleepover?” You realise you’re still clinging to her sleeve and she’s letting you, her eyes drifting to the way your hand slides downwards and catches her hand, intertwining your fingers. You know, just best friend things.

“Jesse asked me to hang out but…” She started, but trailed off when you became all fluttery lashes and bambi-eyed. “Fuck it,” She breathes. “I’m too tired for his shit today anyway.”

You grin, successful and tilt your head. “Not too tired for my shit?” and she scoffs, squeezing your hand.

“Never.”

She steps back, your joined hands bridging the two of you still. Her eyes are trailing down again. That little sundress, she hadn’t seen that before. Maybe hanging in your closet, but not out of the house. Her eyes dip lower and she sees a flash of fur swinging behind you, jostling your dress. Her eyes widen a little. “Hey.” She emphasises, nodding her head down. You’re still staring at her, at her freckles and the way they’re shaded from the sun — a halo of bronze and natural flush.

“Hm?” You sing. She furrows her brows.

“Your dress is short.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“What? Uh— fuck, I mean, yeah — but I’m saying other people might see your…” She nods again in gesture, nervous.

“Tail?” Your fingers trail up her flannel sleeve a little.

“Yeah. People might not be as… open to all that, babe.” Babe. A slip up, usually — usually said when she wanted to soften the blow, or when she physically couldn’t stop the affection from meeting her lips. You preened at the word anyway, didn’t even bother to hide it.

“No one’s around.”

Your claw traces the blue green vein on her pale wrist. You don’t remember it coming out, these days it seemed they just did it on their own. She winces at the light scratch, but she lets you anyway. Just ogling, wide eyed, a little confused and a little turned on — which confused her all the more. She silently begged herself, get a grip.

She tore her hand away, hoisting her backpack off her back and swinging it around — damn near smacking you in the face with it. “Got you a present. Know you like those.” She rushes out, sounding a little out of breath like she’d been running. You liked it, liked that you did that to her. You’re smiling and she’s like, ignoring it — because she knows you know you flustered her and that’s not like Ellie. Not like calm and collected Ellie Williams.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.”

She digs around, pulling out a black rectangular VHS tape. Hard to come by, but always a delight seeing as you had a TV facing your bed in your room that refused CD discs and would only play grainy tapes. Ellie turned it in her hands, displaying the white tape across the front that read in someone unknowns Sharpie’d handwriting ‘Disney Aristocats’

“Think it’s about cats. Thought it would be funny.” She chuckles humbly, her ‘you hate it. fuck my life.’ thoughts kicking in as expected.

“We can watch it tonight!” You grin, gently taking it from her — clutching it proudly in your hands. She relaxes, shoulders unstiffening.

“Cool. Uh, yeah.” She nods, scratching her scalp which made the half-up-bun bob at the back of her head. She looks at you, and then looks around, and then back at you. Always back at you. “Alright. Let me go home and shower, you go set everything up and I’ll be round soon. Just… get outta here, before anyone sees you. Yeah?” Ellie exasperates, softly clapping two hands down on your shoulders and spinning you around, carefully nudging you to start walking away.

“M’kay. See you then, Els.”

“See ya, trouble.” Eye roll. Or maybe her eyes just rolled back at the sight of you swishing away in your little sundress. She’s not sure.

You were stood in front of the mirror when the door knocked. Your heart jumped — like you weren’t expecting Ellie to even come for some reason — but more so because you wasn’t sure you could get away with pyjamas this skimpy. You wanted to seduce her, sure. But this was just obscene. You wore, what essentially was just a long tank top. It fell mid thigh, flimsy and thin, showing every curve and dip and plumpness to you. You didn’t ever feel insecure around Ellie, no — but she might just call you a slut.

There was no time to change, so you ran and got the door, feigning confidence. Something was… different about the way she was stood there. Her hands were in her jean pockets awkwardly, like she didn’t know what to do with them. She’d actually cleaned up surprisingly, wearing her jeans and off white wifebeater. She somewhat looked like she was trying, but maybe that was all in your head. She didn’t look you in the eye either, thick brown lashes fluttered slightly as her eyes jumped down you in segments. Tits, then tummy, then hips, and then tail. The sight of it flapping about freely made her usher you inside quickly, always aware of the risks.

“Hey furball, y’ready to watch the movie?” She clears her throat, looking around your house like she’d never seen it before. Nervous? Something else?

“Told you not to call me that, doofus. But yes, follow me.” You giggle, and that’s all you seem to do around her these days if not purring — constant girlish giggles tumbling past your lips at the slightest joke. It bordered on pathetic.

She enters your room with a chuckle, like — the type that says ‘you’re so fucking cute.’ in Ellie’s voice, if you can imagine. You’d set the movie up, the screen buzzing with static playing old timey music with the start up screen for the movie awaiting the two of you. You’d rustled together every blanket and cushion you could get your hands on to create some kind of nest for the two of you to get all cuddled up in, and even more than that if your plans went how they should. It smells like you in the room, and Ellie wants to stand there and breathe in so hard her ribs crack from the expansion just to inhale you in completely. There’s no time for that, because you’re ushering her down on the bed. It’s almost horny just from the way you push her down, both hands on the warm skin of her freckled shoulders — your smooth and grabbable thighs between her legs. “Get comfy. But not too comfy. You always fall asleep when we watch movies.”

But how could she fall asleep when you’re dressed like that? In your natural form, wearing so little and showing so much. Her palms felt like little ants were inside her skin, running around like their tiny heads were on fire — or maybe it was just the hand static from not being able to touch your electric skin, to graze her coarseness over your smoothness and hear the sizzle of you up against fingertips. She wanted to hold you by the back of the head, take all your weight, all your thoughts, all of you.

But she was here to watch a movie, like a good best friend. And if that’s what you needed that’s what she’d be.

Turns out trying to seduce someone into scratching the itch that’s been aching you for weeks was harder than expected. How were you supposed to initiate this again? Hadn’t you thought about this time and time again, written about your dream scenarios of getting down and dirty with Ellie in the middle of your diary where no one would look if they’d found it and opened it up? You’d practised this, time and time again whilst you fall asleep — or whilst you’re fucking your hand, or whilst you’re staring at her profile idly whilst she sits and draws. God, how do you make the first move?

You’re staring at her whilst this rackets your brain, and you don’t realise how shamelessly you’re gawking at her until she side-eyes you, a fond little smirk daring to grace her features — it was audacious how cute she was. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

She’s practically handing you the opportunity. Your skin burns, body pressed to hers. Her arm is wrapped around your shoulder, the two of you propped up laying back on your bed and it’s all set up perfectly. You could say a million things, you could push your weight up on your elbow and reach up and kiss the side of her rubied lips. You want to slot a hand right between your thighs there and then, relieve yourself, show her what she’s done to you. The mess she’s made out of you.

You squeak out a “Nope.” despite all of this.

You keep planning and rehearsing, not concentrating on the cat movie anymore, that’s for damn sure. Who was that old lady again? What was that cats name? Who cares. You’re staring, syncing your breath to hers. You think yourself to sleep, cheek pressed to her collar bone and soft snores. Completely unsuccessful, but there’s always next time right?

When you wake up a few hours later things feel different. You’re not touching Ellie anymore — Hell, she could be gone for all you know. But you’re feverish, throat dry and prickly. Your skin is broken out into goosebumps despite the heat, your thin tank top dress completely stuck to your skin and sheering from the pure amount of sweat drenching you. What the fuck? Were you sick? You’re panting, aching but not all over — only in your… you reach down, half awake and feel your slick coating your inner thighs, pooling your cunt. You felt feral.

Your eyes shoot open now, because — well, you can’t be doing that. Can’t be touching yourself like that with Ellie right there. The room is glowing blue, and you locate the TV screen causing it. The movie is gone, finished, and the screen is on a standby channel, quiet and staticy as it alights the bedroom. You turn to Ellie, because you need her suddenly, feeling like you’ll burst into tears or cum without touch, whichever comes first and you don’t know why. Any shyness has left you when you turn, spinning onto your hands and knees to touch her and shake her awake.

She’s laying on her front, her wifebeater having ridden up a little to display some of her back. Her arm hugs her pillow, and you don’t remember her being that sculpted — her arms, the ones that hold you when you hug and lift the heavy gates on patrol. You reach out and touch, and then grab, and then you shake her awake. “Els, Ellie please.”

It doesn’t take her much, she’s a light sleeper as mentioned before. She panics a little, flipping onto her back when she hears your trembling, whiney tone. What’s wrong? What happened? She’s reaching for you before her eyes are fully open.

“Hey, wha’samatter?” She croaks, one eye squinting shut in the bright blue glow. You go to tell her but you just whisper her name again, and again and you just need her to touch. Your hand grabs her arm again and she sits up fully, eyes widening a little as she wakes up properly. “Hey, talk t’me.”

“Look at me I’m—” You whine quietly, gesturing to your fevered appearance but you feel like you don’t have time to explain. You have no sense of patience or shame when you scooch closer, hands sliding over her shoulders so your foreheads are nearly touching. You look deranged and her cunt twitches.

“I need you Els. Somethin’ is going on with me and I just... I don’t know but I need you.” You beg. Jesus, she must be having some kind of wet dream.

“What? Uh— you — need me how?” She stutters, and she feels like a fuckin’ idiot because where was the suave flirting skills and pizazz she promised herself she’d have when the day came that you finally asked her to touch you? Let her have you? Her stomach clenches in cringe but she barely has time to overthink it because you’re moving impossibly closer. Your tits are practically spilling out and Ellie’s palms are sweating so much that it makes her insecure.

“Think somethings wrong with me, think I’m in—”

“You’re in heat.” Your words overlap and the two of you are whispering like there’s anyone else in the house that might overhear you. “Yeah, uh — shit man, I read about it in the book, you know? I didn’t know if you’d… if you’d be able to… whatever. What do you need? You need some water?” She’s rambling, needing to think carefully about her actions. She didn’t wanna take advantage of you when you were so vulnerable… was this like, weird? Not because you’re her best friend — no, this has been Ellie’s long game since you met — but because of the whole… feline thing.

“No I don’t need water Ellie, I just want you to help me. It… it aches.” You cry miserably, dropping your face into her shoulder defeatedly. She smells so good, just like her — like Ellie, but so much stronger than usual, your senses heightened by ten. It weakened you, feeling this out of control. You sniffle, rubbing your nose into her top and she rubs your drenched back — sympathetic.

“Is it because it’s like… a full moon or something?” She asks quietly and your brows furrow in annoyance, pushing yourself off her to be face to face again.

“M’not a werewolf Ellie.” You pout, and her lips twitch up into a nervous half chuckle, relaxing a little as she reaches up and smoothes her thumb between your brows. She sighs. And then laughs quietly.

“I know that.”

The two of you look at eachother for a moment, a silent conversation in the place of what should be confessing feelings. You feel like you take the first step when you glance at her lips, and she returns it by glancing at yours. The looks get more eager, and your bodies thrust closer, and you kiss.

You wished it was romantic, like you’d planned for months. But it’s needy and eager and you’re panting and whining within thirty seconds of having her tongue glide against yours. You’re lucky that Ellie is just eagerly going with it, happy to be there. You didn’t wanna make her uncomfortable or come across as forceful — but that didn’t seem to be the case at all, especially not when she let out a little groan at the feeling of of you sinking down pointed teeth into her bottom lip.

She topples back when you lean into her more and you’re clambering onto her lap, thighs shaking. You hear yourself before you realise you’re not kissing anymore, instead whispering “Please, please, please.” against her lips with your eyes screwed shut as you grind your soaked cunt onto her jean covered one. Where you’d usually make a comment about her sleeping in jeans, you pant — and she lets out an embarrassingly loud, wide eyed groan at the feeling. The zipper digs into both of your clits from either side.

“Fuck, fuck okay.” Her hands hover, and she doesn’t know where to grab first. This is happening, God this is really fucking happening. She blushes at the thought of her dorkishly pinching herself, just to check it’s not some super torturous vivid dream as her hands float before just pawing at your back, pulling you closer. Closer. Need her closer.

You shuffle back in the dark, hands fumbling for that zipper that you’d made warm and wet through your cotton underwear and tug it down so harshly you think it’s gonna come off. Buttons get unpopped, and fingers get tucked into a waistband before you’re yanking down. Ellie’s getting whiplash at the speed you’re moving, eyes flickering across your desperate and pained expression. Fat tears sit beneath your eyes as you mutter the word ‘closer’ again, an inkling of relief when you pull her jeans down to her mid thighs revealing soft black boxers.

You sit on her again, and — that’s it, that’s the friction you wanted. You can feel the raised, round mould of her pussy through the material and she gasps when you grind down onto her, forcing herself up onto her elbows, eyes rolling back a little, hands gripping your thigh creases as she stared down at your white underwear smushing itself into hers in the dim light. You’re whimpering (and so is she for a moment), hips jerking forward and Ellie genuinely doesn’t know what to do with you. It feels so fucking good, but she feels like she’s not stepping up the way she should. She wants to take control, make it all better for you like she always does.

“Fuck, okay babe. Chill, okay? Mhpm, I got you. Let me help you. S’what I’m here for right? Lay back.” She whispers, and leans forward again to ease you backwards and like she can’t help it, presses another kiss to your lips. You both freeze, because this time it has feeling behind it. That’s also what you needed, you needed her to take control. You relax for a moment, letting her roll you onto your back barely breaking apart the kiss.

When she pulls back, she strokes your hot cheek with her thumb — staring into each others eyes. Hers are still beautiful and vibrant even in the feverish blue light, glancing all across your face with concern and fondness etched into her features. “Kay?” she speaks, tapping her thumb to your cheek for a response and you nod, huffing out a breath. Okay. Try to calm down.

She kisses the corner of your mouth, which trails inevitably into the crook of your neck, her swollen lips sucking the slippery skin with a hum. Your fingers are bunched tightly into her shirt and her jeans are still below her ass from your dry humping craze. You take some deep breaths, and she hears you — outwardly appreciating your efforts to be calm. “Thats good, keep doin’ that.” She whispers when you push air out of your mouth shakily, and the praise makes your legs fall open limply.

“You gonna let me help you out, pretty girl?” She kisses the centre of your chest and you mewl, body vibrating with purs as you nod. “Tell me, please. I’ve uh, I’ve waited so long to hear it.” She sounds nervous in the sweetest way possible, making you even in your haze reach out to comfort her, pushing her auburn strands out her face as she looks up at you pleadingly.

“Please help me Ellie, want you to touch me.” Your voice is jumpy from your shudders, and it transfers to her — your eyes just catching the way she trembles a little from adrenaline in the dark.

“Alright baby, I got you.”

Hearing her call you baby like you’d always hoped she would makes you heave out a sigh, pushing your hips up into her body weight trying to relieve yourself somehow. She shushes you, distracted by the feel of you beneath her palms now as she drags them down your body. Her thumbs swipe across your hard nipples through the thin material of your pyjamas and you mewl again, arching into her hands.

“Gonna make you feel better, promise.” She whispers but it feels more like she’s talking about you and not to you so you try to keep quiet so that you can just observe. She’s sliding down the bed ‘til she’s practically half off it, pushing your dress up to press fond kisses to your tummy. It feels right, like it’s something she’s been doing for months despite it being her first time down there. It’s Ellie, your Ellie. You can’t think of anyone you’d be in better hands with.

“Never,” kiss. “Had,” kiss. “Someone down here,” kiss. “Before have you?” She drags her lips downwards this time, gripping the meat of your thighs and spreading them. You sigh out a whimper and shake your head, embarrassed by how needy you were for a flash of a second before getting lost in your lust again. She whispers out an ‘Th’sokay’ against your hipbone as she pushes your thighs open before pulling back — taking a look. Her tongue wets her lips at the sight before her, eyes adjusted into the low light now to see how you’ve completely soaked through your underwear — lips fat and wanting through the material. Ellie let’s out a breath she was unaware to be holding, forefinger stroking through your covered folds with a glance upwards to make sure it was all still okay.

“God damn.” She comments, and you know what she means — she probably didn’t know it was possible to get this wet.

“Take’m off, please.” You whimper, writhing your hips around growing impatient once more and she nods frantically, peeling the cotton down your body making you hide your face in your arm when your centre clings to the fabric.

“So ready, huh.” She whispers, hot breath fanning over your bare cunt now. She breathes out a barely audible chuckle as she strokes the side of her finger across the small curled tuft of pubic hair that sat on your skin.

“Yeah, b—been ready for you Els. Wanted this for so l—ong.” You can’t stop trembling, and perhaps it was your feverish chills or the fact you were so excited to finally have your best friend in the way you’d wanted her.

“Yeah?” She cooes, but she’s barely listening — both thumbs pushing the fat of your lips outward, spreading you for her viewing pleasure. “Been hiding all this from me? But it’s so pretty…”

You sniffle, and she takes that as her sign to dive straight in — tongue flattening against your exposed clit and flicking upwards before dragging her lips down through your quantity of arousal. You moan, barely able to hear yourself through the loud purs emitting from you and buck your hips against her face.

You knew Ellie had experience, from the gutwrenching stories she’d tell you about her escapades with her ex girlfriend Cat (Funnily enough, actually her name — a foreshadowing all things considered.) But you’d figured it was just fooling around behind the barn, or maybe when Joel wasn’t home as the two of them used to share a residence. You didn’t expect her to be so… ravenous. If you knew that the girl sat beside you for so long could eat like this, you might have felt more inclined to approach her for help a little sooner.

The room was filled with obscene sounds, the sound of Ellie’s mouth ministrations which can only be compared to noise that belonged to stirring buttery pasta — mixed with her low moans against you because apparently you tasted that good. This was also mixed with, but not overshadowed by your desperate cries and purs as you pull her head further down into your crotch, panting up against the ceiling praying for release.

You hear yourself cry for “More!” and as if the thought had already sprouted for your best friend, her middle finger immediately pressed in against your hole — applying pressure and massaging that warm spot — a challenge for it not to slip right in given how wet you were for her.

“Can give you more. Lemme in, babe.” She murmurs against you when she finally sinks it in, sucking on your clit as means to get you to loosen up around her — which in hindsight wasn’t her most clear-minded idea as you only clenched harder. Ellie, much to your dismay removes her mouth for a moment to sit up on her elbow a little higher. She blows over your clit, smacking a wet kiss to it before looking up at you seriously — finger frozen only a little way in. Her free hand comes up, wide palm stroking across your lower stomach soothingly. “Gotta relax. Don’t wanna hurt you and you’re tight, babe. Relax.”

This side of Ellie made it difficult to not challenge this by clenching even harder. You could tell there was still an element of nerves to her, not wanting to fuck it up — but it just came so naturally to her to look after you. You push a shaky breath out through your mouth in a small ‘o’ shape, eager to make her proud again like before and focus on unclenching, her thumb on the connecting hand softly stroking your clit up and down to assumably aid you in this. “Good job, that’s it.”

She smiles when she returns her mouth to your folds, absolutely ecstatic to get back in there. You would have giggled at this if you weren’t so worked up, placing all your concentration into keeping loose for her and letting her press her finger up into a delicate spot you hadn’t discovered before. You jerk, briefly clenching again as her gaze snaps up to you— free hand coming back to smooth down your hip and ass, calming you. “C’mon babe, this is gonna get y’there. Help me out here.” She whispers and you try for her again, letting her press up into that toe curling devastating place. The bed rocks with movement, the same feeling you get when you’re half awake in the back of a moving car — and you glance down to realise it’s Ellie, and she’s fucking humping the bed, grunting against your pussy with her nose smushed to your clit. You feel the tears welling, and something turning like cogs in your stomach. Your orgasm approaches, but it’s only at the precipice of your cunt— the ache reaching much deeper and you panic at the idea of being left unsatisfied despite your deep lust, Ellie’s touches only making you ache more.

“Els, Ellie w—wait I’m gonna, let — wait I can’t it’s not — s’not deep enough I need more, need more it’s too —” You’re suddenly crying out, pushing yourself up with a look of absolute devastation on your face which is so sobering that she pulls her fingers out of you completely — pushing her self up at crazy speeds to meet you half way and cup your face.

“Babe, you’re panicking. Just talk to me, tell me what you need I — I can give it to you. Breathe.” She whispers, lips brushing your own as she attempts to comfort you, swiping away the tears leaking down your cheeks still. Your lip curls over, puffing out and wobbling as you suck in a quivering breath.

“More— just need to be… fucked, need you to fuck me, need it deeper.” You wail and she shushes you again, her slender hand coming back down to just cup your cunt in a way that made you dizzy, an attempt for her to comfort you and hold you in a way that you needed. Your eyes squeeze shut and tears moisten your lashes, feeling guilty for asking for such things, unsure if she can really give it to you. You didn’t want her to feel bad.

Ellie bites her lip in thought and tastes you. She did have that one thing… though she hadn’t actually used it before. It was a harness, a thick purple dildo lodged into the centre of it — stashed in a shoebox and shoved under her bed with crimson cheeks and clammy hands. She’d found it on patrol, and figured it could be useful one day maybe — a vision of you taking her with an arched back and her hips slamming against your plush ass making her wince and cup her cunt through her jeans in that very sex store. She had something that could help, and she had to push her pride aside to offer.

“Got something I can fuck you with. It’s… literally for that purpose but uh, it’s back at my place.” When she see’s the way your eyes light up with hope she’s jumping up, yanking her jeans up back around her waist, fumbling to do up her zipper as she continues to stare at you for permission. “I can run, be back in literally five minutes — do you want it babe? I’ll be so fucking fast you won’t even know I’m gone.” She’s not sure who’s begging who anymore, because since handed the opportunity Ellie has become obsessed with the idea of finally getting to fuck you good and proper.

“Yes j—just be fast, Ellie please be fast.” You mewl weakly, dropping back against the bed. She gives you a once over as she stumbles for her shoes, pulling her Converse on at a speed you didn’t think was possible and roughly tying laces. She’s out the door before you know it, leaving you to your own devices.

It feels like hours when she’s gone and you slip further into that dream-like, hazy space you’ve been fighting since she’d laid hands on you. Without her touch, the ache began to settle deep into your centre again — skin on fire and sensitive to the touch. You felt like you were being burned from the inside out without her there, rolling around on your sheets attempting to find comfort and coming up unsuccessful. The arch in your back only opened your cunt wider to the balmy air, and your nipples grew sore quickly from rubbing up against your bedsheet. A bead of sweat rolls between your tits.

Ellie’s feet hurt from the speed her Converse would slap the concrete of Jackson’s town— sprinting her way through the 4AM streets on a mission to bring you the equipment to satisfy your urges. Her heart thunders when she reaches her place, dropping her keys and swearing to herself as she fumbled to get the door open. She doesn’t bother closing it behind her when she runs inside, wood creaking beneath her heavy steps to sliding down on her knees beside her bed, reaching her hand along the dusty floor to find that shoe box. She finds it, muttering a borderline deranged ‘There you are’ before sliding it out, popping it open just to check it’s still there before slamming the lid back on and tucking the box under her arm, heading back to you.

You know she’s back because through your daze you hear the door shut and her loud high-pitched grunt of exertion, the image of her doubling over in your hallway to catch her breath coming to you almost like a prophetic vision. The ache worsens as her footsteps draw closer, her voice strained and out of breath as she calls out to you. “I almost — Fuck, almost ran into Jesse on the way to his early patrol. Saw him and, had to take a detour behind someone’s house cos’ he would have asked what was in the box and like — I can’t just get it out and show him…” Her panted words trail off when she re enters the bedroom, eyes falling on your desperate state once more.

It was a blow to her heart, seeing you so worked up. You were completely naked now in just your collar, brow slick with sweat and body practically glowing. Your tail curls around your thigh self soothingly, ears pointed high and alert. Your back arches painfully as you drag your hands down your thighs. You sniffle, defeated.

“Can’t even touch myself n’make it better cos my claws won’t go back in.” You shake, dragging your hands down your thighs desperately. Your sharp claws catch the delicate skin leaving long thin marks but you don’t even seem to notice. Ellie’s brows furrow and she rushes to you, sitting beside you on the bed and taking your hand in hers, looking at your clawed fingertips.

“Hey, don’t… don’t do that. M’here now. Can look after you yeah? Let me just…” She struggles for the box and pulls out the clattering harness and toy. You’re distracted for a moment as you watch, intrigued by the contraption that she’s pulling up her jeans and fastening at her hips. When she’s done, a purple plastic cock stands proud in the centre of her crotch, and your mouth practically waters.

It was animalistic, truly — and a little embarrassing the way you grabbed her and pulled her onto the bed. She even had the nerve to stumble a little bit, her back bouncing against the sheets as she scrambled to get comfortable and you crawled onto her lap. You press your lips to hers again like she’s your life line, letting out a muffled moan because you missed her. She’d been gone for five minutes and you’d missed her. You knew she’d tease you for that if it were any other time, but this time was like no other. She groans against you too, her hand cupping up to cup the back of your head and hold you there. You couldn’t get enough of eachother, all this waiting was finally paying off.

Your thighs shake around her as you wrap your hand around the dildo, sitting back as you can rub it up and down your slick a few times, collecting it’s juice. Ellie sits up a little, watching with wide eyes. “Jesus. Y’look so fuckin’ pretty.”

Her words send a surge of need through you again and you push the fat tip against your hole, adjusting so you can sit straight down on it. She winces for you, hands hovering above your hips. “Careful you haven’t taken anything bigger than my fingers before it’s gonna—”

You groan, melting into her as you sink down all the way. She’s right, it does hurt — and you’re frozen, laying against her shoulder hiccuping and quietly sobbing at the stretch. It’s way too much, but — it scratches the itch. Dulls the ache inside. You could power through this.

Her voice is gentle when she speaks, hands slowly coming down on your back to rub soothing circles on your clammy skin. “Hey.” She leans back a little, tilting her head trying to get a look at you. “Look at me, baby.”

You do, because how could you not — blinking big wet, eyes at her in the dark. She wipes away some tears with her knuckle, brows frowned and concerned. “You gotta be careful. Okay? I don’t… I’m not going to hurt you. I can’t.” She admits, and it seems to carry more meaning than what she’s letting off in the moment. Your doe eyes well again, fist curling in her wifebeater and then loosening as you try and calm your jerky breaths. She slowly reaches down until the pads of her fingers meet your clit, engorged and pushed out from the way your cunt is stretched open around her. She rubs it in light circles, softly — making you preen into her touch. The pain of the stretch lessens and you can’t help but grind down.

With each grind, you become more frenzied — picking up the pace as you chase the feeling you’d been after. You’re moaning over the sound of your pussy squelching around her and all she can do is grab onto your ass and help you, eyes all over you. “Fffffuck, babe — look at you, takin’ it so well. Who taught you how to fuck like this huh? Thought I was your first?” She chuckles, breathless from your incessant bouncing and grinding.

“You are, Els — m—my first and my only, don’t wanna fuck anyone else ever again.” You whine, so loudly it can probably be heard from outside but who cares — not when she’s got you like this. This worked up and needy for her. It was something from her wildest dreams.

“Yeah? Wanna be my girl?” She grunts, your grinding aiding the harness in hitting her clit just right with each movement. With all this time spent helping you, Ellie hadn’t realised how pent up she was.

“Yes, m’your girl Ellie, m’your girl you — you own me!” You admit, and it seems things go a little quiet at the confession. You clench hard, burrowing into her shoulder as she processes the words. Ellie hears an incoherent ‘More’ again, and her body goes on autopilot — feet sliding up to press flat against the bed. She holds you still, arm across your lower back and pins you to her whilst she fucks up into you fast. She grunts at the feeling, and you cry. With each bounce she forces out of you, your bell collar jingles humiliatingly.

Ellie can’t seem to keep her hands in one place, leaving your back to feel the way your tits jump with each movement caging them under her hands. “Yeah, baby? Like that?” She cooes and feels you nod frantically into her, nothing but mewls and moans able to leave you. You’re gushing over her strap, walls spasming trying to suck her back in each time she draws back — Ellie feels like she can feel it herself.

“Y’own me. M’all yours forever Els.” You babble like you’re trying to keep yourself awake, alive, conscious whilst Ellie fucks up into you like it’s the last chance she’ll ever get.

“Yeah? This all mine, sweet girl?” She cooes, and finally you feel it — the hint of a knot in your stomach, the orgasm you’ve been chasing — one that resides deep inside you, the ache that felt like it could kill you, soon to be soothed by Ellie herself.

“Yes! Yes! Mphm, g’nna cum on your dick!”

Her dick. She’d never thought of it like that before. The words leaving your mouth sparked something in her, and suddenly she was the feral one. Her jaw clenches, strong hands pushing and tugging and rolling you onto your back. You gasp at the feeling of her cock sliding right out to the tip at the jostling, tits bouncing as you lay back on the bed. You looked vulgar and improper and so far from your innocent self, and Ellie couldn’t help but feel that maybe this was all on her. Maybe you wouldn’t have gone into heat if the sexual tension between you wasn’t so strong. What had she done to her sweet best friend?

You stare up at her with doe eyes, and she stares back for a moment — lips parted, jaw squared and eyes dark. This was the Ellie you’d needed.

Her hands slide up the backs of your thighs and push your knees up to your chest, pressing her strap deep inside of you. Her breathing is erratic, hair falling into her face as she thrusts in and out at a punishing pace, the tip of her cock nudging your cervix just right. It’s almost too much to take and you turn your head with a weak mewl, sound punched out of your lungs. She doesn’t let you, grabbing you by the jaw so that fucked out your eyes stayed on her own glossy ones.

“Yeah that’s right, look at me. Stay right here with me.”

“C—can’t.”

“You can. Be good, c’mon, j’st keep taking it, angel.” She moans and your toes curl. Needing her as close as humanely possible, your hand curled around the back of her head tugging her to your lips. You feel her arm pressed between the two of you, giving herself just enough space to toy with your clit as she groaned against your mouth.

You detached, unable to keep up with the kissing as you wrapped your arms around Ellie’s neck — and she was okay with that, focusing on her thrusting to get you where you needed. You squeeze extra hard with a pained mewl, every one of your moans met with a cooed ‘Yeah?’ or ‘That right?’ until you were actually finally cumming.

You’re not aware of yourself when you actually do, feeling like water was being thrown over the fire that was your body all whilst igniting another at the same time. The sounds coming from you were…a lot. Purs and squeals and moans and squelching, nothing left to do but to let Ellie ride it out for you, telling you how good you are for letting go. You hear her wince and it brings you back a little, realising you’d been scraping your fangs along Ellie’s bare shoulder — drawing thick beads of blood.

You pant, and she stares down at you with a clenched jaw as you calm your self, recuperating after that Earth shattering orgasm given by your best f— you couldn’t surely still be calling her that right? After all that?

Your eyes focus, puffy lips smeared slightly with the blood you’d drawn from Ellie’s skin and you heave out a whispered apology, trying to blink back your concentration which was proven difficult with her strap still seated deep inside you the way it was.

“S—orry, got carried away I didn’t mean to.”

She goes to shrug, but the air is then punched out of her lungs as you lean forward a little, looking at her with pensive, wide submissive eyes before flattening your tongue against the wound and cleaning it up. She watches, still not having said a word before she’s gently grabbing your shoulders and pushing you to lay flat again. Her hips shift, a slow experimental grind rolling out from her hips as she watches you. Your brows furrow, jaw gaping at the sensitivity as you grab at her strong arms in a slight panic. She takes your hands and pins them down in a soft and loving way.

“What’you doin’ Els?” You sigh out almost in one breath, and that’s when she leans down and presses soft kisses to your cheek once more, her hair tickling your nose, wanting you to feel the love radiating off her.

“Makin’ sure it’s all out your system. You’ll let me do that, yeah?” She mutters, still breathless and you whine in response with a vicious nod. “Good girl.”

Your thighs, which you hadn’t realised had tightened around her hips loosened and fell open, your tail pushing out from under you to absentmindedly tickle your own skin. Maybe it was for comfort, self soothing you through the pleasurable pain of your overstimulation.

Ellie picked up her pace a little, her movements different from before— long and lengthy rolls of her hips making sure to graze every wall inside of you. “How’s that? That make you feel good?” It’s an earnest and honest question, genuinely wanting to know but you tip your head back, controlling everything in you not to hurt her when you dig her claws into the fat beneath her ass now — trying to pull her deeper inside since she’d let your arms out of her pin.

“Feels so good, Ellie. Y’look after me so well.” You whimper, one hand reaching up to push her hair out of her face and she blinks at you a little off guard— preening at the praise a little. “My strong, clever Ellie. Always doin’ what’s right f’me.” You whine, and it seems the praising is turning the both of you on as her brows knit, lips parting just a little as she grinds harder in a way that rubs her good down below.

“Okay, okay fuck.” She chuckles when she catches herself, which only makes you bite your lip and spread yourself wider for her. The angle hits your gummy insides yet again in a way that you just couldn’t handle and your legs are jerking, eyes squeezing shut as you ride out another soft orgasm — letting her pleasure herself inside of you.

She keeps going, and keeps going, and keeps fucking going until you’re all fucked out — Ellie’s boxers soaked and the strap shiny all over from your releases. The sun is starting to come up through the blinds making Ellie squint tiredly when she rolls you over back on top of her, your thighs splayed either side of her body — plastic dick still burrowed inside of you.

She lets out a sigh of exertion and a gentle ‘Alright’ when she tries to carefully lift her hips, trying to get a good grip on the base of the dildo so she could pull it out of you but you whine, clenching around it selfishly as you smush your cheek against her — fucked out and senseless, already half asleep. “J’st keep it… keep it inside, please. Just for a little while.”

The sentence makes her heart tighten a little and she just nods, letting herself fall back and relax into the soft pillows more, hand opting to instead lazily trail up and down your back until the movements were halting with her journey into sleep— drifting off to the visions of your beautiful face, and the memory of your kisses against her lips.

She’ll ask you out officially tomorrow. For now, she could just enjoy the peace that you brought her.

#ellie williams au #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou2 smut #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #hybridkitty!reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip.

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of.

“Lion,” she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers.

Farah does the same, breathing lowly.

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away.

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known.

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up.

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.”

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.”

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only.

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence.

Farah looks back and nods firmly.

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war.

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster.

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance.

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.”

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.”

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.”

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height.

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?”

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do.

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs.

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air.

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over.

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt.

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.”

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter.

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more.

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good.

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.

I told her not to be impulsive.

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?”

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest.

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense.

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John.

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.”

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat.

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts.

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased.

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.”

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!”

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic.

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed.

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement.

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?”

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs.

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily.

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you.

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches.

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor.

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other.

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.”

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.”

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file.

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side.

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing.

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands.

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah.

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle.

“Later.”

He groans into you. “Tease.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest.

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.”

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh.

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.”

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.”

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on.

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.”

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks.

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go.

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her.

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye.

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner.

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.”

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.”

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer.

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.”

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face.

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side.

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you.

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.”

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh.

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One.

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second."

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter.

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.”

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug.

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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torasplanet · 1 month

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I'm begging for a f! Reader receiving a doggy style from izana smut :))

❝𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎.ᐟ❞

I. KUROKAWA + F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; izana's favorite position is painfully obvious, very painful for your joints but he always makes it up to you after.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; smut, doggy style, petnames (mahal, princess), fluffy in the end, aftercare implied, hair pulling ig and skincolor not mentioned

When getting into a relationship with Izana, you kind of knew what you were getting into with all of the gang violence and stuff but you’d never consider that your arms and legs would end up sore nearly every time he joined you in bed.

It’s not like you didn’t know Izana would be rough, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the positions this man has you in which gives you aches and pains all in your joints from the angles and stress of holding yourself up but the position that seems to get you groaning in the bathtub after from your shoulders aching is doggy style. Which just happens to be his favorite.

Izana doesn’t like your face in the pillows, he likes to hear you so there is no time for you just to drop your arms to relax. If you do that, he’ll just tell you to get back up. It certainly doesn’t help how he’ll sometimes put his chest to your back and put a bit of his weight on you knowing how badly your arms were shaking. He just likes to laugh at how you’ll shout at him with a whine in your throat telling him to stop doing that.

His favorite part is when you beg him to let you rest your arms for just a bit. Izana believes a queen should never have to beg for anything but he likes to hear you do it only for him and sometimes he’ll let you, sometimes he won’t. Depends on what kind of mood he’s in honestly.

“‘Zana…” You groaned as your fingers dug into the sheets of the bed, you were so close to just collapsing on the bed from how badly your arms were shaking. You were so tired of holding yourself up…you liked it better when he was doing that. “Hm?” The man asked as his hands gripped your hips tightly while he thrashed into your tummy not helping the weakness of your arms one bit.

Turning your head, you looked up at him with small whines leaving your throat “Can I lay down? My arms hurt…” Izana knew exactly what you meant by that. You didn’t want to stop, you just wanted to switch to a different position, one that would allow you to be comfortable specifically but he wasn’t gonna have that. Izana liked it when you were all sore so he could take care of you. The tanned man only leaned forward and pressed his chest against your back putting just a bit of his weight on you making you whine more.

“Izana!” He only smiled at your complaints as you continued to moan right after. “Mahal, if you really were in pain, you’d use the safeword, no?” Izana asked in your ear and you didn’t answer him verbally and only nodded. Oh, you hated it when he did that! Yeah, your arms were so sore but you liked this position as much as he did well probably not as much but you still liked it. Especially when he’d put his chin on your shoulder and his white hair would tickle the side of your neck. You just wished it didn’t ache as bad.

“Mhm.” You replied as good as you could but it wasn’t good enough for him. The Kurokawa man stopped his movements making your head snap back to look at him with needy wide eyes “Don’t stop…Izana.” You muttered to him and he raised his eyebrow while tilting his head “Thought it hurt huh?” He asked making you whimper more. Izana was a man of few words but when he actually had things to say, he never shut up and he liked it the same way with you. If you wanted something from him, you had to say it.

Your arms caved and you fell face-first into the pillow with sobs escaping your throat and Izana only smiled. His hand went to your hair and he grabbed it harshly before pulling you up “Please…I w-want more.” Izana’s grin widened at your words and his hold on your hair released. You dropped down to the bed with your hands holding you up in doggy once more already knowing what to do “That’s what I like to hear…stay just like that and I’ll give you whatever you want princess.” Izana told you as he began to move his hips once again gaining back his rhythm.

His pelvis slapped against the fat of your ass and his eyes were trained on the recoil of it all. That’s what Izana loved so much about this position, he loved seeing how your ass jiggled whenever he would thrust inside of you, and how your back would arch with the new angles. You were at his mercy, at his hands, and were so vulnerable with him and he loved it so much, he loved it all.

“Uhn, uh!” The moans were extremely loud as your face was pressed against the headboard of the bed which hit the wall violently over and over. It matched Izana’s rhythm perfectly and your moan was just the instrumental to that. “S’good–shit.” Izana groaned slapping the inside of your thighs as you were beginning to squeeze them close a bit. Your body jerked and a loud mewl came from your mouth.

He leaned forward but didn’t put any weight on you. Wet kisses began to place themselves all around the nape of your neck and your back “So fucking good for me, mahal.” Izana said moaning right along with you. He brushed his hair back as it was beginning to stick to his sweaty forehead, god you felt so good around him.

Your cunt tightened around him in desperation for your release while heavy breaths left your lips. Your walls fluttered around him as he hit your g-spot roughly. “Ah! Cumming!” Drool ran down your swollen bottom lip and your chin as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Izana’s stroke got faster and they got rougher making the sound of skin slapping against skin louder and more prominent. “Fuck, fuck, I’m almost there princess.” The lilac-eyed man groaned against your skin as you tried to hold yourself up. When he twitched inside of you, your back arched away from him.

“So pretty.” Izana moaned cumming inside of the condom while backing away from you, you groaned as you flopped against the bed. Your face smushed all over the comfy pillows while Izana was busy pulling out, he tossed the used condom into the bin “Ow…” You muttered as Izana’s palm harshly slapped against the side of your thigh. Izana watched as you allowed the lower half of your body to fall onto the mattress with a bounce.

He smiled at how you grumbled about the aches in your arms and legs “Don’t get too comfortable.” Izana said as he hooked his arms under yours to pull you up from your comfy space “Please…? Can we skip it? You made me tired.” You groaned as he forcefully picked you up placing his hand on your back and putting his arm under your knee.

“No,” Izana said simply as he made his way to the bathroom with you in his arms complaining about how bad the cramp in your knee was. “If anything this’ll help.” He said rolling his eyes while placing you in the bathtub before turning the faucet on. You hissed at the scolding hot water pouring in at your feet and glared at your lover who merely shrugged with a chuckle.

You opened your arms to invite him into the tub and he wasted no time climbing in and lying against you “Okay I didn’t mean actually lay on me, I’m still sore.” You told him as he fully nuzzled into you but he just sighed against you. “You opened your arms and your legs, deal with it.” You smacked him in the back of his head at his joke but he only laughed at you.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

#torasplanet.ᐟ #marls-fics.ᐟ #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #izana kurokawa smut #izana kurokawa x reader #izana kurokawa #izana smut #sorry this is short lol #◛⑅·˚'zana^^

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lovebugism · 6 months

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«Remembering the littlest of things — activities they like and dislike, favourite brands of stationery, go-to ice cream flavour, choice of popcorn» with lovesick eddie 🥰🥹

thanks for requesting :D i sorta wrote this as a part of the tcar universe but it can be read as a standalone fic!

summary: the one where eddie munson is the best boyfriend ever when you're feeling poorly (established relationship, hurt/comfort cw reader has a period and a history of bad boyfriends)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You cry into your pillow like you just got your heart broken.

You didn’t, though. You’re just overtly emotional against your will and so full of love that you don’t know what to do with it.

And even though you’re weeping like a total maniac, Eddie stays at your side — rubbing up and down your back with a warm hand and trying his best not to laugh at your misplaced misery.

“I’m sorry, babe…” the boy murmurs over your sniffling. His thumb swipes soothingly over your trembling shoulder before his palm falls back down your spine again. “Didn’t mean to make you cry…”

You shake your head and swallow through a tight throat. “No, it’s not your fault,” you retort quickly, voice wet with tears. “I’m fine— I know I seem mental, but I’m fine, okay? I’m just emotional.”

Eddie fights back another laugh. You’re not looking at him, though, so he grins as big as he wants. “I know, babe. That’s why I got you ice cream. It’s supposed to help with the cramps.”

A poorly held-back sob tumbles from your mouth.

‘Cause he did get you your favorite ice cream, right after you told him you got your period. You felt too poorly to hang out, so he decided to come to you, and he didn’t waste a second. You’ve spent so long crying about it now that the carton is melting on your bedside table.

It only makes you feel worse.

Eddie winces when he fails to comfort you. “Sorry…”

“Stop being so nice to me! It’s making me sad!” you blurt, lifting your head from the pillow and looking at him over your shoulder. Your eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, your brows are twisted with agony, and your face is blotchy with the heat of your emotion.

Eddie grins. He doesn’t know how you manage to look so pretty all the time.

“Sorry,” he repeats, though his lopsided smile says otherwise. His ringed fingers dig softly into the base of your spine, where your cramps have seemingly migrated. He tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “I’d try to love you less, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I did.”

“Eddie!” you shout when your eyes start to burn all over again.

A chuckle spills from his rosy mouth. He’s amused by your dramatics but still obviously sympathetic of you. “Okay, that was mean… But I meant it.”

“I’m just not used to all this, you know?” you mumble, fatigued by your own tears and lingering period pains. You turn to lie down again, burying your face into your pillow with the ardency of someone wanting to melt into their mattress.

Eddie resumes his absentminded petting. “Hm?”

“My last boyfriend would barely talk to me when I was on my period. He thought it was gross,” you confess, distracting yourself from the dull discomfort in your back and abdomen by picking at the fuzz on your blanket. “I bled on his sheets once, and he wouldn’t even look at me. I think he would’ve actually broken up with me if I didn’t wash them after.”

Eddie’s chest stings with withheld anger. It’s like you’ve shoved a red-hot knife into his sternum and twisted. He doesn’t know how anybody could be anything but gentle with you.

He wishes the world had been kinder to you. He wishes your past had been easier. He hopes that maybe he can make your future worth looking forward to, though. If he can be good enough to you to make you forget about every asshole that’s screwed you over, it would’ve been worth it.

“I know it’s not good to wish death on people, so I won’t, but I hope nothing good ever happens to that asshole,” Eddie tells you, totally serious but covering his rage with a teasing inflection. “Like, I hope his pillow is always warm on both sides and that his socks are always rotated just enough to make him uncomfortable when he puts them on. Nothing serious, you know? Just enough torture to make him slowly go insane.”

You smile at him, finally. It’s weak and weighed down, wavering softly at the edges, but it’s a sincere thing you flash over your shoulder nonetheless. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” you quip with a soft laugh.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, even though you’re still a bit weepy and sniveling. He presses his rosy mouth against your own and lingers there — an innocuous, languid peck. Your lips click softly when he pulls away.

Your glassy, doe eyes flit between both of his chocolate ones when you go silently serious. “Thanks for being so nice to me,” you murmur like you might’ve burdened him in some way.

Eddie scoffs and lies more intently at your side. Still in his day clothes and sitting over the covers, he curls in behind you. One hand props up his head, and the other spreads out on your stomach over the blanket. “Don’t thank me. I’m your boyfriend. It’s, like, my job to be nice to you— I like being nice to you.”

“I know…” you mumble as you settle into Eddie’s warmth.

You’re still getting used to that. You’ve been so conditioned to beg for love that you don’t know what to do when it lays willingly at your feet. You’ve gotten too used to being treated like shit, and now you hardly feel deserving of the barest minimum. Eddie’s so sweet to you that it makes you feel like a burden.

“Yeah, so buckle up, sweetheart,” the boy says, laughing into your ear as he noses at your hair. The sound is a honeyed, heavenly one. The breath of it fans warm against your cheek. “You got a whole fuckin’ lifetime of this shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. Can’t wait to be nice to you forever. It’s gonna be metal.”

A grin pulls slow at your lips. You bury it into the pillow like a giddy teenager.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #virgin!eddie munson #event: fictober!

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artist-issues · 8 months

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I love the comments and defense of the original Snow White but some people are not taking the defensive position that I would take, all things considered.

I mean, asking the question “since when is it bad to wish for love?” is one thing, but then sometimes people follow it up with, “and that’s not all she wanted! That’s not her main goal!”

Okay I appreciate you but yes it was. Let’s just call it like it is. And then don’t back down. Hear me out.

The first thing you learn about Snow-White is from that pretty opening-fairy-tale-book page, where it points out two characters: the wicked and vain stepmother who is afraid of Snow White and dresses her in rags to cover up her beauty, and uses her as a scullery maid—and Snow White herself, who is…well, used as a scullery maid.

Treated as a servant, and actively hated by the only family she has. And she’s a child. She hasn’t been alive very long to experience anything other than hatred and jealousy toward herself.

She’s even talking to birds, and the fact that they’re clustered around her from beginning to end of that opening scene indicates that they’re very comfortable with her and she talks to them all the time—because they’re the only positive interaction she gets to have.

That’s the situation that Snow White is in. But the first thing you learn about who she is and what she wants comes when she wishes in the well. And what’s she wishing for?

Love. The one she loves. A specific, male figure, who will say nice things to her and find her. She wants him to come quick. Why?

How silly. How vapid and shallow of her. How weak and one-dimensional. Please, goodness, can’t someone update her to have some depth?

NO. She is a young woman who is not given any love and is treated like a horrible nuisance who must be covered up in dirt and rags. She has no friends except birds, who can’t talk back. She is actively hated by the closest person to her.

It’s a miracle she even knows the word “love” and has the strength of character to believe in it after the situation she’s grown up in.

The song very specifically says “I’m wishing…for the one I love…to find me…today. I’m hoping…and I’m dreaming of…the nice things…he’ll say.”

She wants to be loved because she isn’t loved. Geez, she wants someone to say nice things to her. She wants to give her own love because she doesn’t have anything but courtyard doves to befriend. Of course it’s her goal. Of course it’s her wish. What wish or goal could be higher? And what wish or goal could be more natural for a character in her situation?

And even more than that, what could be stronger than believing that it will happen? This character who’s been unloved and mistreated by everyone takes a Prince at his word when he says he’ll give her that love. He promises it, and she believes him.

She has every opportunity and right to be bitter, hardened, anti-social, self-absorbed (pre-Huntsman and Dwarfs, she could very easily believe that nobody else is going to watch out for her except herself) and jaded. But instead she has this pure faith, which it takes a lot to maintain when everything has been ripped away from you. She could’ve been totally swamped by doubt and bitterness.

I mean, she could worry that the Prince won’t be able to convince her Stepmother to let him marry her.

Then when she gets chased into the woods for her life, she could fret that the Prince wouldn’t know how to find her.

Heck, she could just forget about him, give up, and say, “this is my life now, I’m living with these seven dwarfs and we’ll take care of each other, I guess that’s the most I can hope for.”

But no. She has faith in his promise, and hangs on to her dream, and sings, with total assurance, “Someday My Prince Will Come.” I mean, she won’t even let a moment of panic in the woods go by without reprimanding herself for losing that faith, for a second.

Can any of you say the same? Can any of you imagine being that kind of person: the kind of person who unashamedly wants to love and be loved in return, and when everything is stripped away and every chance at that taken from you, you hang on and believe anyway? You stay positive and even joyful anyway? For love?

Come on. Defend that. Yes, her goal was “just” to be loved. And to love in return. The fear of having her life taken from her, the necessity (not the desire for) freedoms from that, was just an obstacle in the way of being loved. And this isn’t a movie about Snow White’s natural reaction to abuse. It’s about her strength of faith in love in SPITE of that abuse. The spotlight is on her strength, not her weakness, but it’s strength of faith in love.

Anyway.

If you believe that it’s good and fine for a girl’s whole goal and fondest dream is to be loved, then don’t stand with one foot in that camp and another in the camp that says “girls want more than just love.” No, what? Love is the best thing a girl can want. I’m not talking about “romance.” I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about pure, self-sacrificial, kind love. It’s the best thing they can want, and Snow White is one of the only characters who does want it unashamedly, uncomplicated.

Just defend that. Don’t try to argue that the “Someday My Prince Will Come” Princess isn’t wholeheartedly after love. Makes it look like you don’t believe that’s as wonderful as it is.

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eveningepiphany · 8 months

Text

welcome to the final show | H.S, part 4

my masterlist!

summary: suddenly it’s not just you and harry anymore, and not only do the general media want an explanation, but so do your friends and family. however, the two of you are only just figuring things out yourselves.

warnings: paparazzi, anxiety surrounding leaked images, fluff, comforting, confessions, make out session, sexual content!

a/n: no because i am so thrilled for you all to read this. these two are so much fun to write about. I hope you enjoy <3

(I was on the fence about including smut, but I decided i wanted to! if that’s not something you want to read, a little warning will come up when it’s about to begin. plot wise you won’t miss anything if you choose not to read it!)

———

There’s a certain type of love that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

And it’s an all consuming kind. One that when you think about it you feel it to the bone.

And oh, had you done a lot of thinking. Overthinking was pretty much all you’ve been doing the past two weeks.

You obviously are attracted to Harry. Physically, emotionally… just in every sense of the word. That’s nothing new for you. And even throughout the points of denial since forming a personal relationship with him. It’s the truth.

You’ve probably gaslit yourself out of it more times then you could count. However picture evidence of you holding hands with him in the homely streets of Italy is kind of a slap to the face.

And despite how cute you think the photos may be, you are still inexplicably panicked about them.

It’s the morning after the photos got posted. And you are genuinely still in shock. You struggled to fall asleep last night after the images first came out— your brain in complete overdrive for god knows how long until you fell asleep.

And this morning you’re ignoring the influx of messages and calls you’re getting from family, friends, and people you’ve met through love on tour.

Several texts from your own sister coming through half an hour ago. All of them including the word ‘fuck’. Shes definitely mad you didn’t tell her this had happened.

Either way, you’re left pacing the length of your hotel room. Heart still near racing in your chest as you try to figure out what to do, and how to handle something like this.

You held hands with him, you remind yourself. You didn’t get caught making out with him… the act for you came across as still something bordering platonic— even though you wished it were anything but that. This could eventually blow over.

You sigh out, leaning against the wall of your hotel, this was considerably more simple when the rest of the population had no idea it was happening.

Now they do, and they have a lot of questions. Plus, it makes it significantly harder when it’s about things you don’t even have answers to.

Harry hadn’t messaged you since everything had happened. If he even knows is beyond you.

But it felt wrong talking to anyone about it without talking to him first.

You felt a sense of guilt. Because this easily will stir up drama for him. Stuff like this spreads so fast, and you’ve seen it happen 100 times. But now you’re no longer in the back seat just watching it unfold. There will be articles, posts, even snippets in the newspapers about it. And whether or not it’s something he’s accustomed to, you still feel at fault. Like you could’ve been more careful, more considerate.

You move to sit on the edge of your unmade bed, staring at your phone that you’ve left on the bench top. How do you even approach it? What do you say to him?

You quickly decide you don’t really want to, at the moment. There is too much going through your head, and you’re still a bit freaked out about it all.

So another anxiety shower is. Which for right now, is your best and favourite option.

Standing up, you head to the bathroom, leaving your phone out in the room, allowing it to continue buzzing while you decide it’s time for some hardcore self-care to calm yourself down.

On the other side of things, Harry is also freaking out. He woke up to texts from a couple people, asking about a headline?

And for people he knows personally to be reaching out about trashy posts on the media, it’s almost always a bad sign.

One being from James, who has been off ‘The Late Late Show’ too long for him to withhold himself from making bad jokes when they present themselves.

Are they even allowed to put that many exclamation marks in the title? Overkill if you ask me. 😪😪

But when he reads the link and sees the image of himself with you, his anxiety immediately shifts from being personal.

[ 1 attachment link] : Styles Has Found His Next Musical Muse, But She’s Actually a ‘Hardcore Fangirl!!!’”

He’s almost positive you will have seen the leaked images. There is no way you would have missed this unless you were still sleeping.

Guilt nearly slaps him in the face. You do not deserve this. He already knows that you’re probably being slammed on Twitter and in comments of these pathetic articles.

And that is never nice. He hates it enough when it’s himself, and that’s after a decade of learning how to deal with it.

His concern for you leads to a text, one he doesn’t want to make, but does anyway. Purely for the fact he needs to know you’re alright.

Because the worst thing that could happen is you having some kind of anxiety attack after reading something online, and not having anyone there to be with you to talk you down. Regardless of how confident you can appear to him, he’s not taking the chance.

Hi love, can you please let me know you’re alright?

He sends it through, and then he typed out another one after it’s been about five long minutes without a reply.

I am very possibly overreacting right now, but do you need me to come over?

Another ten minutes go by,

I’ll be over in about 15. x

He is aware this may be over the top. You could be asleep. You could be just processing what’s happened— since he still remembers the first time things like this happened to him. And it’s a really weird experience.

But he is undeniably protective of you. That is one thing he can’t lie about.

And even more-so, he’s terrified this will scare you off. Because if it’s too much for you, he has no clue how he’d deal with it. Since it’s way too far out of his hands now.

Even though he knew well that this was a easily plausible situation. And it’s almost surprising how long they’ve gone without it happening earlier.

In his own time, he’s been overthinking plenty too. Wondering if it’s normal to want to lay your entire life down for someone two weeks after meeting them.

Maybe if he were 16… but pushing 30… it might be a bit harder to justify.

But somehow, despite knowing how stupid he probably seems, he leaves his bedroom after throwing on some shorts and a tshirt. Going out and grabbing the keys for his car from the kitchen.

Gemma is out there cooking toast, and she turns around to see him near running out the door.

“Harry!” She says, and when he stops to give her a quick greeting she interrupts him.

“Don’t worry so much.” She sighs.

Immediately confused, he frowns, frozen in place, “what…?”

“I’m assuming that this Y/N you’ve been on about really likes you too, okay? There’s no way she doesn’t. So just treat it like any other relationship or friendship you have. No matter the circumstances you met under. If you like her, you like her. Don’t let shit from the media get to either of you.”

Her advice comes just when he needs it, as it always does. And even though he acts like she doesn’t, she knows almost everything there is to know.

A small nod, “Thank you Gem…”

She gives him a warm smile, one that’s always encouraged him.

———

You hear the knock on the door while you’re standing in the bathroom, finishing applying a face mask. Stood clad in your shorts and black boob tube.

And after finally calming down a bit, it gives you another wave of panic. Since after waiting a few moments, the rapping on the door continues. You were hoping they would just go away, whoever it was.

You quietly leave your bathroom, going down the short hallway to look through the peephole in the door.

You don’t even get your eye up to it before you hear the all too familiar voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s Harry…” He was a bit muffled, but you didn’t even think as you start unlatching the locks on the door.

The look of relief on his face when you finally peek out is almost palpable.

“Hi…” you say quietly, pulling the door open further, letting him come in quickly.

He has two cups in his hands, and once he’s inside your room, he is fast to place them on the nearest free space.

“What are you—“ you don’t get through the sentence before he breaches the distance between you, tugging you into a hug, uncaring of the face mask residue getting on his shirt.

He squeezes you, “‘M so glad y’alright.”

You take a deep breath. So, he knows.

You feel immediately bad for not letting him know earlier, before he felt the need to come over.

“Did you call me? I’m so sorry, i was in the—”

“I texted you couple times— don’t be sorry. I don’t want it to seem weird I came rushing over… i was jus’ worried about you.”

You slowly draw back, “I was going to text you, I just didn’t want to… i didn’t know how to go about it, i guess?”

He pulls away, “I am so fuckin’ sorry this happened.”

“Why are you apologising? I should be…”

“Why should you apologise? You of all people do not deserve to be dissected by people in the media. Ive dragged you into something you didn’t deserve to be dragged into.” He says, sounding exasperated.

“You aren’t at fault for any of this, H. I feel like I’ve stirred up unnecessary drama up for you…” To this he immediately shakes his head.

“You haven’t. I was just worried about how you’d perceive it all… and fuck— i didn’t want it to scare you off.”

You both seem to realise that you were freaking out over each other. Starting to laugh together, realising how stupid you both probably sound.

“Okay… we sound really silly.” You sigh, moving to grab the cup he’d placed down prior to your very quick debrief.

“But seriously, Harry,” you lead him over to sit down on the edge of your bed with you, “I am still sorry. I feel like I’ve caused unnecessary… assumptions.”

He frowns a little, “assumptions?”

“About us. You know…” you shrug, eyes avoiding him, doing a terrible job at acting nonchalant.

“That we’re together? That what you’re so shy about, hm?” He teases, and you physically cannot handle the way he says it.

“I— well— Yes, sure that’s what I was going for.”

You gently scratch at the dried edges of your clay face mask, and he watches quietly, wishing he could see the blush that’s risen on your cheeks underneath it.

“Why were you showering so early— It’s like midday, I thought you said you showered in the evening?” He asks, out of the blue, causing you to frown.

Your answer comes out unsurely, “I have anxiety showers sometimes. It calms me down.”

He cocks his eyebrow, “Is that why you were literally dripping wet when i came over the other day?”

He pins you with his gaze, and you don’t reply for a few seconds. You were hoping he broke the silence himself, but it was clear he was waiting for a response.

You blurt out, “You make me nervous!”

To this he laughs, “I make you nervous?”

“Not… all the time.” You amend, “Just sometimes.”

You remove yourself before he can ask more questions, and you go to wash off the face mask in the bathroom, while he’s still stifling his laughter.

You emerge after washing it off with cold water, and his eyes follow your every step as you go to sit back down.

“Yknow, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better I’d—“

He’s cut off by a bang on the front door.

You were only scared for a second, until you heard a shrill feminine shout from outside it. One you know to be your best friends classic angry voice.

You were relieved for only about another second before you realised, she will probably break that door down if you don’t let her in.

Oh god.

“Y/N Y/L/N. LET. ME. IN!” You can picture her angry little face. And you’re almost a bit terrified of her.

But you have to hide Harry. Like you have to actually hide him.

“Harry— you— fuck, get up—” You whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible, grabbing his wrist.

“What is happening?” He sounds awfully confused as you manhandle him around the hotel room, trying to find an adequate place to hide a 6 foot tall man from your fired up best friend.

“She may kill you— she loves you— but she’s very mad at me right now, because I didn’t tell her about,” you pause as you try to label again whatever the two of you were, “us… this… whatever you want to deem it.”

You realise the cupboard is about the only reasonable place, unless you make him climb down the balcony.

“Are you—“

“Y/N! i already KNOW you’re in there!” She calls from the door again.

You tug the door of it open, “Get in!”

You half push him inside it, “I’m so sorry, but just, just sh okay??”

He nods hastily, and you quite literally shut him in there.

“I’m coming!” You shove the takeaway cups into a kitchen cupboard and rush to the door.

Letting her in, she practically storms past you. And you pray to god you can get rid of her in a short period of time.

“I’m sorry!” You say to her, grabbing her hands.

“How could you not tell me something like that?!” She barks, shaking your arms like an angry child.

You do feel bad, because you would also be pissed if it were the other way around.

You try to explain, clutching her warm palms tighter, “To respect his privacy! I wanted to, so, so badly but I just… I didn’t want it getting out.”

She groans, pulling you in for a tight, yet still frustrated hug.

“But you know I wouldn’t have told anyone!”

“I do, i know. I’m sorry.” You embrace her, “but every time we were together there were other people… and I just hadn’t figured out how, let alone talked to him about it.”

She calms down a tiny bit, and sometimes the best way to describe her is like a miniature tornado. Her anger is very quick to bubble over and turn her into this fired up, yelling ball of energy. Yet it dissipates shortly after she lets it all out.

“Okay, well I get that, of course. But… wait are you two actually— have you slept with him?” You pull back from the hug and give her a shocked stare. Her ask stuns you for a moment.

You’re hyperaware that he is listening to this conversation.

What is he thinking right now— you can’t help but wonder. And you have to physically force yourself to push the thoughts that come with such a question aside.

“I— why would you ask me that!” You hiss at her, sounding guilty, even though you’re just throughly embarrassed.

“Because he's Harry Styles!” She exclaims, “who happens to be a very gorgeous man, and I would not be surprised if you wanted— I don't know— in his pants?”

“We are just friends!” You drag your hand down your face. Internally pleading that she stops saying embarrassing shit.

“Whatever you little liar. Acting like as if you haven't said on multiple occasions just how bad you wan—“

“OKAY!” You interrupt, trying to keep the frantic tone out of your voice, “I get it. I really do, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But look, I have so many people I have to call and— i think my whole family also want me dead— so can we maybe get a coffee tomorrow? Talk it over, and you can ask all the questions you want.”

At your proposal, she seems to realise you mean it. And despite the confused look on her face at the fact you’re kicking her out to call what is basically her own adopted family, it seems she understands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna seem pushy. I was… just also in shock. Tomorrow at 10?” She smiles.

You start both walking over to the door, “that’s perfect.”

Tugging her into another hug, she huffs out an ‘I love you.’

You laugh and give her a chaste peck on the side of her head, “I love you too. I promise I wanted to tell you on my end. I just didn’t want to fuck anything up…”

She nods, pulling back, “I know. And if you need anything, or anyone before I see you tomorrow, don’t forget I’m only a few floors up.”

“I won’t.” You open the door for her, and bid a final goodbye. And once it’s shut, you realise how badly you want the ground beneath your feet to literally swallow you whole.

Despite the embarrassment, you quickly rush over to let Harry out of the cupboard you’d shoved him in.

And as he steps out, adorning a smirk and clearly stifling a laugh, you apologise profusely.

“God— I am so incredibly sorry.”

A proper abashed grin spreads across his face, one that flashes his dimples. Reminding you of the sign you took to the last show, telling him how pretty you thought his smile was. You still think the same.

“Kind of exciting hiding in a cupboard. I never even did it as a teenager.” He chuckles, brushing a few stray curls from his eyes.

“Do I look a little more youthful? As gorgeous as ever?” He teases.

“I am so sorry you had to hear all of that, she has a… she lacks a filter.” You excuse, cheeks flaming as you try to dig yourself out of the hole your best friend has unwittingly buried you in.

“That's okay love, but I am a little curious…”

You frown at his careful words.

He takes a step closer as he continues, “what so badly did you want to do to me that you told all your friends about?”

At this, you completely turn your face away from his green-eyed stare. Because you cannot trust yourself.

He doesn’t realise the dangerous game he’s playing with you right now. Especially while he’s standing in-front of you like this. Tattooed arms out, beautiful face and jawline on display.

“Y/N, darling. I asked a question.” His voice has turned to honey. He’s talking you in a way he never has before. With a tone that is almost demanding an answer, laced with a undertone of seduction.

“Stop it.” You hiss, flicking his solid chest with your hand.

He steps forward, and you step back in response. He backs you up all the way to the edge of your bed.

“Stop being a flirt.” You scoff, finally holding eye contact for more than a second.

His pupils have blown out a little, and the stare he’s giving you is something you want burned into the underside of your eyelids.

“Why? Is it working.” He chuckles, demeanour softening a tiny bit as his hand slides down your arm.

You don’t reply.

“Please tell me, Y/N. I want to know. Y’know I’m nosey.”

“Resorted to begging, I see.” You snort, heart still hammering behind your rib cage.

“If it works, I can do plenty of it.” He playfully remarks.

You try to not reply again, but you’re met with a silence. Somehow he knows you’re going to fill it with a fumbled half-confession.

“I don’t even really remember. I was probably tipsy on some wine. Said some stuff to… the girls. After a show.”

“After a show?” He smirks, “Which one?”

“Barcelona. And maybe back at… another. One or two others.”

“But that’s all I’m saying!” You interject, hoping he takes that as enough of an answer.

He laughs at your attempted defiance.

“Anyways, what even— what are you getting at here?” You ask, because truly, his flirting is heavily confusing you. In every way possible.

“Remember when you told me I had a the prettiest smile?” He lightly grazes your hip with his warm hand.

“I— yes. That was like, 2 weeks ago. What’s your point?” You are biting at your bottom lip.

“Don’t get feisty.” He coos, “Everytime I smile around you, I think of that. And then, I wonder what other things you think about me. What other parts you see of me and consider as pretty.”

“And, can you blame a man for wanting to know what dirty things you’ve said about him to y’friends?”

Jesus Christ. A part of you melts at his words. He is watching you like a hawk, gauging your every little reaction. But you’re clinging to any part of you that’s trying to keep this from heading in that direction. Even though you know it’s not because you don’t want to.

“We really shouldn’t… H.” You state, voice almost shaking with an unspoken need. One that you’re trying to keep from bursting through the seams.

“Why not, Y/N?” He asks, making it sound like a challenge. Causing him to be met with a quick jump in your voice.

You are pulling at every part of your strength right now to justify why this is a terrible idea.

“Because, Harry. I am a fucking fangirl for you. Not in a casual way either, like bordering a little bit insane! It’s horrifying, and very embarrassing! And this is a horrible idea, because I don’t think you understand the kind of—“ You don’t get to finish whatever you were about to say, because he kisses you. With his all.

It feels like he pours every once of his being into it. The way his smooth lips press into your own, fuelled by a heat that is felt in the very pit of your stomach. Your knees almost buckle at the sensation.

You grab his shoulder to stabilise yourself. And your lungs are already drawn of all their air.

In actuality, it mustn’t have lasted very long— maybe a couple seconds— before he pushes the back of your knees against the bed, forcing you to sit down.

He draws in a breath after you seperate, “I don’t care if you have photos of me on your fucking bedroom walls, baby.”

“Could not care less, look at you.” He leans down now, kissing over your lips again in separate, doting pecks, “y’so gorgeous, and genuine. I love that you love what I do.”

You’re in a bit of shock, looking up at him with widened eyes. Because obviously you’ve imagined kissing him before. Probably a thousand times. And that dream has somehow sprung to fruition.

How exactly? you’re still unsure.

“I— Harry.” You say, with no real purpose, clutching onto his broad shoulders.

The way you whine out his name drives him almost insane, and he drops down onto his knees between your spread legs. Giving him easier access to kiss your mouth.

His hands snake around your waist, and he lets his lips slot back over yours.

You loose yourself in the act, your own fingers skating up his back and into the hair at the nape of his neck.

It’s so fucking soft. And you use it to press his face closer to yours. He’s surprised when you’re the one to part your lips and dart your tongue out first.

Skating along his pink bottom lip as an invitation.

He accepts it happily, clutching at your waist while he lets his tongue dip into the heat of your mouth. You can’t help but groan at the sensation, and feel the warmth start to gather between your thighs.

He was kissing you like a starved man. And slowly everything you knew started slipping from the forefront of you mind. All you could feel and focus on was him.

How his muscly frame filled up your senses—and the area between your knees— paired with the glide of his tongue over your teeth.

—((sexual content from here and onwards))

His hands tracing over several parts of your body, even going to pull you closer with his hands cupping your bottom. Squeezing at the swell of your ass playfully.

You bite your teeth down onto his lip and drag it backwards, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat.

Your hips push forward, brushing the front of your shorts on his torso, causing his jaw to go lax.

The two of you seperate for air, panting, and his eyes veer south, looking at where you’re pressed against him.

“Fuckin’ Christ. Look at you, needy little thing.”

You bury your head into his neck, kissing along his sharp jawline. Unable to control your slowly circling hips.

“So, y’willing to share what it is you wanted to do to me yet? Given that you’re practically grinding on m’chest.”

You hum a maybe, and he lets out a deep laugh.

“After Barcelona,” You start, and he works to coax the answer out of you with his hands and lips.

“Mmhm…” he acknowledges, mouthing against your clavicle.

“You had looked so good that night… and I got a little tipsy after the show, back at our BNB.”

“You were in those low rise black pants, and that tiny cropped vest. And my god— i said to all the girls that if you were down, I would happily let you take me. Anyway you wanted.”

“Anyway?” His hoarse voice asks.

“Anyway. Fingers, tongue... cock.”

At the first mention of something genuinely sexual, he almost looses it. Envisioning your spread legs with his head pressed between them.

“But I didn’t just say that because I was tipsy. Or because of the outfit you wore.” You allude quietly.

He can’t wait another second before he’s pressing his already swollen lips back against yours. And hard.

“Want everything off you.” He fists at your boob-tube.

Your body is hotter than a thousand suns, and your need for him is literally tearing through you.

It’s clear this was your tipping point. There was no going back to something casual and platonic. The way your whole body ached to have him was unfathomable.

“Strip me.” You beg, arms lifting so he can tug the thin black material over your head, leaving your breasts in a strapless bra.

He runs his tongue over the exposed skin, hands sliding to the clasp at your back to get it off you.

He moans aloud once he sees you, briefly recalling the times his gaze has dipped to your cleavage in those little sundresses you wore while you were out together, and how he would always be wishing for a moment like this.

He laves his tongue over your nipple, before quickly occupying himself with the button of your shorts.

“These off too?” He confirms, voice gravelly with want.

Hastily, you nod, “Yes, all of it.”

Your sheer eagerness is turning him on even more. You always seemed a tiny bit reserved, so hearing you beg for your clothes to get torn off…

“Ass up,” he asks, watching as you lift it from the bed so he can tug the shorts from your waist and down your legs.

Left in nothing but your underwear, he slides his hand over your front to see how wet you were.

You moan as his fingers brush over your clothed-clit. And you notice now that your arousal has wet through your panties.

“Fucking hell. You realise you’re absolutely drenched, right baby?” He near moans, rubbing a gentle circle over the fabric.

“I—shit— I’m sorry, didn’t think I’d gotten so…” You’re almost a little embarrassed at the amount of arousal between your legs.

He hooks his fingers into the crotch of your underwear, peeling them down your thighs.

Your bare cunt had him almost light headed. You were genuinely glistening, and your slick had already spread to the hood of your clit.

“Darling don’t be sorry. Y’got the prettiest little pussy. Cant believe you’re this wet.”

“What did it for you, huh?” He asks finger running through you, eliciting a groan from both your throats.

In a pleasure-filled haze, you slur out a reply, “You. Just all of you.”

You squirm under his featherlight caress, and take a moment to watch him gaze at you. There is nothing but this look of admiration and desire in his eyes.

“Wanna see you, Harry.” You plea, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He waits not a second to slip it over his head, and your hands immediately run down his torso. Staying quiet as he lets you indulge.

This is something you have thought of in a million different ways. His chest is built like that of a Greek gods, and his tattoos are an added bonus.

You feel the ridges of his abs under your fingertips, and you trace over the butterfly tattoo as well.

His breath flutters in and out of his nose. But using your hands doesn’t satiate you.

You need him on your tongue.

“Stand up.” You ask, and he doesn’t question you, he just obliges.

You keep him stood between your bare legs, but lean your neck inwards, tongue jutting out to run a solid strip up his stomach.

A rumble comes from him, akin to a growl as you move to of his pecs. Gliding your tongue over the hair-dusted flesh, and enveloping his own nipple into your mouth.

You’d never done this before, since sucking on a guys nipple is less of a commodity… but the reaction it works out of him is perfect.

The way he throws his head back, sharp jaw tilted to the celling, and hair falling from his forehead.

“Oh… oh god.”

You draw back, grabbing his shorts and pushing them down. Kissing both the laurels that sit atop his hips before cupping your hand over his bulge, covered by black Calvin Klein briefs.

“Can I take you out, please?”

“Such nice manners, good girl.”

Good girl. The words float around in your head, and something else inside of you comes undone.

Not sure if it was your self respect… or some other part of your morals. But you could go feral simply over those two words.

You bite down on your lip as you tug the briefs down, watching his cock slip up.

Lord.

You almost salivate. It’s perfect in every way you’d want it to be. A flushed red tip, dotted with beads of pre-cum. And of course it’s big.

For an already perfect man, it’s hard to believe you can strip him completely, and still not find a single flaw.

“Staring pretty hard… you a little intimated?”

“It’s big.” You state, hand coming to wrap around its thick base. “Want it in me.”

He leans down, picking you up by your thighs. You laugh in reaction, him manhandling you into the centre of your still unmade bed.

There was a sense of intimacy that was being shared as he pulled you forward, so you were straddling his hips.

Both of you leaned forward to lock lips, kissing feverishly as you touched over every inch of skin you could. Eventually, both of your hands falling between the others legs.

You stroked over him, and he careful slid his middle finger into you.

He worked you until you were near dripping down his hand, and were scraping your nails along his shoulders.

“Harry— need you…” you beg.

“Want me to take you right now?” He asks, cock throbbing in your hand.

“Yes. I can handle it. Promise. I’m clean and on birth control if you wanna go bare.”

“Only if you’re sure. I trust you.”

“I am… just want to feel you.” You plead.

“Need you to tell me how y’want it first, pretty.” He coos, curling his finger inside you.

You moan in response, and he slides it out shortly after so he regains your attention.

“I—“ you stutter, now feeling empty, “anyway you want, I said that earlier.”

“No, baby, how do you like it?” He asks again, smiling against your skin.

“Anything, hard or gentle, I’ll come either way. Look at you— as if I wouldn’t.”

He pulls your core to his, rubbing the tip against your slick hole, “Then tell me as we go how you’re doing, and what you want or need okay. Want you to feel really good, m’kay?”

You nod, and he starts to sink into you, already pulling a moan from your lips at the stretch.

He on the other hand struggles to hold himself together as your warm walls part for him.

“Fuck, fuck… you’re so tight, Y/N.” He groans, pulling you down nearly all the way— stopping before he reaches the base of his cock, taking a moment to adjust so he doesn’t come before he’s all the way in.

“Mm-“ you whine out, nails digging into the warm muscle on his back, “Harry…”

Once he’s composed himself, he lets your hips sink the down to the base of him. You both take a moment to feel it. Panting, because the heat and the connection you’re both sharing is only describable as euphoric.

“Y’okay?” He sighs out, clutching your waist with firm hands.

“Yes… so fuckin’ full.” You moan out, hole fluttering around his length.

He carefully draws his hips back, pulling out a little only to push it back in.

Just that small movement has you reeling. And you’re quick to realise that this is probably going to be the best sex you’ve ever fucking had.

“Look at that, your cunt swallowing me up. So fuckin’ hot.” He whispers, slowly starting to pick up the pace.

His fingers move to play with your clit, and he notices the reaction that courses through your body the second he rolls it between his fingers.

You buck your hips against him, and he brings his lips down to suck on the side of your breast.

“Mark me.” You encourage, wanting him to leave you with bruises from his mouth.

“Dirty thing,” he moans, fucking up into you, “so fucking wet too. All f’me isn’t it?”

The dirty talk causes you to clench around him, and he picks up on it.

“Jesus, you really are? Like when I say dirty stuff too, clearly.” He grunts.

“Yes, fuck! Please touch me.” You ask, needing to feel more of him, to the point it consumes your senses.

He touches you almost everywhere, with his hands, lips, tongue. All over your body until you genuinely can’t think of anything else.

It leaves your body shaking, and he can tell you’re not going to last much longer going by the clenching of your cunt.

“I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing around me like tha’.” He curses, keeping a fast pace with his hips as you feel the beginning of your high approaching.

It starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach, “God— you’re so deep.”

“Yea, love? Feel me all the way up here?” He splayed his hand on your lower abdomen and you nod.

“Gonna come soon… please.” Your thighs are going weak from trying to hold your body up, and he notices, flipping you around so he’s on top of you.

The new angle has you biting down on your palm to try and stop yourself from crying out.

“Taking it so well. M’not far off either, baby.” He groans, his thrusts faltering as he bottoms out.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, allowing your tongue to swirl over them before he is removing them. Taking them down to rub over your swollen clit.

The added stimulation is what’s going to tip you over the edge.

“H—fuck—Harry! I’m gonna come!” You moan out, nails scraping down his bicep.

“Good fucking girl,” he prompts, fingers flicking over your clit, “let it all go for me, gush all over my cock.”

His words send you spiralling. And they’re the final push you need before your cunt clamps down around him with a loud moan tearing out of you.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” You’re writhing around him, and he curses at how tight you’re clenching him.

“That’s it, keep fucking going— ride it out on me.” He hisses, hips finally faltering as he feels his cock come inside of you.

Twitching between your warm walls as his stomach muscles contract and ripple with the intensity of his release.

He near buckles on top of you, his body weight pressing against you. And The two of you are panting, still shivering out slight aftershocks of your orgasms.

His forehead rests against yours, and you lean forward to brush a kiss against his parted lips.

Gently, he pulls himself out. A tiny hiss coming from his lips at the sensitivity.

He rolls over, bringing you to lay down on top of him. And you feel the partial heaving of his damp chest below you.

“Thank you…” You mumble out, sounding almost shy.

He picks up on it, “Don’t sound so nervous, darling. Y’were amazing.”

This brings a smile across your lips. It’s safe to assume that maybe things around you are complicated. But actually between the two of you, it’s anything but.

You like him, so much. So you just say it.

“I like you, Harry.”

And he affirms your statement with a kiss to your temple, and says quietly, “I like you too, Y/N. A lot.”

And this feels like an unspoken agreement that maybe the media is only going to get more riled up about the two of you as time goes on, but what you have is something genuinely worth fighting for.

Plus… they already know so, what’s the worse that could really happen now?

———

that was a long one!! hope you all loved it, and thank you so much for the support on this series. and don’t worry, you will definitely still be seeing more of them in the future. 🤍

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18 @laurxn-robinson @kkr102 @superlegend216 @jerseygirlinca @cherrysulewski

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

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taexual · 3 months

Text

sleepwalking ● 18 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mentions of violence, descriptions of smoking, ANGST, some fluff, SLOW BURN

words: 13.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 18 ► if everything i said was true, then why am i paralysed?

You and Jungkook spent the rest of Rated Riot’s day off in your hotel room in Manchester.

People kept coming to check on you, including Minjun, who made a hesitant appearance but brightened up immediately when he heard you and Jungkook laughing just before he opened the door to your room. And after the last visitors—the rest of the Rated Riot members, who had accidentally knocked over a lamp and broken the wardrobe door within fifteen minutes of entering the room—had left, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone in the room again.

You both reached a compromise to lie on the bed and talk since you refused to sleep, and he refused to let you out of the room.

It wasn’t exactly a pillow fort that you’d built for yourselves—really, it was more of a loose, cosy blanket hut—but it still brought back memories of the nights you’d spent in your dorm room years ago. And after last night’s conversation, you couldn’t help but think about all the nights that hadn’t happened because Jungkook was trying to do something more for you.

Really, this was all you needed—back then and, as it turned out, right now: some pillows for comfort and Jungkook laughing next to you.

He rolled onto his side, and you mirrored his position until you were facing each other. Suddenly, you both had to strain very hard not to laugh again. But the story that had amused you at first—about Jungkook and Hoseok’s failed attempt to bake a cake for Yoongi’s birthday the previous year, which was another thing Jungkook hadn’t mentioned to you after nearly setting his apartment on fire—had almost faded from your mind.

You were just happy to be in the moment.

You felt dizzy from the vitamins you’d received over the past few days. And from the shower you’d taken half an hour ago. And from the fact that lying here on the hotel bed with Jungkook was almost overwhelming. It felt a little like you had lost an important piece of yourself—just dropped it somewhere absentmindedly—and now you’d accidentally found it, fully intact.

But at the dark corners of your mind, there were worries. You couldn’t help it—not even the star-shaped pattern reflected in his dark eyes could distract you from the inevitability of the Future. And of Consequences.

What did this mean?

All the thoughtful gestures, the well-meaning mishaps, the inevitable insecurities, and the constant presence of his friends that the two of you had talked about last night. And the bet, too.

What would happen next?

You were about to pull away and succumb fully to your anxiety, but Jungkook reached out a hand—his tattoos blurred in the shadows of your dark room—to sweep a strand of hair from your cheek, and you discovered that, despite everything, your body had not relinquished its instinctive response to his touch.

You felt your breath slowing down, your muscles relaxing. His fingertips gently brushed over the skin of your cheek, and the goosebumps on the back of your neck ran wild. You closed your eyes and exhaled.

Five minutes, he’d once asked you. Five minutes that won’t mean anything once they’re over.

“I feel,” he spoke up softly, and you opened your eyes again, “a bit like we’re back in Amsterdam.”

Hesitantly—against his wishes, really—he withdrew his hand and placed it on the pillow under his cheek.

“We’re, uh—we’re very far from Amsterdam,” you replied.

You didn’t mean the physical distance, of course. You meant the moments from leaving the bed in Amsterdam to being in this bed here, in Manchester—with your arm still slightly stinging from the catheter.

“I know,” Jungkook said. You rolled onto your back, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, even though your mind kept shouting at you to look at him. “But I’m scared to leave this room because I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

You pressed your lips together and ran your tongue over them. You wondered if his fear matched yours, or if they were two opposite sides of the same coin.

You turned your head. “What do you mean?”

He observed you for a moment. The lines of laughter hadn’t faded from your face yet, and you looked breathtaking.

He realised that it was much harder to admit things in the daylight than at night. Arctic Monkeys had made a good point.

“I mean, I don’t know if you’ll be okay,” he said. “If—”

“I will be,” you cut in.

He swallowed. “I don’t know if you’ll talk to me again.”

The look in his eyes was hopeful but uncertain, and you turned back to the ceiling. There was something comforting about the smooth tiles above. They didn’t make you feel like your chest was exploding into millions of little pieces, each with his name inked on it.

“I’m talking to you now,” you managed to say, even after your voice broke on the third syllable.

“Right,” he said. “But I mean about things that really matter.”

“Well,” you inhaled, “we talked about a lot of them last night.”

“Yeah, but that was—you know.” This time, it was Jungkook who rolled onto his back and clasped his hands on his stomach. “Things that happened years ago.”

“Yeah, but they’re new to me,” you pointed out.

“Sure,” he agreed. His foot twitched as he tried to find his words. “But I’m—we haven’t decided if that changes things. Not that I’m—I mean—”

“It changes things.”

He turned his head to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t know what to say because my mind is just, sort of… well, I don’t know. What I do know is that I like being here with you, and I don’t want to think about leaving.”

Jungkook thought that feeling this way was impossible.

After the existential fever that he’d gone through—and all the cigarettes he’d smoked to stay on his feet—his chest and lungs and, really, about three-quarters of his entire body should have turned to ash by now.

But lying next to you and hearing you say that you liked being here with him made him feel more alive than ever before.

“I don’t want to think about it, either,” he admitted in a hushed tone, as if he was revealing a secret. “B-but—we—we’ll have to leave, though.”

A small smile formed on your face. “You sound like me.”

He smiled, too. “I try.”

You snorted and looked away. There was a time restriction on how long you could look at him and keep your brain functioning.

“I know we’ll have to,” you said. “But here’s a, um—an unconventional suggestion. How about we don’t do this right now? How about we don’t talk about the bet, or about us, or about what anything means, and just—let’s just not talk.”

He could do that. He could just not talk.

But it would kill him—having five, fifteen, even thirty minutes of ignorant peace with you. That was simply not enough time.

He didn’t just want an hour with you. He wanted a lifetime.

“Okay. So,” he started, scratching a spot between his knuckles, “what do you want to do?”

“I want,” you replied, swallowing your inner disquiet, “not to have to make any decisions.”

“About us?” he asked. The slight hint of panic in his voice made you tap your restless fingers against the blanket beneath you.

“About anything.”

The room lit up as a car pulled into one of the side alleys behind your hotel room window.

“Reconnaissance?” he said—not really a statement, but not quite a question, either. The name of the band that he’d loved so much suddenly sounded like the start of a curse. “Have you—have you decided if you’re leaving?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, almost nauseous from the sudden surge of stress. It seemed like every aspect of your life required your immediate attention and demanded an answer to a crucial, life-altering question. It felt like everything was slipping away—and you were trying to catch it all at once, and couldn’t catch anything at all.

You really didn’t want to leave this room.

“I haven’t decided how I’m getting out of this bed,” you finally said, your groan muffled by something thick lodged in your throat. You shifted your body to face him but kept your eyes closed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jungkook. I’m so—I’m just—”

“Okay,” he cut in hastily. He didn’t like the wrinkle between your eyebrows—he preferred the wrinkles by your lips. “Well, look—we don’t—we don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you want to go back to work, we can do that. If you want to avoid me, then I’ll—well, I—”

“I don’t want to avoid you,” you said.

“Okay,” he said again because that was the only word he trusted himself with. Hesitantly, he added, “so… truce, then?”

You opened your eyes. “Truce?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s stop avoiding each other. And let’s just focus on our work.”

It sounded a little like another one of his five-minute promises—driven by the urgency to make it so, to drown out the doubts that this was weak. That it wouldn’t work. That you could never go back and expect everything to be okay without making any real decisions about anything: not your relationship, not your future, not even what you’d do tomorrow.

“Can we actually do that?” you asked anyway—and because you did, Jungkook nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course,” he assured. “We can do anything.”

You needed to hear that—even if it wasn’t true. Even if it was temporary.

Knowing that someone was willing to take the responsibility for a decision away from you was good enough for the moment.

“Okay,” you said. “Truce, then.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“We’ll talk,” you promised quietly, closing your eyes again. “Just not right now.”

You could almost feel the unease settling into a slumber deep inside your mind. It would wake eventually.

All the words, all the feelings—all of it had been left unsaid. Some of it unthought. But it was still there, hovering on the hazy edge of your subconscious, and fighting—the more you resisted—to break out.

But then Jungkook asked if he had ever told you about Taehyung walking in his sleep when he had the flu on tour last year, and all the anxious spaces inside of your chest eased. You smiled as you listened, and you had all you needed—and nothing less—right here again.

The next morning, you left your hotel room feeling a little lighter.

You haven’t fully processed—or adjusted to—the things that Jungkook had revealed to you, but you’d found somewhat of a common ground with him. You could tolerate each other’s presence with surprising ease despite the weight of all the decisions looming over you.

You returned to your duties as soon as you left the hotel. You saw a new text message from Nick on your phone, but you had no time—or wish—to deal with Reconnaissance right now.

At such short notice, the best solution you could find for Jungkook’s black eye was an eye patch. Fortunately, you didn’t have to go far from the venue to find one before Rated Riot started their soundcheck.

Even more fortunate was the fact that the band and the staff all found the eye patch so amusing that they kept making pirate jokes—much to Jungkook’s growing annoyance—and it distracted everyone from your fainting spell and the two days you had spent in bed.

The eye patch was black to match his outfit, or at least that was what you told him. In reality, the only place near the venue where you could buy eye patches was a costume shop.

When you returned to the venue with a dark costume bag, Namjoon happened to be passing by in the corridor. He had no choice but to become an accessory to your petty crime as you grabbed the eye patch and hid the rest of the costume in Namjoon’s suitcase.

There was no reason for Jungkook to know about the rest of the costume, and Namjoon—once he stopped laughing—agreed.

You figured that as long as the patch covered the bandages and discolouration around Jungkook’s eye, it would be okay.

Jungkook, of course, had a different opinion.

“I look stupid,” he insisted when you and Jimin were double-checking the sound equipment. The two of you wanted to make sure no damage had been done to it when the venue staff cleaned up after the flood.

“Should’ve thought about that before you got a black eye,” you mumbled half-heartedly, too preoccupied with the list of electronics that Jimin had handed you. You didn’t recognise most of the devices on the list and couldn’t even read what some were called in the awful lighting backstage.

Meanwhile, Rated Riot’s temporary opening act finished her set, allowing Seokjin to go out and prepare the stage for the band. Expectant cheers from the audience lifted your spirits as you followed Jimin’s list.

Maggie had been the one who secured this up-and-coming artist to open for the band tonight. Her name was Ivy, and she had tattoos of ivy vines all over her arms, which may have been the initial reason Maggie chose her. But as soon as Ivy started to sing, there was no question about her talent.

“Hey, Jungkook!” Seokjin called out ten minutes later, and you glanced up just as he walked down the steps from the stage. “Serious question: what has six eyes, six legs, and six arms?”

You guessed the punchline before Jungkook could even open his mouth. “How is that—”

“Six pirates!” Seokjin answered, and his endearing—and so contagious that it was almost ungodly—windshield wiper laugh made you chuckle as well. Jimin hiccupped and turned away from everyone, presumably to conceal his own laughter.

“That’s it, I’m taking this off,” Jungkook declared in frustration, reaching for the string that secured the patch.

You stopped laughing and jumped up, shouting a panicked “no!” and quickly grabbing his wrist.

He looked up, momentarily stunned by your touch.

“If you go on that stage with your bandages and a black eye underneath, the label will send us straight home,” you said. “I don’t care how much you sweat or how many pirate jokes these guys make. You’re wearing this.”

He pouted, exaggerating his reaction, but there was genuine discomfort in his healthy eye, even if it was drowning in black eye shadow. He knew it would be unprofessional to get on stage without covering up his wounds, but he worried the eye patch was a worse alternative.

“I look fucking stupid,” he said, and to be fair, he did look silly—to say the least. But you had seen him at the soundcheck. When he performed, his make-up and accessories faded against his voice and stage presence.

“You don’t,” you reassured him again. “You’re a rockstar. You can pull off an eye patch.”

He continued to watch you, his pout becoming more dramatic when he scrunched his nose. You felt a smile spreading on your lips. He had looked at you like this on purpose many times—usually to convince you that he couldn’t possibly survive without seeing you right this instant, even though you had to study for exams—and your chest immediately warmed.

You managed to nod again to reaffirm what you’d just said. Finally, he sighed and let go of the patch. You released his wrist and took a step back.

Just then, Jimin emerged from behind one of the amplifiers to your left. You couldn’t see the wide grin on his face, but Jungkook could, and he reached for Hoseok’s drumsticks right away.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” Jimin said and then quickly ducked as Jungkook tossed the drumstick at his head.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, ignoring Jimin’s laughter and allowing Yoongi to guide him to the stairs that led to the stage.

“Do you really think he can pull this off?” Jimin asked you as the band members walked towards the dimly lit stage entrance.

All four of them stumbled over their feet at least once, but you didn’t react—you’ve been their manager long enough to know that tripping before a concert was almost a good luck charm.

“Because I assume,” Jimin went on, “that he was trying to divert attention from his eye patch by applying all the black eyeshadow he has to his other eye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, suspecting the same. “Up close, he sort of looks like Captain Hook and Edward Scissorhands had a baby.”

“Oh my God, he does,” Jimin whispered in awe and grabbed onto your shoulder to steady himself as his laughter erupted in violent waves. “Someone needs to get him a wig, so—so he could wear Captain Hook’s hat, too—with the—with the feather and everything—”

The image finally made you lose your composure, too. Seokjin looked up when he heard your laughter and approached to learn what was so funny. After Jimin panted through an answer, the stage manager joined in.

The three of you laughed so hard that you transcended noise and just wheezed voicelessly like malfunctioning dog whistles.

Suddenly, Jungkook turned to look at you from the side of the stage as he inserted his earpiece. You had half a second to pull yourself together before he lost confidence and threw the eye patch away.

Quickly, you raised your hand and formed an ‘O’ with your fingers to signal that everything was okay—even though you had tears in your eyes and the laughter of the two boys did not help you keep a straight face.

Jungkook had doubt in his eyes—well, eye—but you bit your lip and gave him another reassuring nod. Despite your amusement, you could tell he looked ready. And from this far, his eyeshadow didn’t look all that threatening.

As you watched the intense concentration on his face, it was hard to imagine there being anything in this world that could make him look bad. Neither the eye patch, nor the heavy make-up truly managed it.

Jungkook took a step forward just as Taehyung played the first note on his bass. The audience greeted the band with explosive cries that reached you at the back of the stage.

“I have to go,” you told Seokjin and Jimin while they continued to gasp for breath—because they started laughing every time they looked at each other. “Someone has to make sure the eye patch doesn’t fall off during the show.”

“We should find him a bottle of rum,” Seokjin said, and Jimin threw his whole body backwards as he laughed.

“A parrot,” he managed between wheezes, prompting Seokjin to clap in vigorous approval as his face contorted with near-painful laughter.

You were still snickering when you walked away to watch the show from the venue.

Fortunately, Jungkook’s eye patch stayed in place throughout Rated Riot’s performance. What surprised you, however, was the effect it had on the audience.

Unlike everyone backstage, the fans didn’t find the eye patch funny or ridiculous. They loved it.

Granted, you probably should have seen this coming. When Jungkook took off his shirt in the second half of the show, which had become almost a tradition at this point, the eye patch—along with his tattoos, dishevelled hair and messy make-up—did, sort of, make your breath catch in your throat as well.

But as luck would have it, you couldn’t concentrate too much on what was happening on stage because your friends—bless them—kept giving you worried looks. It was very sweet of them, of course, but you started to feel sicker than you really were.

As the show approached its conclusion, you realised that you were feeling slightly lightheaded, after all. It usually got very hot very quickly this close to the stage, so you weren’t too worried. Still, you decided to miss the last few songs just in case.

You returned backstage just as Rated Riot started their encore. You hoped to have a few minutes alone with your thoughts and a bottle of water. However, as soon as you walked through the corridor towards the waiting area, you nearly collided with Minjun.

You pulled back, startled. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Headache,” he said, holding up his beer bottle as if that was his solution to the problem. “What about you? Do you—do you maybe happen to have a minute?”

You were surprised that Minjun would need any of your minutes at all.

“Uh—” you glanced back, even though the noise of the concert was loud enough to hear without turning around. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained, putting his bottle on the table near the dressing room. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paused before turning around. “Uh, first of all, um—are you okay?”

Your polite smile seemed to hide a deep weariness. The corner of your lip fluttered treacherously.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“I heard that’s your default answer,” he remarked sheepishly.

You hadn’t expected that. Unlike Sid, who only asked questions to fill the silence, Minjun observed you in a way that Jungkook often did—with a quiet determination to get you to admit the truth.

Your expression softened.

“I mean it,” you said. “I really do feel better. Just a little dizzy, but I guess that’s because it’s really hot out there.”

“Yeah—oh, can I get you water? A beer?” he asked. You sensed guilty undertones in his offer; as though he wanted to do something nice for you to redeem himself.

“Water would be great,” you said. “But I can—”

“One second!”

He hurried into the dressing room and returned half a minute later with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, its plastic cloudy from condensation.

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you want to sit?”

You gestured towards the couch, pushed against the far wall of the corridor. He nodded in response, and the two of you sat down in complete—and a little awkward—silence.

“So, was that… what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked, unsure what to make of his discomfort as he fiddled his fingers next to you. He looked like he was about to shed his skin.

“No, um—it’s not,” he said. “Uh… I wanted to talk about Jungkook. I meant to do it earlier, but, well, you weren’t feeling well, and I didn’t want to—”

“That’s okay,” you said, hoping to hide your impatience with another polite smile. “Talk to me.”

You took a sip of your water, which was far too cold to feel refreshing, while Minjun collected his thoughts.

“Well—h-he fucked up,” he said profoundly.

You nodded, not quite present in the conversation because you were trying not to open your mouth and hah-hah-hah from the cold water like you would if your throat was burning.

“Sure,” you said.

Minjun looked a little thrown off by the word. Given the extent of Jungkook’s suffering after he told you about the bet and couldn’t convince you to hear him out, Minjun assumed you would refuse to even hear a word about it.

“Sid had a lot to do with that,” he added, crossing his arms and stretching his denim jacket.

You nodded again, still as nonchalant as before. Minjun was a little perplexed.

But really, you’ve already talked to Jungkook—and Luna—about this. Not extensively, but it was enough for you to accept that it had happened, and that you didn’t possess a watch that could magically turn back time and make different choices.

Sid had proposed the bet, and Jungkook had played along with it. It was done. And now there was no reason to scream or storm out.

“He always does,” you said.

“That’s—well, that’s very true.” Minjun looked at the ground. He knew what he wanted to talk to you about, but your reasonable responses had left his thoughts in disarray, and now his mind was throwing random, incomprehensible bits of his rehearsed speech at him. “Jungkook, um—he thinks Sid likes you.”

You were already nodding once more when you froze, frowning instead. “Excu—what?”

“Yeah,” Minjun said, feeling a little more collected now that you finally reacted as he’d expected. “Apparently, he believes that Sid pressured him into making this bet because of that. To sabotage your relationship, I guess.”

You couldn’t help a scoff. “That’s dramatic.”

Minjun arched his brow. “Have you met Sid?”

“I didn’t say it didn’t fit his personality,” you said. “I just said it’s dramatic. And unnecessary”

“Well,” he shrugged one of his shoulders, “those are his middle names.”

“I don’t think it’s true, though,” your answer was quick. As if you hadn’t needed any time at all to think if this was possible. The very idea that Sid liked anyone other than himself was laughable.

“You don’t?” Minjun asked. He didn’t seem surprised by your disagreement. Merely curious to hear your reasoning.

“No,” you said. “If he liked me, he would have done something about it. I’ve known you guys almost as long as I’ve known Jungkook. And all that Sid’s done in this time, is make my life difficult.”

Minjun lowered his head. Those were his first assumptions as well. Sid wouldn’t stay on the sidelines that long. If he wanted something, he went to great lengths to get it.

But on the other hand, if Sid couldn’t get something, he often acted as if he’d never even wanted it, and harboured a deep resentment towards the object of desire at the same time.

Minjun sighed.

“I think I agree with you,” he said.

You turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he said. “I don’t know if Sid ever really liked you, but I think the real problem is that Sid’s jealous of Jungkook and everything Jungkook has. He’s inferior to Sid, you know? That’s how Sid sees it. And yet, Jungkook is in a rock band. He has shows almost every night. He has real friends, real talent, real support. And he has a girl he loves more than anything. All Sid has is money. He’d kill to have Jungkook’s life, and he hates it.”

You bobbed your head in contemplation. Money held such a massive significance in this world. The fact that Sid had it in abundance and still couldn’t find contentment only proved how pitiful he truly was.

“I thought the same thing,” you admitted. “I always assumed there must be some tension between them now that Jungkook is more than just Sid’s friend. Or, really, his sidekick.”

Minjun nodded. “Exactly, yeah.”

You exhaled and stretched your legs. You wondered what Minjun’s logic was, since he knew what Sid was like, but did not do anything to rid himself of him.

“Why are you, by the way?” you asked. “Sid’s friend, I mean.”

Minjun’s sad smile confirmed to you that there was something more here. No one would have willingly chosen to keep Sid in their lives.

“I’m doing a community service to rescue Jude from his claws,” he said in a very serious tone. “And to leave Sid alone and miserable.”

“I admire your mission,” you said with an amused smile. “But seriously. Why?”

He sighed. He preferred the silly, made-up versions of his story.

I’m an undercover FBI agent collecting information on Sid so we can lock him up for good.

I’m writing a book on insufferable psychopaths. Sid is my primary research subject.

All of these made him appear like he had some control over his choices. They made him feel less pathetic.

“It’s a family thing,” Minjun said, closing his eyes and pulling the corner of his lip into his mouth. “I don’t...”

He let the sentence trail off, and you interjected softly, “you don’t have to tell me everything.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “It’s just… stupid. My family—well, my parents—they’ve been business partners with Sid’s mum for a long time. She bought my parents’ company, and they signed some partnership agreement that was supposed to guarantee that my parents retained full control of their business. But, uh, you know.”

“They still answer to Sid’s mum in the end,” you finished.

Minjun clicked his tongue. “Yeah. It’s… they used to send me off to play with Sid, and they would tell me to be nice to him. Because if I upset him and it gets to his mother, my parents are the ones who suffer for it.”

“That’s—that makes no sense,” you said, lacking a better description for something that sounded ridiculous and, frankly, surreal.

“I know,” he agreed. “But Sid’s mum is—he’s her only kid. And she really, really wanted to have kids. I don’t know the whole story—I never cared—but from what I’ve heard, Sid’s parents tried everything they could for a very long time to have children. They have the money for it. Still, nothing worked. And then, all of a sudden, Sid. Their miracle baby. Their little angel. Maybe if they hadn’t treated him like he was king, he would have turned out differently. But his mum doesn’t even hear the way he talks to her sometimes.”

You tsked, unimpressed. “I’m not surprised. Nothing’s sacred to him.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t care about others. And still, his mother is ready to unleash hell if anyone wrongs him,” Minjun said, reaching to brush some invisible dust from his upper arm. “The ironic thing is, though, everyone in my parents’ company was very happy when Sid was born. His mum was—well, understandably, she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around when she was going through… all that, you know? And I say that respectfully. She threatened to bankrupt my mum after she got pregnant with me and tried to talk to Sid’s mum about parental leave.”

You’ve never met Sid’s parents, but you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Sid, and it wasn’t hard to imagine where he got his personality from.

“Ah,” you said. “So, the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Minjun snickered and shook his head.

“Hmm, it doesn’t. But Sid’s mum found out a few weeks later that she was pregnant, too. And from then on, she was a real saint,” he said. “So, my parents were hoping that I could be the leverage if something went wrong in their business. ‘Oh, but our sons have always been almost like brothers’ kind of thing. That way, they won’t lose all their money if Sid’s mum has a sudden change of heart.”

“Fuck,” you concluded.

“Yeah. They would have gotten him and me engaged, too.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t, actually.”

A small, ironic smile had crept onto Minjun’s lips.

“I’m sure they’ve thought about it,” he said, looking at the bottle of beer he’d left across the room. He’d put it there because he didn’t want to drink if you weren’t drinking, but now he was regretting his manners. “Unfortunately, Sid isn’t my type. My parents had the decency to respect that, at least.”

You chuckled, and Minjun brightened a little, too.

“To be fair,” you remarked, “I don’t think Sid is anyone’s type.”

“Good point.”

You looked at the floor tiles and considered this. You wanted to know if it had happened before—something to convince Minjun that he should obey Sid as much as possible, or his parents would face the consequences—but you didn’t think it was fair to ask him to elaborate.

The way Minjun looked right now, with all colour drained from his eyes as he tried to keep smiling, it seemed like he knew exactly what Sid’s mum could do if her son said one word to her.

So, the two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, while shouts of excitement from the concert echoed around you.

“And, uh—what about Jude, then?” you asked after a minute. “Why does he stick around?”

Minjun didn’t make jokes this time.

“I honestly think Jude just doesn’t know any better,” he said. “He’s known Sid the longest. Their mothers were friends before Jude’s parents got divorced and his mum moved abroad. He just doesn’t know a different life.”

“You mean he’s too used to Sid to see that he is bad for him,” you summarised.

“I think he sees it,” Minjun said, analysing the plaster on the walls of the waiting area. “He just doesn't care.”

“Ah.” You nodded your head. “He needs help.”

“Lots of it.”

“Mmhm.”

That about confirmed to you that Sid had always been the problem. The poisonous leech.

Jungkook saw the problem, even if it took him a while. And Minjun saw it, too. It was just absurdly unfair that there was nothing he could do about it.

And then you wondered if Jungkook could do anything about it. He’d fought Sid and banned him from Rated Riot shows. But would that accomplish anything?

This was Sid. Sometimes it seemed like all it took for him to be summoned was just the mention of his name. He had to be at least half-demon.

“Kind of sad, when you think about it, isn’t it?” Minjun spoke up then. You thought he was referring to himself before he added, “that Sid doesn’t have one real friend.”

You grimaced.

“I’m—not sure if I’d call it sad,” you said. “I don’t think he deserves to have real friends.”

“Yeah, no, that’s true,” he settled. “Still, though. He acts like a king. And all he really has is just paper.”

You considered yourself a compassionate, caring person. But you didn’t think you were capable of genuinely pitying Sid.

“Did you come here to make me feel bad for him?” you asked. “Because if that’s the case, we might be here for a while, and I’m not sure either of us has the time.”

“No,” Minjun said, chuckling awkwardly. “He’s the last person you should feel bad for. I’m just saying… he’s miserable and he likes to make others miserable, too. Especially Jungkook.”

He gave you a look, and you turned away, realising that you were circling back to his original reason for talking to you.

You took another sip of water. It had warmed a little and tasted less violent in your throat.

“Yeah, well.” You popped your lips. “Pretty much everyone who knows Sid knows that.”

“Yeah, and I… I should have found you earlier,” he said, lowering his head in a manner reminiscent of all the times you had seen him avoid your gaze when you entered the room. “Sid made sure Jungkook couldn’t tell you, but I wasn’t—I could’ve told you about the bet.”

“That would have—well, it would have saved us a lot of, uh, time,” you said and gave him a kind smile that was supposed to let him know you weren’t really angry. But Minjun only felt worse after he saw it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked up as he spoke and the regret in his eyes added a deeper significance to his apology. “I was… afraid, I guess. I don’t know how else to—well, it’s not a good excuse, but—”

“I get it,” you interrupted. “And thanks. It’s not really your mess to clean, though.”

He didn’t think it was. Still, he felt like he had let Jungkook down.

After seeing you two laughing together in your hotel room, Minjun hoped that Jungkook had explained his decisions—no matter how backwards they were—to you. So, now it was time for Minjun to say something, too.

“Jungkook, uh… he made the stupid decision to play Sid’s game,” he said. “And now you’re both suffering because of it. I don’t think you should give Sid that much power.”

You contemplated this for a minute and gave a slight shake of your head.

“See,” you said, “I think Jungkook is the one suffering because of Sid’s game. And I’m in this because of the consequences of a stupid decision that Jungkook had made.”

“True enough. He shouldn’t have cared about Sid that much,” Minjun agreed. The pounding in his head doubled as he tried to think of how to phrase himself next. “It’s not really my place to say, but um—I’ve been friends with Jungkook for most of my life, so I think I know him pretty well. He’s—he has always been in love with you. He’s just… blinded by a lot of irrelevant things. And I think he realises that now. He was really shaken up after the bet, and that’s when these things happen, isn’t it? Something massive strikes and it makes you rearrange your priorities. Well, his priority is you.”

Minjun felt your body tense next to him on the couch. He had never said anything like this to you—and Jungkook had never soberly told Minjun that he loved you, either—but it was about as obvious as your warm eyes and clenched jaw.

You knew it, too. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“He made a really stupid decision,” Minjun reiterated. “And I think he knew that right away. Except you know Sid. He couldn’t let him off the hook, especially when he saw how miserable this made Jungkook.”

You hummed, incapable, suddenly, of a verbal response.

The shouts around you grew louder. Rated Riot were finishing the final song of the encore—and it started to sound like another band member had removed a piece of clothing.

“The bet and his feelings for you,” Minjun continued, “those are two separate things. So, I just—well, which one of them do you feel upset about?”

The anxiety in your lungs didn’t have much room to spare for oxygen, but the question still knocked all breath out of you.

“I—”

“No, actually,” Minjun said, closing his eyes and drawing back, “you know what? This isn’t something I should be asking you. I’m sorry. It’s something you should talk to him about. When you’re ready, of course.”

You still looked near panicked when Minjun glanced at you, and you hurried to respond in a way that would end the conversation, because the staff and the band would soon join you backstage. You needed another bottle of water before you could return to your job.

“Yeah. Uh, I’ll—I’ll see about that,” you ended up saying, which wasn’t much, but Minjun wasn’t going to push. “I’m, uh… they’re about to get off stage—I—I have to go check on them.” You stood up. You still hadn’t made eye contact with him. “We have an eye patch situation as you’re well aware, I’m sure.”

Minjun smiled courteously.

“I know,” he said. “But make sure to think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” you said, trying to nod, but your head felt too full. You were worried that if you moved it, all of your uncertainty and fear would spill out.

You had hoped to delay talking to Jungkook about everything a little longer, but something in your universe was pushing against that.

“Thank you,” you said almost as an afterthought.

“Hm?” Minjun raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For staying with him.”

Minjun’s eyes warmed as his smile spread.

“He’s my oldest friend,” he said. “Of course, I’m staying.”

The usual lines of people waiting to meet Rated Riot at the merch stand after the show had tripled tonight. It appeared that almost everyone who had bought a ticket stayed back for the band.

You didn’t know if the eye patch had anything to do with it, but Maggie’s Instagram post with preview pictures from tonight’s show, half-jokingly titled “Rockstar Pirate”, quickly became the most-liked post on her account.

However, before Jungkook could go out and meet the fans, his bandages had to be changed. The intense jumping and sweating had not been good for his wounds, and the ten-minute shower after the performance had not been enough to prevent some fresh bleeding.

But that was to be expected. Some of his cuts were narrow but appeared deep.

What was unexpected, however, was his insistence that he was fine. He would just put the eye patch on and head right back out.

“Do you have any idea,” you scolded as you forcefully sat him down on the counter next to the sink in the bathroom of the venue, “what sort of problems I’d have if these got infected?”

You brought the cotton swab over the scrapes above his cheek, and he gritted his teeth as the antiseptic burned his skin. “It sounds like it’d be me who would have problems.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Maybe even sepsis. But I could get sued for not doing my job.”

“Hmm. And if I die?”

“Then I’d have a funeral to plan on top of that, too.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry my death would inconvenience you so much.”

“It would,” you said, pulling back. “So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t die, seeing as I already have a lot to do.”

He grinned, always thrilled to tease you back. However, this time, he took the opportunity when you weren’t looking at him to ask, “how are you feeling?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, equally as determined to insist that you were okay and that the last two days hadn’t happened.

“I’m fine, of course,” you said.

“Of course,” he repeated dryly.

“I really mean it,” you said as you struggled to open the glass bottle of ointment. Jungkook had informed you earlier that the nurses at the hospital ‘had used something similar’ when he went there the other day, so you felt a bit more confident about this procedure. “I got eight hours of sleep two nights in a row. That’s unheard of.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

You finally got the bottle to open. Jungkook frowned and drew back.

“Well, can you be glad without moving?” you asked, approaching him with the ointment and a few cotton pads. You’d hoped the antiseptic had soaked into his skin by now. You didn’t have time to wait.

“Is that even necessary?” he asked, pouting and pulling his head back until he hit the mirror behind him. “This stings like a bitch.”

You were nearly leaning over him with all your weight to reach his face. One of your palms pressed into his thigh as you fought to keep your balance, and Jungkook stilled, but did not shut up.

“T-the cuts are not getting infected,” he insisted. He paused and bit into his lip ring when you exhaled and he discovered that he could feel your breath against his cheek. As soon as he realised that he didn’t actually pass out for a minute there, he continued, “do I really need bandages if I wear the eye patch? I personally think I’m—”

“You’re sweating under it,” you cut him off, your eyes narrowed in concentration as you traced the cuts on his cheekbone with the pad. You continued to speak distractedly, “and it’s a rental, in any case. You can’t put that on a bare wound.”

He blinked and jerked his head to the side, nearly causing you to topple over him.

“Jungkook, come on—”

“It’s a rental?” he repeated, his face twisted in a comical expression of disbelief. “How—how do you mean?”

You sighed. You shouldn’t have let that slip.

“I’m sure they disinfect the costumes after they’re returned, so, don’t worry about that,” you said. “Now please—”

“It’s part of a costume?!” he shouted, but you grabbed the back of his neck with your free hand to keep him in place. He felt a sudden shiver ripple down his spine. “Wait, w-what—a-am I a joke to you?”

The corners of your lips quivered as you tried to resist a smirk. You dabbed the cotton pad onto the bruise around his eye and did not speak until you finished applying the ointment to every cut and scrape you could see.

“No,” you said then. “You’re not very funny.”

Locked in place by your cold hands on the back of his neck, Jungkook realised he did not have any reflexes left whatsoever. He did not have much of anything, to be honest, aside from a severe case of hot, violent wings in his stomach.

“Not very f—I’ll—oh, I’ll show you funny,” he finally managed.

He grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. Surprised—and, honestly, amused—you tried to pull back from him, but found yourself trapped in his grip as he jumped off the counter.

You pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. He tried very hard to glare at you, but his lips were pursed in an obvious attempt not to smile back and his cheeks were tinted with the softest shade of pink.

A part of you was glad, actually, that he was restraining you right now because you weren’t sure if you would have found it in yourself to resist the urge to bring your hand over his flushed cheeks.

After a loaded minute, Jungkook finally released you and shook his head, turning his back to you in a dramatic demonstration of defiance.

“Jungkook,” you said. He could hear the playful lilt in your voice. “Come on, sit down. I’m almost done.”

“I’m wearing a pirate costume!” he protested.

“You’re not wearing a costume. It’s just an eye patch. Sit down.”

He shook his head again, but turned around, mustering as much irritation as he could. You were smiling and he was hardly capable of being angry about that.

“I look like Jack Sparrow’s long-lost, half-blind cousin,” he accused half-heartedly.

He looked almost scandalised when you laughed at this.

“You wish,” you teased, peeling off the adhesive tape from the new bandages that Namjoon was kind enough to buy earlier in the day.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Now you’re going to tell me I’m not good enough to be related to Jack Sparrow?”

You were glad he did not move when you approached him again and carefully applied the adhesive pad to his bruises.

“That’s Captain Jack Sparrow,” you said.

He glowered, but his image crumbled the second he saw your grin.

“You nerd,” he said, breaking off into a soft laugh. His eyes were fixed on you as you gently tapped the edges of the bandages to make sure they stayed in place.

“Hey, now,” you warned, pulling back to give him a look that was about as stern as your tentative touch. “You’re the one who forced me to watch the films.”

Jungkook felt his smile spread—impossibly so. He thought he looked a little like one-eyed Joker now as he remembered watching films in your dorm room. He remembered how the two of you had complained about the slow wi-fi, which kept reducing the film quality to 240p. Remembered pretending not to cry when one half of the couple in the film died. Remembered getting distracted by the look in your eyes as you got immersed in the plot. Remembered kissing you. Remembered making you smile as you gently pushed his chest away and told him to ‘look at the screen.’

And then he remembered where he was now, and the dim bathroom brightened under your smile as you packed up your medical kit.

“Hey, so, um…” He swallowed, watching you walk away to dispose of the waste. “Can we talk, then? Later?”

Your head was still heavy, and you had a startling realisation that the only time the weight on your shoulders lightened was when you were with Jungkook—when you were smiling at each other like middle-schoolers on a clumsy first date.

“We’ll talk,” you said while trying to quiet down your thoughts that insisted that this moment here was a sign. That this was the decision. “When the time is right.”

Jungkook looked almost ready to protest, but then he realised you were teasing him for having said the same thing to you before.

He remembered how that conversation went—he remembered everything and with such clarity that his palms tingled and his heart pounded.

“3 AM, then?” he asked, grinning. “Will you come find me?”

You smiled back. “I’ll come find you.”

When the members of Rated Riot returned backstage after meeting fans, the drinks had already been finished. Everyone was leaving for the bus.

Jungkook knew better than to stay in the dressing room by himself—despite having banned Sid from his shows and being across the continent from him—so he asked Taehyung to wait for him.

Then, as he was unplugging his charger by the bathroom door, his phone vibrated with a text message—from Jude, of all people. Throughout their friendship, Jungkook didn’t think Jude had ever texted him personally, and not in their groupchat.

The text read, “come outside to the smoking area? Sid is fuming bc he can’t enter the venue.. gotta talk.”

Right away, Jungkook felt a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.

He’d kicked Sid out in Cologne. What the fuck was he doing in Manchester?

For a brief moment, Jungkook toyed with the possibility of saying he was busy. He did have to return to the bus in case you would look for him, after all. However, he knew that not answering Sid’s call—because, really, Jude was just the proxy here—could have ugly consequences.

Why’d he fly to the UK? What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t that Jungkook felt afraid of him. He was annoyed more than anything—he’d blacklisted Sid, and still couldn’t escape him.

But Jungkook was afraid of the impact that his inescapable connection to Sid could have on you and your relationship.

“You know what?” he said, raising his head to look at Taehyung. “Maybe you should go ahead without me. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

Taehyung glanced at the younger member’s phone, then back at his face. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing,” Jungkook said as he typed back a “K” to Jude. “It’ll just be a second.”

Taehyung merely shrugged. This reaction was so casual that Jungkook automatically assumed it to mean that the older member was going back to the bus.

“I can wait then,” Taehyung said instead.

Jungkook did a surprised double-take before he put his phone away. He realised suddenly that he was embarrassed for Taehyung to witness whatever would happen in the smoking area.

“No, it’s—I have to talk to Jude,” he said, hoping that the name would deter him, but the older boy stood his ground even more firmly.

“All the more reason for me to stay with you,” he said, making it clear that one black eye was already too much.

Jungkook knew they could continue to argue about this while Sid raged outside the venue. And he knew that if he refused Taehyung’s company again, the older boy might seek you out instead.

“Okay,” Jungkook decided. “That’s fine. You can wait here. Jude’s right outside in the smoking area, so—”

“Great,” Taehyung said, taking the first step towards the door of the dressing room. “I’ll come with.”

Jungkook watched him open the door. “Why? For the fresh air?”

His bandmate gave him a sarcastic half-smile. “To make sure you won’t need a whole blindfold for your performance tomorrow.”

Aware that he’d been outwitted, Jungkook rolled his eyes and left the dressing room with a protective Taehyung following behind him.

Sid, Jude, and Minjun were all gathered in the smoking area. Sid and Jude were standing tall—with Sid towering over the other boys, of course—while Minjun looked more like he was crouching. His eyes were downcast, and his posture reflected his wish to be anywhere but here.

Fortunately, Mick, the head of security, was there, too.

“What’s going on here?” Jungkook asked, his voice surprisingly firm—as if these people had never been his friends.

“This gentleman refuses to leave,” Mick reported, casting a scornful glance at Sid. Sid, in turn, responded by raising his middle finger. “I think that calling the police will resolve this issue faster.”

Jungkook would have loved to see Sid in the back of a police car.

But he was worried that this would only cause you more problems with the label. The executives were okay with Rated Riot embodying the rockstar stereotypes, but they probably wouldn’t approve of any police involvement.

On the other hand... why not get rid of Sid once and for all? If he continued to preach his truth without listening to anyone else, it might do him good to spend the night at the station. And if he was high, too, or happened to have something on him—both were likely, Jungkook decided when he glanced at the pockets of Sid’s puffy jacket—then he might stay in a cell for a while longer.

“Give me a minute, Mick, please,” Jungkook asked, taking out his phone. He’d decided to try to handle this quietly, but he still wanted the option of calling the police.

Mick looked at Taehyung for confirmation—which irked Jungkook, because he didn’t like being reminded of his young age and relative lack of authority here.

After Taehyung nodded, the bodyguard turned back to the vocalist.

“Alright,” Mick said. “I’ll be right inside.”

Minjun raised his eyes suddenly, and Jungkook expected to see relief on his face. He saw anxiety instead. Minjun regretted that Jungkook was getting involved again.

After Mick left, Sid finally stepped into the light from the neon sign above the exit. Immediately, Jungkook started to feel more confident about his eye patch, because Sid’s face was red, black, and blue, and so swollen that he could have auditioned for the role of the pumpkin in Cinderella.

“You have one minute to state your business and get your ass out of here,” Jungkook told him. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

Sid scoffed. Challenged by the doubt in his eyes, Jungkook unlocked his phone.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know that you’ve blacklisted me,” Sid snapped, ignoring Taehyung’s presence—which was alarming, because that had never happened before. Sid typically only showed his true self to those closest to him. Or to total strangers. “But it has come to my attention that Minjun broke the rules of the bet, and I can’t ignore that.”

Of course, Jungkook thought. Of course, he would follow him to a different country, even after their fight. Sid thought they had unfinished business.

“Technically,” Minjun said, “the rules don’t apply to me, seeing as I’m—”

“Seeing as you’re the one supposed to enforce the fucking rules,” Sid finished for him, feral rage dripping from every single word he spoke. “What should I make of that, hm? You’re picking sides?”

“I’m not—”

“Your parents won’t like that, I’m sure,” Sid added because he couldn’t help but always assert his dominance with veiled threats.

Minjun clenched his jaw. He remembered the repulsion in your eyes when he told you about this earlier. He felt himself gain strength from your reaction.

“Grow some balls,” he rasped, “and keep our parents out of the shit that you pull. We’re not in kindergarten.”

Sid narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step closer to him.

Meanwhile, Jude leaned over Jungkook to provide an unnecessary explanation, “Sid knows Minjun gave you back the keys.”

Jude smelled of booze and of something intentionally sweet. Ignoring him, Jungkook kept his gaze on Sid.

“It’s just a bet, dude,” Jungkook said before Sid decided to raise a fist. Minjun had never fought anyone before. Jungkook didn’t like his friend’s odds. “Let it go.”

Sid turned his head in what seemed like dramatic slow motion.

If there was a worse thing that Jungkook could have said, he hadn’t found it yet—Sid looked about ready to bite his head straight off and tear it into little pieces before feeding the remains to baby cheetahs or whatever scavengers he undoubtedly raised in the backyard of his family’s mansion.

“That narrative works out awfully well in your favour, doesn’t it?” Sid sneered. “Considering you walk out of here with the girl, after all, hmm?”

“The girl,” Jungkook countered, “was mine to begin with.”

Sid laughed, throwing his head back. “You were ready to give her up for a game just a few weeks ago!”

Jungkook clenched his fists. He couldn’t help but notice that it was “the girl” in particular that Sid brought up as unfair.

Taehyung watched the younger boy’s body language. He knew what might happen next: Jungkook had nothing to say to that, so he seemed intent on shifting the conversation to a more physical level. A level that would likely result in more black eyes and knocked-out teeth.

God, when did he and Luna become babysitters?

He let out a sigh and took a step forward. “We should go, Jungkook. The bus is leaving soon.”

Grounded by his voice, Jungkook glanced at the older member. Taehyung nodded and Jungkook took a deep breath to relax his muscles. He turned around.

There was no point to any of this. He had nothing left to prove to Sid.

“Oh, that’s right,” Sid called out as soon as Jungkook started to walk away. “You don’t have shit to say, so you leave. Fucking typical. Once a loser, always a loser.”

Like any rational person, Taehyung groaned and opened his mouth to suggest calling the police since Sid clearly didn’t want to go away quietly.

But the older member wasn’t able to react quickly enough when Jungkook suddenly whipped around and marched back towards Sid, his expression not just determined, but downright murderous.

Minjun widened his eyes and stepped into the gap between the two boys.

“Drop it, Sid,” he said, facing away from Jungkook. His voice sounded nervous, but he pushed Sid’s chest to prompt him to take a step back.

Sid stepped back—and then took another step to give the impression that he had pulled away voluntarily.

“Why should I be the one to drop it?” he demanded.

“Because you’re the only one who still cares about it,” Minjun said.

“And I’m one part of the bet,” Sid argued. “So, it’s hardly fair, isn’t it? I won the bike.”

Jungkook calmed down when he lost sight of Sid. Instead, he noted that Jude hadn’t objected once.

Technically, three people had made the bet, but Jude seemed to consider himself part of Sid now. Or he simply didn’t care about being involved anymore.

Taehyung lingered by the door, keeping quiet as Minjun handled the unfolding situation.

It was difficult not to say anything, however, because they seemed keen on having a discussion here, yet no one was bringing up the thing that seemed the most obvious to Taehyung: the real reason why Sid cared about the Katana so much, considering that he could have easily bought twenty of them if he wanted.

Just then, Jungkook chuckled sardonically.

“You just want to win for the sake of winning,” he said, giving Minjun a grateful pat on the back and stepping out from behind him.

Taehyung was taken aback by the statement. He had assumed—perhaps unfairly—that Jungkook would resort to violence to make his point. He wasn’t expecting the younger boy to voice everything that he’d been thinking.

“You don’t care about the bike,” Jungkook continued. “You just want me to suffer. Or—oh, that’s right. She’s the one that you really want. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Everyone in this empty lot behind the building, including the stray cat that monitored the scene from across the street while licking its paw, watched Sid hesitate.

Probably for the first time in his life, Sid was confronted with the unexpected increase in his heartbeat.

He scoffed. Then scoffed again. Then once more, so that everyone and their mothers would understand that he found the accusation ridiculous.

And everyone understood, really. But Sid’s fidgeting wasn’t making the point he thought it was.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re implying,” he retorted. “I’ve—I always get what I want. Why the fuck would I play games about—I never fucking grovel for girls. I don’t care how hot they are—”

“Right. But not this time, hm?” Jungkook countered. “You couldn’t get what you wanted, so now you’re doing everything you can to make sure I don’t either. You want to make us both miserable.”

Sid was embarrassed, Minjun realised as he watched his jaw tighten. He was utterly humiliated that someone would accuse him of having a crush.

“No. No, that was you. You made yourself miserable,” Sid deflected. “I had no part in that.”

How pathetic, Jungkook thought—but there was a satisfied smirk on his lips. He’d seen through Sid. And he’d forced him to lose his composure. Forced him to defend himself.

Jungkook remembered your description of Sid’s appearance last night; namely the comparison to a sewer rat—which was, honestly, very unfair for the rodent in question—and couldn’t hold himself back.

“Seeing your face every day actually brings me nothing but misery,” he said to Sid, “so you can’t escape the blame there.”

Taehyung looked away and puckered his lips to hide his reaction to the immature remark. Even he had to give a point to Jungkook here. Childish or not, it was clever enough to make Sid squint his eyes and hesitate once more.

“Don’t change the subject,” Sid said, which made Jungkook smile wider. “You broke the bet. The bike is mine.”

Minjun cut in with a groan.

“Sid, for fuck’s sake,” he said, tired of listening to the same thing over and over—and over—again. “It’s just a bet, so just fucking drop it. We’ll pay off the Katana if you care so much—”

“No.” Jungkook reached out a hand to touch Minjun’s shoulder, cutting him off. He glared at Sid. “You know what? You can keep the fucking keys to the bike,” he said as he pulled the keychain from his pocket, removed it, and tossed the keys roughly at Sid’s chest. The older boy scrambled to catch them. “Choke on them for all I care.”

Despite the venom in his words, Jungkook did not lose the sneering smile, and Sid’s eye twitched when he looked at him.

It didn’t feel satisfying when he held the motorcycle keys, but Jungkook was the one who looked like he won.

Jungkook turned away before Sid could come up with another mocking comment to make him stay, and headed towards Taehyung, who looked a little confounded.

The bassist needed a moment to process that the conversation had ended because Jungkook had decided it was over.

Taehyung felt quite proud of him, and when Jungkook looked at him, he reached out to tousle his hair affectionately. Jungkook backed away from his touch with a groan but still gave him a grateful look.

Instead of entering the venue, Taehyung led Jungkook to the side of the building, gesturing at the pack of cigarettes he had in his pocket.

A puzzled Minjun caught up with them a moment later.

“Why did you do that?” he asked while Jungkook turned to watch Sid and Jude walk away—both of them looked a little awkward, like they weren’t sure if the show they’d started was really over. “Why did you give him the keys?”

“He can keep the bike,” Jungkook said. “He’s never getting anything that really matters anyway.”

Minjun and Taehyung exchanged a look. They had both heard Sid stumble over his words earlier. They could tell that Sid had hoped the bet would end with Jungkook losing you, and not just the motorcycle.

Minjun still wasn’t sure if Sid’s actions were motivated by his wish to make Jungkook suffer, or if he really had feelings for you.

But he supposed it didn’t even matter anymore. Jungkook seemed ready to go to war for you either way.

“So, what—what are you going to do?” Minjun asked.

Jungkook shrugged and stuffed his hands into his now-empty pockets.

“It’s too late to do anything,” he said, smiling at his friend. “There’ll be other bikes. I don’t—it’s not what I’m worried about.”

Minjun nodded. He knew Jungkook wasn’t thinking about Sid actually trying to make a move on you. You’d snap his neck if he tried, and leave his body for the crows and pigeons to enjoy. Everyone knew it, and they would have wholeheartedly supported your reaction.

No, what Jungkook was really worried about was that Sid might have already done irreparable damage to your relationship. Minjun had hoped to help Jungkook by talking to you, but he wasn’t sure if it was any help at all.

“Good riddance,” Taehyung said slowly. “Sid, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” Minjun agreed right away. “Fuck him.”

“I can’t believe he’s here, though,” Jungkook said. He turned back to make sure that Sid had really left. “You think he’ll come to Glasgow, too, just to fuck with me?”

“Honestly, he might,” Minjun admitted. “He’s got the bike, but he can tell he didn’t actually win. He might want to retaliate.”

Jungkook groaned. Despite his hopes, he feared that Minjun was right.

“What can he do, though?” Taehyung asked, taking out the Marlboro pack from the pocket of his oversized leather jacket. “He’s alone.”

“Yeah.” Minjun pointed at him in agreement. “It’ll be a while before he finds someone who will follow his orders.”

“Well,” Jungkook said as Taehyung passed his cigarettes to both boys, “Jude might.”

“Jude can’t wipe his own ass unless he’s high as a kite,” Minjun said—his vowels softened by the cigarette between his lips. “I’m fucking pissed that he left with Sid, but—I mean, there’s nothing we can do.”

Taehyung opened his engraved Zippo lighter with a crisp click. He lit his own cigarette, then did the same for Jungkook and Minjun.

“If he shows his face anywhere near us again, I’m calling the cops,” Jungkook decided, shakily inhaling the smoke. “Tonight was the last time. I gave up the bike. I don’t care whether he thinks that’s enough. There’s nothing that he can hold against me anymore. We’re done.”

Minjun smiled at this.

Truth be told, he felt a little giddy from the significance of this moment. He’d never spent any time with Jungkook’s bandmates, and he knew it was because of Sid. Taehyung would not have offered them cigarettes if the obnoxious menace had been here, so this moment felt a bit like the start of something new. Something better.

Minjun exhaled the smoke while Jungkook confessed, “I don’t know what it’ll be like with him gone, though.”

Taehyung scoffed so vehemently that the smoke from his cigarette nearly got caught in his throat.

“I know,” he said. “Better.”

Minjun smirked and Jungkook nodded in agreement, but he still looked a little pale and wide-eyed as he toyed with the cigarette between his fingers.

“We’ll be fine,” Minjun promised. “Might get bored much faster because Sid won’t be here to think of ways we could kill ourselves, but honestly, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, no—definitely.” Jungkook tried to smile, but there was something else on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep drag and slowly blew out the smoke before speaking. “This is, um—kind of weird, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but, uh—thank you. For being… for being yourself.”

Taehyung looked away, exhaling smoke into the parking lot to give the two boys more privacy without actually walking away from them.

Minjun was smiling, too. “Who else would I be?”

“You could have tried to be Sid,” Jungkook pointed out.

“Fuck no.”

They both laughed, and Taehyung stopped trying so hard to hide his smile.

For a minute, Sid’s absence was very palpable and it felt absolutely blissful.

“You’re welcome,” Minjun said, just when Taehyung offered, “another one?”

He pulled out another cigarette for himself and passed the rest to Minjun. While the two of them lit up another round, Jungkook finished his first one.

He was restless all of a sudden. This tended to happen to him, especially lately—the longer he was away from you, the harder it was not to think of you.

You’d told him you’d find him so you could talk.

What if you were looking for him? And he was wasting his time dealing with Sid’s temper tantrums again?

“I’m going to go,” he announced to the other boys as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, twisting the sole of his shoe to put it out. “If those two come back, knock them out or call the police, I don’t care. I’ll see you on the bus, yeah?”

Taehyung chuckled, much calmer to let Jungkook wander off on his own now that he’d seen Sid leave with his own eyes.

“Sure,” he said, blowing smoke out. “You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

As he walked towards the door, Jungkook remembered what you’d told him in Stockholm. You’d been right back then.

If he surrounded himself with people who genuinely cared about him, he would have enough voices to keep his mind calm. He would have someone to call if he was alone.

He would be okay.

Jungkook came to a sudden stop in the corridor when he heard your voice inside Rated Riot’s dressing room. The door was ajar, and he could see your profile as you leaned against the dressing table and talked to someone. He bent down to listen and recognised Luna’s voice in there, too.

“Did Nick text you again?” Luna was asking you. “After that time on the bus?”

Naturally, Jungkook froze on the other side of the door.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really.

But who in the great fuck was Nick?

As quietly as he could under the circumstances—his heart had flat-lined for a second or two before breaking into the most passionate beating he’d ever experienced—Jungkook stepped to the side so you wouldn’t spot him through the gap in the door, and strained to listen.

“Yeah,” you replied with a sigh. Were you always this quiet when you spoke, or was he going deaf from his rapid heartbeat? “He texted me this morning. I didn’t reply, I was—well, with Jungkook.”

Now, Jungkook thought as he paled to match the plaster on the walls of the corridor, what—the absolute fuck—was that supposed to mean?

“But, uh, he said he’d like to arrange a formal meeting with me,” you continued, and the dressing table creaked as you moved away from it, “when he comes back from Australia with Reconnaissance.”

The terrified lightbulb at the end of the corridor flickered erratically as Jungkook frowned.

Nick Zhou—your supervisor at your first internship after graduation—returned to his memory. Jungkook had heard enough to understand that Nick managed Reconnaissance now.

That probably meant that you weren’t seeing anyone else. But Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was relieved by this.

“Are you going to go to this meeting?” Luna asked.

Good question, Jungkook thought. And then, immediately after—please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“I… I don’t know. I think I should,” you said. Jungkook dug his nails into the pillows of his palms. “All our conversations about this had been over the phone, you know? I think it might be good to hear him out properly, face-to-face.”

“So, you’re really considering this then, huh?” Luna said.

You were quiet for a very long time.

Jungkook measured each second of your silence in the beats of his heart: bang-bang-bang, one, bang-bang-bang, two, bang-bang-bang, three.

“I guess I am,” you finally said. “N-not because I suddenly decided I don’t want to work with Rated Riot anymore. I just—well, in light of everything that happened, I think that hearing Nick out just seems like a… reasonable thing to do.”

Jungkook decided he’d heard enough.

He thought he knew what you would say next. He knew what happened. He knew what this “everything” was.

His immaturity. His constant dependence on you.

His tendency to fail at everything that he tried to do for you.

His inability to prove that he deserved another chance with you.

Finally, the bet.

So, there it was, then. He’d always been terrified of letting you down, and he did that anyway.

Exhaling shakily, Jungkook turned around and crossed the corridor toward the main exit where the tour bus was parked.

You were supposed to talk. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d find what to say.

If Jungkook hadn’t walked away, however—if he’d stayed for a minute longer—he would have heard what Taehyung caught as he returned to the dressing room, biting on the filter of a new cigarette.

“If it really came down to it, then—you know,” you were saying, “I-I couldn’t be with him, and still be his manager at the same time.”

The door creaked.

“Oh.” Taehyung stopped in the doorway, not sure if he was more surprised by your words or by the unexpected noise from the door. “Sorry, am I—? I can leave.”

You had been cleaning up backstage when Luna joined you after she lost track of Taehyung. That made you realise that you hadn’t seen him or Jungkook in a while. But now that Taehyung was here, the two of you looked at him as if you had never seen him before in your lives.

The expression on Taehyung’s face was not at all ambiguous. He knew what he’d just heard. You hadn’t used Jungkook’s name, but he was everywhere in this room and in your eyes.

Noting your expression and the way the can of beer in your hands began to tremble, Luna slid off the couch and walked over to her boyfriend.

“We were looking for you!” she exclaimed with far more anger than she actually felt. “Where were you?”

“I was—Jungkook and I just—we stepped outside for a second,” he said as he pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and tucked it behind his ear. “Sorry.”

“You could have texted,” Luna said, her voice rushed. She glanced at you over her shoulder. “We were just about to head back to the bus, weren’t we? That’s what we were discussing.”

“Right,” Taehyung said. “Well, I didn’t hear anything else.”

God, you thought. The three of you were the main cast in a poorly scripted tragicomedy all of a sudden.

“Yeah, we should go,” you said, hoping that the warmth you felt all over your body didn’t show on your face—it didn’t. But your panicked gaze still gave you away. “We’re leaving in half an hour. Is he on the bus?”

Again, the pronoun that did not need an explanation—Taehyung nodded right away.

“Yeah, he—he was on his way there,” he said.

“Okay,” you replied. “You can go. I’ll pack the rest of our things first.”

“We’ll help,” Luna offered. “You need to rest as much as possible.”

You were afraid she would say that. But she and Taehyung began to gather the empty paper cups and the staff members’ forgotten phones before you could object.

Stunned momentarily, you realised—like Jungkook had before—that you were surrounded by people who loved you.

And you were afraid, suddenly, to lose this if you left to work with Reconnaissance. Just like you were afraid of what would happen between you and Jungkook if you didn’t leave.

The hopelessness of the situation stayed with Jungkook as he got on the bus.

He chose not to wait for you, and instead went to the mini-fridge to find Jack Daniels. And while looking for that, he also befriended Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker. Jose Cuervo was, sadly, already almost empty.

When you opened the door of the bus half an hour later—surprised (and a little concerned) to see that it was empty—Jungkook was already feeling a pleasant buzz. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober as he stumbled a little while trying to climb out of his bunk and stretch his legs outside before the trip.

The alcohol had dulled the pain a little—as it was notorious for doing—but he still flinched when he saw the door open and heard your voice outside the bus.

“You need help standing?” you asked—louder than he had anticipated—and he spun on his axis, gripping the stair railing to steady himself.

He was happy to see you. And so tremendously hurt.

“Nope,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m perfect.”

“Where’s everyone else?” you asked.

“Flat tire,” Jungkook mumbled, slurring the consonants as he joined you outside the bus. “Driver said we’d be here for another hour. He doesn’t have a spare. Everyone else went—for a smoke, I don’t know.”

His eye patch had slid off and was caught in his messy hair. But the bandages around his eye had remained in place.

His scent was whiskey, but the look in his eyes was sober pain.

You were a little afraid of him like this because you didn’t know what he would tell you next.

“Mmhm,” you said. “And, uh—how come we’re drinking tonight?”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “We have our reasons.”

You waited for him to continue by counting the dark pebbles under your shoes. He leaned his back against the metal railing of the bus steps and gave you a long look.

“Sid’s here,” he said.

You looked up, aghast. Terror was the first thing you felt, and aggravation followed shortly after.

“What?” you questioned. “How?”

“He followed me to Manchester for the Katana,” Jungkook explained. “Minjun had given me back the keys, and Sid found out about it.”

“I thought you had—”

“I had,” he confirmed. He’d triple-checked with Mick to make sure Sid was really banned. “He couldn’t enter the venue, so Jude texted me to come outside. Mick suggested calling the police.”

You liked Mick. Everyone did. He was the quiet backbone of this entire tour.

But you didn’t like that Jungkook seemed to disagree with Mick’s suggestion.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked slowly. You thought you understood why Jungkook decided to finish off the most expensive bottles of whiskey that you had on the bus. Sid’s unexpected reappearance was a good reason to drink.

“I would have,” he said. “But I gave Sid the keys and he left. He’s got no reason to come back now. We’re done.”

You appreciated the cold wind on your face, because learning that Jungkook had given up his Katana willingly—to get Sid off his back for good—was painful. It felt heavy in your chest and in your lungs.

“Oh,” you managed.

“I really mean it. If he decides to show his face again despite that, I’m—I’m letting Mick handle it,” Jungkook promised. “He can call the cops or do whatever else he wants. Sid wanted to win the bet, well, he won it. I’m not going to see him again. I really mean it.”

His voice grew in volume despite getting hoarse. He was so distressed that he was nearing hysteria.

It occurred to you that he thought you would blame him for this. Like it was his fault that Sid was so dedicated to his craft of being a pest that he travelled across Europe for it.

“I’m not saying one word to him ever again,” Jungkook continued, all his words coming out in one breath. “I’m—I’m done. I swear. I’m not going—”

“I know,” you cut in softly before his panicked rambling could get worse. “I believe you.”

“I—” he stopped. His face regained some liveliness. “Thank you.”

“Is that your reason for drinking?” you asked, even though, deep down, you knew it wasn’t. “I thought we were supposed to talk.”

“I thought so, too,” he said, then inhaled sharply and plopped down on the bottom step, banging his thigh against the metal railing and wincing in pain. “Shit. But then I thought—I thought I’d rather get drunk than have my heart shattered. So here we are.”

Your stomach plummeted and the muscles all over your body jolted awake.

“What—what are you talking about?” you asked, looking around. Taehyung and Luna wanted to grab some snacks at the corner shop across the street, but you were still worried they’d catch you here.

Jungkook rested his head against the door frame.

“I’m... really, I’m tired of everything,” he said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have messed around. I should have been honest with you about—about everything right away.”

You leaned your hip against the side of the bus. You appreciated him talking to you now, but you both knew that this hadn’t always been the case.

“You... should have been,” you concurred awkwardly.

“But I wasn’t,” he finished. “And now I’m too tired to keep trying. To keep knocking on a—the door is closed. Locked. I get it. You say you believe me, but I know the truth. I really fucked up. Not just with the—with the bet. I never treated you right. You do so much. You take care of everyone in your life.” He paused to take a breath. “And I’ve always been another fucking burden. I won’t—I won’t be that anymore. You won’t need to take care of me anymore. I promise.”

You looked at him with a worried wrinkle between your brows. “Jungkook, I’m your manager—”

“You’re my everything,” he cut you off and brought goosebumps to the surface of your skin. “But I’ve been fucking awful to you. You deserve so much better. I’m so—I’m so sorry. I have no right to—to expect you to come back to me. B-but I want to show you that I can be different. I want to show you the guy that I am without Sid. You know that guy. You know what he’s like. I want to show him to you again.”

You swallowed as your eyes drifted from his face to the rough gravel under your shoes, to the door of the venue, and eventually settled on your own crossed arms.

You felt tired, too, but this wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from him. You wondered what brought this on so suddenly.

“I really don’t want you to leave,” he continued. You straightened, realising what this was about. “But I… I understand if you will. I’ve always been selfish when it comes to you, but if I want—I want you to see that I’m growing. And because of that, I can’t hold you back.”

Your heart was beating too much, too intensely, too desperately for you to respond.

It felt—and, evidently, your heart realised it before your brain did—like Jungkook was making the decision about the rest of your life for you. A decision that you didn’t want to make.

“It’s over,” he said. “I get it. But the band loves you. We need you. You’re our—we’re nothing without you. We’re not Rated Riot. But we—the guys wouldn’t force you to stay. And I know I can’t do that, either. So, if leaving the band is the right choice for you… then you should go. You should always do what’s best for you. I wish I was what was best for you, but I’m not. Actually, I don’t think there’s anyone who would be good enough for you in my eyes, but—”

“Jungkook, please,” you finally whispered—the words painful on your numb tongue.

“Right, sorry,” he pulled back. You were afraid that if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t be able to hear him anymore. “What I mean is, you deserve the best, and I’m so fucking far from it. I love you so much, but I don’t know if that’s enough. I just—I want you to know that if you decide to stay with us, I’ll never let you down again. But if you choose to go… I-I would understand. Ultimately, it’s your choice, as it should be.”

He stopped talking and allowed the night to fill the silence.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next.

He’d told you a lot over the past few days. He brought back a lot of memories, a lot of mistakes. And now he was taking action, too, to make sure to fix those mistakes. To make sure he didn’t repeat them.

He made a bet with Sid.

And this bet tried to prove that he still hadn’t changed, that his friends were still his main priority. But he black-listed Sid from Rated Riot’s shows and gave up his bike to make sure Sid didn’t come back.

The bet tried to prove that the two of you still couldn’t communicate. But he told you everything that he had been too afraid to say in your relationship.

The bet tried to prove that he didn’t really care about you. But he stayed with you when you were feeling your best and when you were at your most vulnerable.

The bet tried to prove that he only cared about himself. But after telling you how much he loved you, he was letting you go.

Again and again and again his words echoed in your head.

The determined I’ll be here, and the tentative It’s a song about my favourite thing in the world.

The terrified I can’t lose you, and the confident I’ll always love you.

You didn’t want to believe him when he had told you he loved you—and that was what this was about.

You were afraid of what it would mean—of what would happen—if all that there was to it, if all that hid under your uncertainty, was just your love for each other.

Minjun had made a reasonable point when he asked whether you were upset about the bet or about Jungkook’s feelings.

Perhaps the bet had quickly turned into an easy excuse not to be together. It was bad, it was awful, it was so terrible—but all it really did was provide a comfortable cover for your own fear and anxiety about him. About yourself. About you, together.

In retrospect, probably the worst repercussion of the bet was that it returned the two of you to the same place you were in before you learned about it. The place where you both wanted each other—so much—but you couldn’t.

As the silence continued to envelop the bus, competing with the night for dominance, it swallowed the sounds of the distant chatter of the people nearby.

You pulled back from the bus. It was time to stand up. Time to go.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s getting cold.”

Jungkook looked at you from the bottom step by the door, and you realised that he’d been wrong that night in Manchester when he said that your favourite thing in the world was the night sky.

It wasn’t.

It was the stars—whole constellations, each formed after a specific moment in life—and the moon, and half of an entire galaxy in his eyes.

It was the way they brightened when he smiled at you, and the way they narrowed when you teased him. It was the way they stilled when he was listening to you speak, and the way they softened when he saw you at every venue. At every practice. Every soundcheck. Every concert. Every hotel. Every empty European street. Every night, and every morning. Year, after year, after year, after—

Your hands trembled as you watched him, realising with a startled burst in your chest that he loved you. He has loved you for as long as you’ve known him.

And against all odds, against all rational thoughts and fateful coincidences, against all wishes upon stars, you realised that you’ve always loved him, too.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

chapter title credits: the devil wears prada, “salt”

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coco-loco-nut · 13 days

Text

Mama

pairing: Pierre x reader

summary: Pierre and his annoyed, heavily pregnant, wife

TW: references to spicy activities, pregnancy, cussing, use of French learned via Duolingo and high-school French class from like 4 years ago

————————

“I regret ever letting your French ass charm me,” you scowl at your husband who picked you up at the train station in London. He had been away for a week, and initially you did miss your husband, but the pregnancy began to really wear on you this week.

“I missed your too, mamour,” Pierre kisses you, taking your bags and placing them in his rental car.

“I should’ve stayed home,” you grumble as he helps you into the car. You missed your French home, the villa was sunny and it wasn’t England, but you promised your sweet husband you would come to Silverstone. He came straight from

Pierre knows you are hurting, the third trimester taking a toll on you, so he doesn’t take any of your words to heart, instead he intends on showing you how much he loves you.

“I wish I were home too,” Pierre squeezes your hand gently once he is in the car. He has been hoping and praying that the baby comes during the summer break, just so he can spend time with you. You hadn’t been to a race since Imola and Monaco and you were able to hide the pregnancy pretty easily with flowy dresses. Despite being pregnant with twins, you didn’t balloon up until right after.

“What would Mrs. Glasly and the Baby Gasly’s like to do first, get to the hotel or get some food?” Pierre asks and you think about it for a second.

“Mmm food. Chicken nuggets and fries, preferably,” you give Pierre puppy dog eyes despite telling him you hated him moments ago.

“There is a McDonald’s in the next town over from Silverstone. I won’t tell if you don’t,” Pierre says, you swear in that moment that you fall in love with him all over again.

“I would never,” you gasp before yawning a little. At this point, you could take a nap anywhere, despite being extremely uncomfortable with the babies dropping. Some luck happened and your thirty-sixth week of pregnancy falls at the very start of summer break.

“Take a nap, chérie, we have about an hour and a half,” Pierre tells you as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning the music on softly. You don’t need to be told twice as you doze off. You don’t even wake up to Pierre ordering a ridiculous amount of food at McDonald’s, you only wake up when he gently shakes your shoulder.

“Mon ange, tu dois te lève,” Pierre says gently, coaxing you awake.

“Mm, mon bonhuer, feed me and take me to bed,” you say sleepily, a sly smile on your face.

“The things you do to me,” Pierre groans, getting out of the car. You carry the food into the hotel from the garage so his trainer can’t yell at him.

“Y/n! How are you doing?” Charles comes up beside you. He knew about the pregnancy, despite Pierre and you keeping it under wraps, only because the both of you attended dinner at the Leclerc’s house during the Monaco GP. It's only natural, you were Pierre's childhood best friend. Charles was Pierre's childhood best friend, you tolerated the both of them.

“How do you think,” you glare at the Monégasque.

“Maman asked me to give you this, and I added a little something too,” Charles says, handing Pierre a bag and kissing your cheek.

“Thank you, Charlot,” Pierre waves to his friend, guiding you to the hotel room.

“Pierre, this is so good,” you practically moan as you eat the nuggets.

“You gotta stop talking like that, you’re driving me nuts,” he groans. You grin, biting into a fry.

“Or what?” your tease, his eyes darken. As soon as you both finish your dinner, he is kissing you.

“Pierre!” you groan, he helps you stand up, moving towards the bed.

"Do you want to do this?" Pierre looks at you with concern.

"Pierre, I am not a glass doll, I am pregnant and horny and I miss your cuddles, and I haven't seen you in weeks. I think you know what I want," you look Pierre in the eyes who is quick to help you into a safe, yet comfortable position. It is safe to say that the two of you missed each other very, very much.

You woke up in the morning, a rare occurrence of sleeping through the night, to your husband's arm wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

"Pierre," you nudge him. He hums, only half awake. "If you don't let me go, I may puke on this bed," you whisper to him. Pierre quickly wakes up and helps you to the bathroom. He had to get up soon anyway for the race.

"You ok?" Pierre continues rubbing your back after you've puked.

"I look like shit, feel like shit, and you watched me puke, I think the answer is no," you groan, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Why don't we shower, then I'll order some breakfast while I get ready?" Pierre offers, helping you undress and get into the shower. Like the gentleman he is, he helps you clean where you can't reach anymore, and in return, you scrub the shampoo into his hair.

The two of you eat quickly and get ready for the day. You both get in a chauffeured car and head to the circuit, you left a little later than usual due to eating breakfast in the hotel instead of in the paddock. Cameras capture the two of you walking in, more like you waddling as Pierre walks with an arm around you. He heads into a strategy meeting while you rest on the couch in his room.

"Apparently social media is blowing up over pictures of us walking in. They may love pregnant you more than I do, and that is nearly impossible," Pierre tells you when he gets back, the F2 race playing quietly in the background.

"I'm glad someone is enjoying it, because I want them out," you groan as they kick you simultaneously. Pierre helps you stand up and wraps his arms around you, hands under your bump. You relax into his chest, letting him take some of the pressure off of your body for a little bit. His touch always seems to calm the babies down.

"I know, just another month, then we will have our precious babies. You are doing incredibly, you will be the best mom," he praises you causing you to blush.

"They will have the coolest daddy," you hum, enjoying the temporary relief.

"Pierre, you gotta do your warm-ups," his trainer knocks on the doorframe. "Y/n, I can help you with some stretches that may provide some relief and better mobility," the trainer offers as Pierre slowly lowers your stomach, trying to ease the weight back. You follow Pierre and his trainer to the weight room. The trainer mainly focuses on helping you, claiming Pierre knew what he was doing, only stepping away when a spotter was required. Apparently, his wife was recently pregnant so he did a lot of research to help her.

"Congratulations, Y/n, you and Pierre will make great parents," despite neither of you particularly caring for Esteban, you thanked him anyway and wished him a good race. Pierre took you on some light strolls across the paddock, frequently being stopped by drivers, before the race where you sat in the garage and watched with his team. Pierre got in the points and you both celebrated by going home to France and sleeping.

By the time summer break rolled around, the nursery was filled with gifts from drivers and teams. Charles was begging the both of you to either name one of your babies after him or name him godfather. He was pleased to learn he was going to be named godfather regardless. A few days into break, your babies decided it was time to meet the world.

"Pierre, car, now," you look at your husband from the passenger seat.

"Charles! I am panicking! Yes, I am getting in the car. Fine you, can talk to y/n while I drive," Pierre says, frazzled, as he drives away from your home, the back seat filled with what you might need, two car seats already installed.

"Hello Charles," you say into the phone, quite amused despite the contractions becoming more frequent.

"Hi y/n, are you ready to meet the two rascals who have been torturing you for months? You will get to be a mom to three babies, god knows Pierre needs his mom right now," Charles laughs, helping to distract you as Pierre flies down roads.

"Mhmm, I'm excited to know the genders if anything. Are you still coming out later this week?" You ask him, the conversation oddly calm.

"I'm getting my plane ready now, I have to be there to meet my godchildren," Charles informs you and you feel another contraction coming on.

"Great, I'll be sure to hold them in for you. I gotta go, see you soon," you laugh through the pain, quickly hanging up. Pierre cut off an impossible amount of time, granted you didn't live too far from the hospital. Pierre is more stressed than you are, it's cute.

After 6 hours of labor, you and Pierre have greeted the most beautiful babies, at least in your eyes. The love of your life has now expanded to include the little bundles.

"Congratulations," Charles says, the first to arrive since you and Pierre didn't live too close to your families.

"Meet your godchildren, Anthoine Romeo and Genevieve Charlie," you smile tiredly at Pierre, who helped you through your labor, even as you screamed some very nasty things at him.

"They are perfect," Charles looks at you, a little teary as he holds Genevieve, "thank you," he says softly.

"We named them after the two people who have always stood beside us," you say, Pierre fascinated by his son. You really were the luckiest woman alive.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly imagines #charles leclerc

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konigenblobbity · 10 months

Note

hii it’s anon that asked about the “what’s your problem” story , i was wondering what your favorite characters from cod were (sorry if you’ve answered this before) and what your head canons for them would be? and how’s your master list going just curious, well i hope you had a great day whenever you read this :3

Headcannons: 141 + König

18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW, comfort, sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, praise, degradation, possessive traits, overstimulation, just a variety of NSFW, links to straight p0rn

A/n: I don’t really have a favorite! Although I do love writing for Ghost. But I will say, I love König cause his design is so sick and he’s also Austrian which is <3. Hope you’re having a great day / night when you read this! ALSO! I think the links only work if you open the Twitter app. Pls lmk if you know how to make it work, cause idk what’s going wrong.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley -

SFW

Simon is a sucker for physical touch, resting a hand on the small of your back whenever you walk together, tracing the knuckles of your fingers during meetings, simply brushing his ankle against yours under a table

Acts of service are his thing. He’d prepare your coffee in the morning, you’d find your knives and guns polished to perfection if you had an important upcoming mission, be always had an eye on if you were running out of anything - like shampoo or water - and it’d be replaced before it ever goes empty.

Any second he spends with you is never a second wasted. Just being in your presence makes him happy, you two don’t even have to be talking to each other! He just loves having you near him, being able to look over and see your face whenever he wishes…

He could stare at you for hours, trying to memorize every feature of your face to perfection.

Movies and cuddles, always. He won’t even watch the movie! He’ll just be staring at you, so peaceful in his arms. If it happens to be a horror he loves to watch how you jump slightly, gripping onto his arm tightly and hiding behind it. He loved how you felt safe when he held you, how you looked to him for protection.

NSFW

Two words. ROUGH INTIMACY. Ghost can’t help but rail into you till your voice snaps. But he’ll always make his adoration for you clear. Kissing every inch of skin, praising you, mumbling how good you felt, what a good girl you were being, all the while slamming into your cervix till your brain melts

We all know he’s BIG. And when you first see him, he can see the shock and nervousness on your face. You had no idea how he’d fit inside you. First time he’d be sweet and reassuring, but from then on, if you brought up his size, he’d just say “Don’t worry… I’ll make it fit”

Loves to hear you. Takes note of every small motion that causes you to moan out or whimper.

Wants you to sit on his face. He craves it. Wants your thighs to suffocate him slowly as he eats you out so expertly.

He’s merciless… barely giving you recovery time between when he eats you out, and when he slides deep inside you.

This man just LOVES to overstimulate you. The broken moans and cries that leave your lips had him hungry for more. Because no matter how many times you came, or how much you begged for a moment to relax, he knew you can take it. And you did. “Awww I know… f-fuck I know. Is it too much?” he’d tease you, voice soft and gentle before somehow speeding up his pace, chuckling as your eyes well up from the overwhelming pleasure “I know you can take it. Be a good cocksleeve and take it”

Due to his more animalistic side that wants to fuck you senseless… you two have a safe word. That if it ever becomes painful or too much you promised you’d say it. And if you couldn’t say it, all you had to do was wrap a hand around his throat, he’d stop immediately and make sure you’re alright. “Shit…” he’d slip out of you gently, beginning to rub your waist softly “it’s alright… there you go. Deep breathes” if you were tied up in any way, he took them off. He’d kiss at any red marks his fingers left behind “I know darling… it was overwhelming. You’re okay now” and he’d just caress you and take care of you for as long as it took.

Every chance he gets he finishes inside of you. Watching how the mixture of his and your cum slide out of your fluttering cunt. It makes him groan each time.

Then taking a finger and picking it up before stuffing it back inside of you. “You better now waste a drop… want you to feel me dripping out of you for days”

Certain nights he’ll even go so far as to keep his dick inside of you. Using it as a plug so his cum stays inside you. He’d groan as you continue to flutter around him. But as his dick softens inside you, he falls in love with how the warmth of your pussy surrounds his sensitive cock. Finding a deep love for cockwarming for multiple reasons.

Bonus —> This is exactly him! The change of pace to take moments just to hold and kiss you, before going back to manhandling you, hands finding their way to grip at your hips to hold you in place for him. Ugh and the slight choke hold!

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish -

SFW

This man is so flirtatious, loving to get you to blush through his words. “I swear you’re an Angel…” smiling at you as if you’re his whole world “i could just look at you for hours”

Soap just adores hearing your laugh. This often means he’ll surprise you by suddenly tickling your sides. Of course you try to escape but you don’t stand a chance, his grip on you tight and unwavering.

Play wrestling is a must for this man. He loves when you get all cocky, threatening to pin him down or tackle him. He likes to goad you, get under your skin till you finally lunge at him. Of course he’ll let you have your fun every once in a while but it always ends the same. Him winning and pinning you down. “You know you don’t stand a chance lass… why even try?” He loves to tease. Using the opportunity to kiss you all over.

Always finds time for you! No matter how busy he is, he will make time for you.

Loves using pick up lines on you, even though you’re already dating. Adores when you throw your own pick up line his way, always making his laugh with how cheesy they are.

NSFW

Such a horny man. Legit grinds against you whenever he can, even if you’re talking with other soldiers in the common area. He just can’t get enough of you.

Loves when you give him head… the sight of your lips sloppily sucking him off, it was enough to have him trembling. His hands would caress your head before grabbing at your hair. Encouraging you not to stop. “F-fuck you’re so good… so good to me~” praising breathlessly. “So gorgeous gagging on my cock like that” the way saliva connects your lips to his cock was probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen “Lips slick with spit… Can I fuck your throat numb? Please Angel” he checks in consistently, wanting your consent with everything. He enjoys gripping your hair and holding your head in place as he feverishly shoves his cock down your throat.

He is not shy to kiss you after you suck him off, wanting to reward you when you’re good for him “Did such a good job gorgeous… let me reward you like you deserve”

His hands loved to explore your body, running over your body and groping at any skin he could reach.

Any position where he can see your face? His favorite. He wants to see how your eyes roll back, how your mouth falls agape, how spit collects at the corner of your mouth. “Feels good doesn’t it? God lass, you look so drunk on my cock… all for me”

Just praise. He cannot shut up when it comes to you. “Such an Angel. Such a beautiful beautiful lass” whether you’re on your knees, beneath him, riding him, he needs to make sure you know how gorgeous you are. “I wanna make you melt~ All for me. Wanna make you feel so so good”

Never satisfied with you only cumming once. He will always make sure he gets at least 2 out of you. On days where you both have the time… he won’t stop until you beg him to. “Give me one more yeah? One more orgasm before you pass out…” “Can you do that for me?”

Bonus —> This just screams soap to me. He craves this intimacy, that closeness to just feel and worship you in his arms. The shower being a perfect place to be alone together, just melting under the feel of your lips

Second Bonus —> with your permission of course, he would totally make a video like this. Watching it back when he’s alone, thrusting into his fist imagining it was your pussy. Closing his eyes as he listens to the sound of your moans from his phone. Sometimes he’ll just watch it… not even to get off. Just smirking at the sight of you so weak for him, completely at his mercy.

König -

SFW

This big bear just wants to hold you. Cuddling you against his big chest while his hand completely envelops your palm. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you as close as he can.

Protective as hell. You are his top priority… if he gets the idea that someone is making you uncomfortable in any way, he’s stepping in and willing to resort to violence for you “Back off… or you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor”

He is a sucker for your touch and kisses. When you’d pepper them on his face through his sniper hood he just melts. Your touch relaxing his muscles effortlessly, specifically going insane when they sit at his waist - which is slutty as hell! - thumbs resting on the V taper of his torso.

Definitely sprays his pillow and bed with your perfume. He loves the scent of you and wants to have the illusion that you’re in his bed even when you’re not.

König will speak in German to you randomly, whether it’s nicknames or whole sentences. Loving how you don’t know what he’s saying but trust him enough to know it’s only ever something sweet. “Du bist das Licht meines Lebens“ or „Mein süße Engel“ (t- You are the light of my life, my sweet Angel)

NSFW

Size kink. Simple as that. Can’t help but feel pride every time your cunt manages to take all of him inside you. Praising you. “Such an obedient little pussy… taking all of me so easily without any struggle. Fuck it’s like you’re molded to fit me”

Loves missionary simply because he can see the way his dick bulges through the skin of your lower stomach. He’ll place a hand there, softly pressing down against it which had you seeing stars

He. Is. A. Switch. Fight me. Sometimes this big bear of a man needs to be taken care of. Loving to fall apart under your mouth or pussy, abiding by your rules and letting you lead. Whimpers and whines spilling from his lips while he pleaded for more. “P-please, mein gott Schatz. Please go faster, f-feels so good” (t- my god sweetheart)

Making out with you gets him so hard so fast. Hands exploring each other while your lips mold against each other. His tongue prodding at your mouth softly until you let him in. The feeling of your tongue sliding against his while your mouth swallowed every noise he made, that was just so hot to him.

Aftercare is very important to him. With his size and his roughness he always makes sure to soothe your sore muscles after a rough fuck. He’ll always take the time to massage your thighs and shoulders to help ease your twitching. He’ll softly kiss over every inch of your skin, praising you for being so good, and then holding you into the night, holding you close. “You did so good Schatz… my best girl. Let me help ease you to sleep”

Bonus —> SIZE. KINK! He’d just watch how his cock slides down your throat, protruding through your skin. He’d fuck your throat nice and slow just to watch your skin bulge with the head of his cock. Being ever so gentle as he slides himself in and out of your throat

Second Bonus —> He loves having you on his lap. His large frame holding you as you ride down onto his cock. Watching you bounce up and down and urging you on with his hands gripping your hips.

Captain John Price -

SFW

Price was not big into PDA, preferring to save his physical touch for when the two of you are alone. Instead he shows his affection through praise and compliments. Often following missions or in the mornings. “I’m proud of you, you did a great job in todays mission” , “Morning soldier, good to see you nice and cheery”

Trusts you ENDLESSLY but is always afraid that you’ll get hurt. The idea enough to crush him.

If you do come back from a mission injured, he’ll demand to be in the room with the medic, pushing them aside to take care of the more minor injuries - obviously not taking on more than he can handle, they have a skilled medic for a reason. But he feels better to be there and help in some way.

If you’re sore in any way, he is immediately ready to alleviate your pain. “You alright darling?” You always try to ease his mind and hide your soreness but Price knows. Even the small winces of your body had his attention on you. “Y-yeah just a bit sore in my shoulder. Its bearable though” he was already making his way behind you - whether in the common area, bedroom, office, he’s on his way - and begins to massage at your muscles. “Tell me if it hurts too much” the second he starts there’s no getting rid of him, no matter how many times you say it’s alright, if you’re still wincing or clenching your teeth, he’s not moving. “Let me take care you darling”

If you’re not a soldier, when he’s gone you get tons of letters and gifts, he’d even send you little wooden carvings of hearts he’d make when he had time. Always saying that he misses you dearly and cannot wait to see you again

NSFW

His endurance would surprise you… able to hold back just to watch you fall apart on his cock over and over till he’s satisfied.

Nothing turns him on like pleasuring you. He could stay tucked between your thighs for hours if you let him. His tongue memorizing every part of your sensitive pussy just to get you to fall apart faster each time. “Mmm, you taste so good… she’s absolutely drenched”

He has AND WILL CONTINUE TO place you up on his shoulders so your hands touch the ceiling while he eats you out feverishly

Big on foreplay. Loves to finger fuck you before he does anything else, preparing you even when he knows you don’t need it. You’d beg him to stop teasing but he couldn’t help himself. Wanting to get you writhing on his bed before he even fucks you. “Patience darling… it’ll feel so much better I promise”

When you give him blowjobs he goes haywire, the feeling just indescribable. However the doesn’t like to grab at your head and throat fuck you. Rather shirting to a 69 position to please you at the same time. Often eating you out so goddamn good you have to pull your lips off his cock, not that’s he’s complaining.

Not one for teasing, he gives you what you when you ask for it nicely. Loves to hear you beg on your volition without having to withhold your orgasm from you to do it.

Price wants you to hear him… he wants you to know how good you make him feel.

Bonus —> Enough said. He wants you WRITHING. Holding you in place as he brings you to orgasm over and over.

Second Bonus —> SO HIM ITS INSANE! Late night post mission fucking. Wants you nice and close, head buried in your neck as he groans and murmurs to you. He would be so vocal it’d surprise you at first, moaning directly into your ear.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick -

SFW

Always tries to be a real gentleman. Setting up actually cutesy dates for the two of you. Yet he doesn’t want you to mention it too much. He doesn’t need the praise for being a good partner, it comes naturally.

Showers you in compliments, even if it’s a little thing. “Your hair looks beautiful today” “I always thought that shirt looked good on you” often pulling you close after he butters you up with his kind words “Your skin is practically glowing… my own goddess”

Good morning and good night texts… they don’t even have to be long, he just loves sending you a message so you wake up or go to bed thinking of him. Cause he sure as hell thinks of you.

He sticks by your side whenever he gets the chance. Always wanting to be the one to spar with you in training, the one you eat breakfast and dinner with, the one you sit next to in the common area. Practically nothing can drag him away from you.

A big advocate for you stealing his clothes. Loves to see you in his hoodies around the base, a smirk growing on his lips when he spots you. He loves as well when you sleep in his shirts, having once told him that you like how it smells like him.

NSFW

Gaz isn’t into taking videos and photos of you when you’re intimate. However… his one expectation is a set of Polaroids you gave him of you in lingerie, each photo with one less piece of clothing until the final one was a breathtaking nude photo of you. He prefers to keep them in his wallet, physical evidence that you’re his.

Gaz doesn’t shut up. Whether he’s praising, teasing, or slightly degrading you, he doesn’t stop talking. He loves the effect his words have on you. “Yeah? You’re close aren’t you? I can feel how you clench around me… trying to pull me in deeper, such a good fucking pussy. Just for me” occasionally leaning down and whispering directly into your ear “Sound so fucking beautiful… screaming out for me like a cock hungry whore”

He’ll use any chance he can get to smack your ass. The moment you lean over a counter, or bend over to grab something, you feel his hand collide with your ass. When you’re around other soldiers he simply gives your rear a little pinch or grope. Making sure it’s subtle enough no one even noticed.

Loves to lead but not be dominant. He enjoys choosing the position and how he wants to hold you, or touch you. He doesn’t like to manhandle you though, never.

However he will let you lead whenever you want. He’ll be especially supportive if you want to ride him, it being one of his favorite positions. His hands will hold your waist as you bounce on his cock. His eyes glued to the way your tits bounce in unison, either moving his hands up to grope them or leaning forward to lick and bite at them. “Looks so fucking sexy… let me help you darling.” His hands will lift your hips up and down harsher, even meeting your hips halfway by thrusting up into you. It’s not long before he takes control, fucking up into you - see second bonus ;)

He is a BIG tit guy. They don’t need even need to be big, he just loves playing with, licking, and kissing at the skin of your breasts before moving to toy with your nipples. Moaning against them knowing you’ll feel the vibration through your whole body.

Loves to cum on your tits and face. Wants to see it decorate your skin, or your clothes ;)

Afterwards will pick some of it up with his fingers, sticking them in your mouth “Suck them clean for me…” when you oblige hell immediately kiss you.

He would do the same after he finger fucks you. Licking his fingers clean right in front of your face, winking at you after he’s done.

Bonus —> He loves how you sound, but is more than happy to gag you with a rag or his fingers to keep you quiet. This just feels very Gaz… the roughness and lust. Yet he’d definitely make sure you’re in the mood for that kind of sex.

Second Bonus —> Loves how you ride him, wanting to lead your movements. When your thighs falter and ache he’ll soon have your wrists or even your hair in his hand as he fucks up into you. Encouraging you to meet his thrusts by smacking at your ass.

#konigenblobbity #cod modern warfare #modern warfare fanfiction #fanfic #ghost x reader #konig x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick #simon ghost riley #captain price #cod mw headcannons #johhny soap mactavish #soap cod #cod headcanons #könig headcanons #ghost headcanons #soap headcanons #price headcanons #gaz headcanons

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