#and fumbling with her clipboard

[fuckyeahkarlach]

Josephine Montilyet would have a crush on Karlach.

#I can just see the silly little Antivan now #blushing #and fumbling with her clipboard #and going out of her way to organize accommodations to make Karlach comfortable #and COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS to the possibility Karlach might return her interest #meanwhile #Karlach feels like a bull in a china shop around this pretty little Antivan #but godsdammit Skyhold is a relief #when she gets too hot she goes out and sits in the snow #oh no #I dont have time to write this #no stop! #why is a fully formed fic arc starting to appear in my mind?!?! #ahhhhhh! #karlach cliffgate #josephine montilyet #Karlach x Josephine Montilyet #kitty speaks

[just-aake]

Holiday Teasings

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A festive new addition to Natasha’s usual outfit surprises all of those around her.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 1446

It was the holiday season, but that doesn’t mean work stops at the SHIELD headquarters. Even now, agents continue to tirelessly carry out their tasks and missions, the hallways bustling with conversation and hurried steps.

All of them trained to be efficient and timely with their duties. However, even the most experienced agents find themselves falling silent and stopping in shock at the sight that passes by them.

Normally, the presence of Black Widow would cause anyone to stare in awe, but today, the reason for such a pause is different. 

Only those close to her or brave enough would ever dare to ask or comment about it though, as proven by Agent Hill when Natasha arrives at the door of today’s meeting room. 

“Wow,” Maria exclaims, blinking in surprise as she examines the widow’s outfit. “What in the world are you wearing?”

“It’s just a sweater, Hill. Let’s not make a big deal about it,” Natasha says pointedly, crossing her arms, which only causes the bells at the cuffs of the sleeve to jingle in response.

Maria quickly raises her clipboard to cover her mouth, hiding her smile as she hums and nods in acknowledgment.

Natasha’s bright red sweater stands out amidst the typical dark SHIELD uniforms, easily capturing the curiosity of onlookers around her.

Had it been just a plain-colored sweater, maybe she wouldn’t attract as much attention.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. 

The design on the front depicts the classic suit of this holiday, complete with cotton fluff, a belt buckle, and jingling bells.

The two enter the meeting room together, and Maria continues her questioning.

“How long do you have to wear that?”

“Midnight,” Natasha responds as she takes her usual seat at the large conference table.

Steve comes in the door soon after, and after a brief pause of surprise, he gives his usual nod in greeting to the two and takes his seat beside her.

Natasha raises an amused brow at him.

“No comments?”

He shakes his head firmly.

“Nope, I know better.”

Immediately after his words, a figure comes rushing through the door. 

“Oh my god, it’s true!” Tony exclaims gleefully. He shakes Bruce’s shoulders excitedly when the scientist enters the room.

“Quick, where is a matching hat to complete the outfit?”

Bruce brushes off his hand and distances himself from Tony when he sees the warning glare the Widow sends their way.

“Must have left it back at the lab,” Bruce responds nervously with a shrug before going to his seat.

Like Steve, besides a brief pause and a curious tilt of her head, Wanda does not comment on her attire when she enters.

After a moment, Sam strolls into the room, giving Natasha a grave look. 

“You may need to check on your ride, Nat.”

Natasha straightens in her chair at his words, her brows pinching in confusion about who would ever mess with her motorcycle.

“What do you mean?” 

Sam gestures over his shoulders, nodding seriously.

“Yeah, I just flew in from the roof, and I didn’t see your reindeers or sleigh anywhere.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and slumps back in her chair as Sam laughs at her reaction, patting her shoulder in jest before taking his seat.

Tony leans forward across the table excitedly.

“Oh, I have a question, and be honest with me here, Romanoff.” He pauses for a dramatic effect before saying teasingly. 

“Am I on the naughty list?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and sighs in disgust, shooting him a deadpan glare.

Before she can respond, Natasha catches something at the corner of her eyes, and her glare swiftly turns to the Sokovian Avenger across the table, who fumbles with her phone in hand at the sudden attention.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Wanda gives her a sheepish smile, waving her phone lightly. 

“I told Clint, and he asked if I could send a picture of you since he can't be here to see it.”

At her apologetic expression, Natasha sighs and waves her hand in resignation, giving Wanda permission.

Tony laughs and claps his hand in excitement at the sound her action makes, remarking, “Hey, can you shake your hands again? The bells really bring out the holiday spirit in here.”

Natasha is about to tell Tony where he can shove his holiday spirit when a stack of folders thrown against the table interrupts her, catching everyone’s attention. 

Fury stands at the end of the table with a reprimanding expression.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s get this meeting started. No more jokes about Romanoff’s outfit.”

“Thanks, Fury,” Natasha says.

Without a beat of hesitation, he replies in his serious tone.

“Anytime, Santa.”

The whole room erupts into laughter, and the meeting ends up having to start much later after that comment.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your phone chimes, signaling the end of your timer, and you go to the oven to check on your cookies.

Removing the tray of freshly baked cookies from the oven, you place it carefully on the table to cool off. Taking the baking gloves off your hand, you bend slightly to examine the baked treats to make sure that they are perfect.

As you straighten up, your back bumps into another body as familiar hands wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

“Mmm…those smell lovely,” Natasha compliments next to your ear.

You smile and lean into Natasha’s embrace, turning your head to greet her with a soft kiss on her cheek.

Natasha returns your affection, pressing a gentle kiss against your shoulder, before mumbling.

“It’s not even midnight, yet you’re already making my prize, makes me think you didn’t even plan on winning.”

You laugh lightly at her words before admitting.

“A deal’s a deal. Besides, I wanted to make some extra ones for you to bring in tomorrow too.”

Your hands fall atop hers, clasped around your front, as you play with the bells at the cuffs. The sound rings joyfully in your shared space.

“The others didn’t tease you too badly, did they?”

Natasha shrugs nonchalantly before responding.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“That’s good,” you reply, nodding your head.

As you get lost in her warmth, Natasha moves to take a cookie from the tray, but you notice and quickly slap her hand away lightly in a warning. 

“No, they’re still hot,” you chastise her.

Natasha chuckles at you before turning you around in her arms and leaning in closer, her voice lowering to a tempting tone. 

“Can I get my other prize while I wait then?”

With an amused smile, you cup her face and pull her in for a kiss. 

Natasha’s arm tightens around you, pulling you closer in response and deepening the kiss.

After a moment, you pull back, your smile widening when Natasha tries to follow before stopping with a pout when you hold her face firmly in place to look into her eyes.

“By the way, Clint showed Laura and the kids a picture of you in the sweater, and they want you to wear it at their Christmas party this weekend,” you tell her.

“Will I get another reward if I wear this again?” Natasha says jokingly. She doesn’t need any more persuasion to wear the sweater again if it’s for the kids.

You tap your lips as if in fake contemplation before giving her a teasing smirk.

“Well, I did get you something that I think you will enjoy seeing me wear,” you say, leaning in close to her. 

Natasha’s eyes glint in excitement before whispering against your lips.

“Yeah?”

Before she can bring you into another kiss, you pull away swiftly, turning around to check on the cookies.

“Guess we have to wait until after the party to see if you will get your prize,” you tease over your shoulder.

Natasha lets out an amused huff, shaking her head fondly at you, before sneaking a cookie from one of the piles that you’re making.

“Natasha!” You chastise with a small laugh.

She takes a purposeful bite of the cookie, wearing a victorious grin.

You roll your eyes fondly at her, then turn your attention to the piles of cookies in front of you. 

Retrieving your already prepared festive goodie bags, each labeled with the names of your Avenger friends, you begin to separate and place them alongside the corresponding piles you’ve created. 

When you finish, you clap your hands determinedly before declaring, “Alright, for each teasing comment they made to you today, they lose a cookie.”

Natasha’s grin widens in realization, and she gives you a quick kiss on your cheek, returning to her previous position of hugging you from behind before listing out the guilty parties.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading, hope you all have Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

[yuri-is-online]

Out of the Bag (Jamil, Ace, and Idia x Yuu)

"Oh can I help you? You seem to be lost." You attempt to cheerfully ask the vaguely familiar looking person in front of you. As if he is deliberately trying to rub salt in your wounds, Crowley ignored your request to leave campus for NRC parents day and is instead making you and Grim run errands. The person in front of you, blissfully ignorant to your inner turmoil perks up at your attention.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you the magicless prefect?" You and Grim exchange a confused glance. "You've got to be right?" They're practically glowing with how happy they are to see you. " Oh I'm sorry, I've just heard so much about you!" Wait, what?

notes: (so uhhhh Jamil and Ace were supposed to be a part of the original post but I cut them out because I had to go to bed but forgot to remove the tags, sorry </3) they/them pronouns used for Yuu, sibling snark (Jamil and Ace) vs light angst (the Shroud parents), light reference to certain events in Ch. 6, but nothing specific. If you liked this please check out the first version on my masterlist.

Jamil

"Oh yeah, you're Najma, right?" The younger girl looks pleasantly surprised you have remembered her from your visit to the Scalding Sands.

"Well that makes this a lot easier, do you know where Jamil is?" You internally cheer at how polite she is, some of the other families you have been dealing with today have really been testing your patience. "I've been looking everywhere for him, but couldn't seem to find a good opportunity to sneak up on him." Or maybe not, that doesn't sound like she hasn't seen him at all, why is she asking you?

"According to my schedule he's probably in the gym for the club activities program." You confirm with your clipboard and Najma sighs.

"Lame, he's gonna be all sweaty and gross." She checks her phone as you sneak a glance at Grim trying to figure out how much longer you have before you need to find something shiny to distract him. "Actually maybe I can just ask you." You turn your attention back to Najma who seems to be tapping her cheek with her phone and sizing you up. "Is there anywhere to get snacks on campus?"

"Now you're talkin!" Cheers Grim, bringing a really bright smile to Najma's face and a tentative one to yours. "Mr. S's Mystery Shop's got all the tuna you can ask for!"

"And other things to." You helpfully add and Najma happily begins to follow.

"So what do you like to do?" she asks almost ten seconds into your walk. "Like what fun stuff is there to do around campus?"

"Shouldn't you be asking your brother?" You ask, thankful Grim is too caught up in his tuna thoughts to make any snarky comments.

"About you?" Najma laughs and you feel a bit silly. "Nah he hates being honest about things like that."

"Well I don't have much free time..." but you manage to list off some things that you like as Najma nods, still tapping her phone on her chin for some reason.

"What about food?" she stops fiddling with her phone and just goes straight to texting on it as the Mystery Shop comes into view. "I know Jamil's food looks boring but it tastes super good."

"It sure does." Grim says, well more like whines. "He only ever gives it to Yuu and gets mad when I eat it though."

"That's because he asked for my opinion, not yours." It's a petty thing to say, but hey Jamil's a good cook. Najma seems to agree, giggling before you both jump ten feet backwards as a strangely shaped blur nearly knocks you over.

"NAJMA!" Jamil is indeed, sweaty and gross looking, his basketball jersey is practically drenched through, almost like he ran the entire way to here from the gymnasium. He's doubled over, hands on his knees as you fumble around looking for the water bottle Crewel made you bring with you earlier which he gratefully takes.

"Oh hey what are you doing here Jamil?" You don't know Najma super well, but she almost sounds disappointed to see her brother. "Prefect said you were at the gym."

"Don't start." Jamil passes you back the empty water bottle, hesitating just a bit before he lets you take it. "She didn't do anything weird, right? Hasn't said anything strange?" You blink in confusion.

"No? She's just been asking a bunch of questions about stuff. Jamil relaxes, letting you take the bottle with a genuine smile-

And gets cut off by a shutter sound effect making you both turn towards Najma, who doesn't bother looking up from her phone camera.

"Whoops thought I turned that off."

Ace

"Well, well, well, just what should I do with you?"  The ginger stranger is stroking his chin with an all too familiar look that puts you on edge, not because you think he is going to try anything illegal (yet) but because you can practically see the collar on this guy already.  There really is no beating around the bush about who this guy is, even if you really wished you had some plausible deniability.   "I could tell you about that time I told him if he kissed a frog it would turn into royalty and he actually did it-"  Too much information he technically just did.  "Or what about that time he only wanted to eat carrots so I freaked him out by saying he was turning into one because his hair was orange-"  So is yours big brother Trappola!  And where the hell is Grim he is supposed to be suffering through this with you.  "Nah those are too boring- oh I got it!"  Before you can break out in a dash for the mirror chamber, big brother Trappola claps an unintentionally (you hope) firm hand on your shoulder.  "Listen to this- wait I didn't introduce myself I-"

"Ace's brother."  He seems genuinely taken aback.  "He talks about you all the time." 

"Oh does he?"  Maybe you shouldn't have mentioned that, little Trappola's ego was insufferable already, older Trappola's has got to be worse right.  It's so obvious you can't even bring yourself to put the question mark on it.

"Funny you mention that, from my end it seems like all he ever talks about is Yuu."  He makes a big show of looking you over.  "Always talking about what a pain it is to look after you, but he never does stop."  He maneuvers himself to look directly into your eyes.  “You must be pretty special then, right?”

“Didn’t you used to go here?”  You ask, crossing your arms and fixing your best “not today Trappola” look onto your face.

“Sure did!  Also got put into Heartslabyul, must run in the family, we’re all a bit mad.”  Older Trappola breaks eye contact for just a second, something dancing on the tip of his tongue you have no desire to entertain at all.  You just want to ditch this overgrown root veg on his brother and then take a nap.

“So then, just to be clear, you don’t need me to show you around.”  You fumble around your clipboard looking for a map anyway.

“Oh no I absolutely need you to do that.”  You like it when Ace plays dumb better, at least it’s cute.  “Would be a really bad thing if you just left me all alone and I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to.”  He stands up straight, looking off into the distance behind you with a dramatic sigh.  “Somewhere like Ramshackle Dorm maybe?  I hear that’s one of Ace’s-”

 A surprisingly strong pair of arms wraps you into an embrace from behind.

“Back off.” snaps Ace, a lot harsher than either of you have heard before “This one’s mine.”

Idia

"Dear! Dear! Come look it's the prefect!" A very excited very pink woman in a sundress and comically oversized sunglasses beckons to a very tall, very out place looking man who is... also wearing comically oversized sunglasses.

"The who?" he sheepishly walks over to his wife and gives you a little wave, clearly out of place but trying his best.

"The prefect! Ortho and Idia's friend." The realization seems to hit both you and Mr. Shroud at the same time, causing you both to retreat just a bit. You because you feel desperately dumb for not noticing the flaming hair and him because-

Well you hope it's because of the whole house thing but who knows.

"Oh sorry. Um we're Mr. and Mrs. Shroud but you probably already guessed that it's really nice to meet you." You awkwardly shake hands while Grim hides behind your legs.

"Do you have any plans for today?" Asks Mrs. Shroud. "I'd hate to interrupt things too much."

"Oh no that's not really an issue for me." You look down at Grim for half a second before adding. "For us."

"I'm sorry to hear that." whispers Mr. Shroud, gently taking his wife's hand and you stand around in silence for a little bit, trying to figure out how to walk the conversation from the ledge it's found itself on.

"Um if there isn't anything you need help with-"

"Idia speaks really highly of you." Mrs. Shroud says gently, and you have to keep yourself from fainting from shock. Idia speaking highly of- no forget that. Idia talks to his parents? And you were the conversation topic? If she had said it was Ortho that would make sense but Idia? "I know he can be a bit blunt, but he treasures your friendship. And as his mother, I am very grateful he has someone as kind as you in his life."

"We both are." whispers Mr. Shroud. "If you need help while you are here please don't hesitate to ask us." And with that they leave you and Grim

~~~

[Fullmetal] hey ortho said u ran into our parents irl

[Fullmetal] srry that had to be awkward

[yuu] it's cool

[yuu] I mean they spooked Grim but they were nice lol

[Fullmetal] UNACCEPTABLE

[Fullmetal] ...so do you think that he'd be cool to come over so I can like

[Fullmetal] apologize

[Fullmetal] u know for the stress

[yuu] and not for talking about me behind my back (￣ε￣)

[read at 6:57 pm]

[Fullmetal is typing... ... ...] [... ... ...] [... ... ...]

"I don't need to apologize if I said nice things... right?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #ace trappola x reader #idia shroud x reader #Najma texting Jamil within 10 seconds of seeing the prefect: *get over here or i am stealing ur bitch* #also not me googling “funniest lies to tell kids” to write ace's brother and then not using any of them #also idia enjoyers... idk if i did your boy well i am so sorry

[stylescine]

no because i have had this thought since this years met and i NEED to tell someone

imagine like influencer!reader who is doing interviews at the met (kinda like emma chamberlain) and she’s like a very known fan of harry (and was very open ab having a crush on harry online because she was so sure this man would never see it) and she interviews him and is lowk nervous because….. he’s harry styles and maybe he somehow (definitely) KNOWS. she has a massive crush on him and just

basically that!!! so if you could could you write something w that? i’ve had the idea for months it was driving me crazy

lingering

Summary: Everyone knows Y/N has a crush on Harry. But she didn't expect him to know about it too. She could have never imagined things to unfold this way...

Warnings: Y/N has a very obvious crush on harry, fangirling ig???, Harry is a tease, suggestive language, anxious Y/N, oh Harry is also a huge flirt, kind of a fast pace way to a one night stand (no graphic description)

Words: 2.3k

A/N: Gosh, I love that idea!! Influencer!Y/N x Harry is one of my favourite dynamics ever. This turned out way longer than planned but I hope you still have fun with it!

Masterlist | Request

The Met Gala was the event of the year. For everyone. Not only for her. But for her it meant so much more. It was her first opportunity to make the jump from being a simple Influencer to being a real presence in the world of fame and celebrities. Of course, she wasn't just seeking fame and attention, but more possibilities. Open up new ways of life for herself and–

There was a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around in an instant, looking at a familiar PR manager she had talked to a few weeks ahead of the gala.

"I'm so glad you could make it. We were really blown away by the podcast you did and we're excited to see how the interviews on the red carpet will turn out," the blonde woman said, giving her a soft smile. She was wearing a tight black dress, a clipboard in hand, but the blush on her cheeks, combined with the small beads of sweat on her forehead, were the only things telling of today's pressure on her.

Y/N could understand. She had paced up and down in her hotel room earlier today, changing her outfit three times and making sure every little strand of her hair would be in place perfectly. Today was not for imperfections. Today was a step into the future – hopefully.

"I need to thank you for inviting me. This opportunity is really one of a kind and–"

"I'm so sorry, dear," the manager interrupted her as she fumbled around in her small Valentino bag, following the ringing of her phone. "No problem," Y/N replied, giving her a reluctant smile.

She could hear the camera shutters go off in the distance, probably due to the arrival of the first guests. Her palms were growing sweaty. She was getting closer to her "big" moments. Soon, she would be talking to all these famous people, ones she had always looked up to, others she had admired for years.

"It's time to go," the manager said quickly, pushing Y/N into the direction of the carpet. The camera man followed close behind, probably being on her tail the entire day. A microphone was pushed into her hand as well as she stepped out onto the long red carpet, hundreds of photographers waiting on the sides. Their lenses were focused on the few celebrities already on the carpet.

Ryan Reynolds was one of them which made her feel giddy inside already.

But the real surprise came around the corner just a moment later. Flashing lights were going off left and right as he appeared in his lace outfit. It was way more see-through than she could have handled in any other situation.

Harry Styles looked stunning.

Her grip around the microphone became tighter as she watched him pose in front of the cameras, earring dangling on his sides, his hair styled perfectly.

A part of her wanted to rush over immediately. Ask him a million questions and record all of it. Because when would she ever be face to face with the Harry Styles again?

Another part of her, a much stronger one, felt the urge to run backstage and escape this moment. She was way too afraid to embarrass herself in front of her biggest celebrity crush. The worst thing was – everyone knew she had this huge crush on Harry for years. She was quite open when it came to talking with her community about people she thought of as attractive or had a crush on. But she was also usually a thousand miles away from said crushes. It had always been a quiet admiring through her phone screen and giggles exchanged with friends over dinner.

Harry wouldn't know this, of course, but it surely didn't make the situation easier for her.

He seemed to be a walking reminder of what people knew about her and testing her own awkwardness in the process.

Before she could turn around and make her escape to probably lock herself in the bathroom as to not embarrass herself in any way – because that would truly be a tragedy in front of him – he was already right in front of her.

There was the charming, witty smile he was giving his fans or interviewers all the time. His eyes looked a deeper shade of green as she was standing right in front of him. Of course, she had looked at a thousand pictures of him over the last few years, but nothing came close to this moment. Maybe it was the heat that was rushing into her face or maybe the overwhelming urge to present herself from her best side – but it was all so different than she had ever imagined.

Y/N took a long breath. She needed to focus. Or else millions of people would see her shocked expression all over Instagram, Twitter and National TV. So she did what she always did best. Entertain.

She turned towards the camera. "Harry Styles just joined us at the Met Gala!" She said excitedly and none of it was part of her acting. Genuine excitement was bubbling uncontrollably in her belly.

Then she turned back around and shook Harry's hand. It was enough to make her legs wobble for a moment, but she was a grown woman and she would stay calm. On the outside at least.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N."

He knew her name? How did he know her name?

Something had to be wrong. She tried hard to stop herself from pinching her arm in an attempt to wake up from this dream or nightmare – whatever you wanna call it.

"You're looking amazing tonight. Do you mind telling us more about what you're wearing?" She smiled and held the microphone into his direction.

Harry gave her an enthusiastic nod and then started to talk all about the designer of his outfit and how it was composed. She listened carefully, bound to his lips as she had been so many times before through the screen.

He continued to keep eye contact with her, continuously making her nervous. It wasn't his fault. She just wasn't prepared to get any attention at all from him.

"Thank you so much. Are you looking forward to tonight's after show party?" She had so many more questions to ask. About his music. Even about his favourite food. But none of that was expected of her right now and she didn't want to lose herself in the admiration she had kept for that man for so long.

"Definitely. Will you be there too?" Harry tilted his head to the side, slightly – a small sign of curiosity.

The thoughts in her head stopped for a moment. Was he really asking her...? He was just making friendly conversation. Nothing more. The slight smirk in his face was nothing. Nothing to think more about.

"Probably. Maybe we can share a drink if we see each other?" She could feel her palms growing more and more sweaty. Was this really not just a dream?

"That will be on me. See you later then." Then he shook her hand again and she prayed that he wouldn't feel how sweaty she had become. How her nerves were running wild inside her body.

"See you later."

Her face felt like it was on fire just a few hours later. She was looking at herself in the mirror, her hair having turned messy and her eyes almost screaming the truth at everyone.

She was nervous and out of her mind.

The music outside was loud. Giggles and laughter echoed over into the bathroom whenever the door opened and a new woman came in. She had seen so many celebrities today that she had lost count. Some of them asked her if she was alright, if she needed help with her make-up, while others just continued on with their day.

When she was alone for a brief moment, she took a deep breath. "It's gonna be alright," she muttered under her breath before she pushed herself off the sink and went back into the crowded room.

The bar was illuminated with purple lights and that's where she was headed. On her way there, she could see him following her in the corner of her vision.

This was really happening.

"What would you like to drink?" His voice was deep, but loud enough for her to make out his words in the packed room. A shiver ran down her spine when she felt his arm brush hers as he made his way to her side.

Harry leaned against the counter casually, his outfit catching her interest immediately. He had changed into a white shirt with a huge red bow at the front.

And he still looked as good as earlier.

"A Martini is just fine," she answered with a smile, pushing herself to sit on the barstool. Harry ordered two drinks for them, before he sat down on the chair next to her.

"You're enjoying yourself?" His voice was laced with curiosity once more, his hand resting on the bar. She had a hard time not taking a closer look at the rings adorning his fingers.

"Oh yeah, a lot. What about you?"

"The evening is about to get a lot better now that I finally found you," he admitted with a low chuckle and accepted the drinks from the bartender when he came back over.

Y/N could feel her head spinning. What did she do to get all this attention from him? Did he know what he was doing to her? Did he know about her crush on him?

"Those are some pretty heavy words if you acknowledge the fact that we have never met before today," she replied, a simple attempt to cool down herself and ground them both in reality again. Or more so herself.

"That's true, but I like to make people happy."

She almost choked on her drink. He had to know something. How would he know that talking to her would make her day?

Knowing that Harry Styles had probably seen a video of her made her feel even more dizzy.

She needed to loosen up. This would be her only chance at spending an evening with her favourite singer and long-time celebrity crush. Another sip from the Martini as a way to gather some liquid courage as quickly as possible.

"Me too. I hope talking to me makes you just as happy as it makes me," she answered with a smile, gathering all the confidence she had.

Harry's lovely smile as he took a sip from his straw was all she needed as confirmation. Maybe she was in for a good time if she came out of her shell and was able to push her anxiety to the back of her mind.

"It definitely does. I've seen your video on 2010's fashion just a few days ago. It was a really good watch."

She couldn't hold back her huge smile. Harry had seen her videos and liked them. That was more than she had ever hoped for. More than she had ever allowed herself to dream about!

“Oh my god, that means a lot to me, I-“

“I’m so glad you didn’t include my too tight skinny jeans in there, actually. That would have been embarrassing,” Harry joked casually, his eyes wandering from her hands to her mouth and then her eyes.

While his eyes were filled with joy and curiosity, his gaze still seemed to keep her trapped under his spell. There was something undeniably charming and menacing about Harry Styles.

She had known it all along, but seeing it in real life, actually being under said spell, was a different experience entirely.

"I believe they still looked decent," she admitted with a small shrug, taking another sip from her drink.

"You certainly don't look decent tonight. That can only be described as stunning."

She was so taken aback by the compliment that she was close to spitting out her drink. Her hand wrapped tighter around her glass and she was thrown into a spiral of nerves and anxiety. Was Harry Styles straight up flirting with her? He definitely was and she had no idea how to act.

"Have you looked at yours-"

"I don't need to look at myself if I can look at something better." His voice had grown deeper and he moved closer ever so slightly.

She was at a loss for words now. Where was this going?

But she quickly decided that she liked it, despite her initial anxiety.

So Y/N took a step closer as well, her fingers brushing past Harry's as she was setting down her drink on the counter.

"You're really a flirt," she whispered, wondering if he had even heard her over the loud music.

But his eyes seemed fixed on her lips, a smirk resting on his own.

"As you have suspected in a video or two..."

It sent a shiver straight down her spine to get more and more confirmation that he had been watching her stuff. He knew exactly what he was doing to her and she wanted to let him do whatever he wanted.

This was what she had been waiting for.

"Maybe you can prove a bit more of my assumptions right?" She replied, fingers brushing over his forearm, under his sleeve and feeling the soft skin. She wanted to see him without the top. She wanted to finally see that naked chest up close, take a look at every little line of his tattoos and count them all.

"Why would we waste any more time then?" He grinned, his right hand coming up to wrap around her wrist slowly. He took her hand away from his skin, intertwining their fingers slowly before he slid off his chair.

They left their drinks unfinished.

But there was more important business to get to.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #love on tour #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #fine line #harry styles headcanons #one direction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #one direction imagine #hs1

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 05

note: this is the final part of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, more crying (sorry), nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, mirror sex, lots and lots of praise, body worship, biting, marking, possessiveness, teasing, channie is very embarrassed, handjob, begging, just a little bit of crying, edging, reader and chan are kinda obsessively in love, unprotected sex, riding, cockwarming

word count: 17.3k

A call of your name from across the lab caught your attention, just as you were preparing to collect your materials and head out for the day. Fumbling with your bag, you zipped it up as quickly as you could and headed towards your lab instructor, already bracing yourself for a conversation that, based on your track record with her, was very likely to be disheartening.

She lowered the stack of papers she’d been holding as you approached her, revealing her smile—a rare sight for anyone who worked under her.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations,” she announced. “Your paper’s approved.”

Your eyes widened as she handed the stack to you, over twenty pages of blood, sweat, and tears. They felt heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of everything that had been sacrificed for their completion. Just a few days ago, the news would’ve had you over the moon. It was all you’d been wanting to hear, all you’d been dreaming of since you’d first begun your studies. Now, it was nothing more than a shallow comfort, a single drop of sunlight that was immediately obscured by the shadows all around it.

“Great,” you said at last, flashing a strained smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

She gave you a pat on the back, and you tried to find solace in the proud shine in her eyes. “You did well,” she praised. “I’m sure you’ll excel in your next rotation, too.”

“My next…rotation?”

Your instructor glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses with a hum. “Since your research has been approved, there’s no need for you to remain at your current station. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with those binary pairs,” she added. “You’ll be doing interferometric imaging for the next few weeks. We’re a few people short.”

Something twisted inside you. “Really?”

She looked up from her notes, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“I…” you trailed off. There was nothing you could tell her that would be meaningful enough for her to let you stay—nothing that wouldn’t get you laughed at or even potentially dismissed from the lab for the rest of the semester. How on earth were you meant to explain that a pair of spectroscopic stars had come to mean so much to you? How on earth were you meant to explain what they signified in your mind?

“No, nothing,” you said weakly. “I’ll transfer my things tomorrow. Thank you.”

Your instructor nodded, and that was that. In the blink of an eye, you’d lost the final piece of what you’d had left of Chan.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, bowing quickly to her and turning to leave. Your pace quickened as you exited the lab, a wave of inexplicable emotions rising within you. It ushered you to head home as soon as possible, like it was a race against time, like you had to reach shelter before it crashed into the shore and drowned you in front of everyone.

A cold gust of air billowed past you as you pushed open the doors to the physics building. You squinted against it, burying your hands in your pockets. The sky was still covered with that same, gray sheet—much darker than it had been earlier in the week. The closer you studied it, the more it looked like the clouds might break at any given moment. All the more reason to rush home; you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, and you fished it out of your pocket without thinking. Anything to distract you from this. 

bin 😑 (2:27 p.m.) hey

bin 😑 (2:28 p.m.) is everything okay?

Just as you were about to close the notification, another came.

bin 😑 (2:30 p.m.) did something happen with chan?

You stopped in your tracks. 

Did he really not know? Had Chan still not said anything to him?

Was Chan keeping it all to himself? Suffering in silence, even now?

You didn’t have to question it for long. Of course he was. 

Against your better judgment, you typed out a reply, fingers stiff from the cold and—for some reason—thumb burning.

you (2:33 p.m.) i’m fine bin don’t worry about me

you (2:34 p.m.) please just be there for chan

bin 😑 (2:36 p.m.) where have u been??? i was worried

Guilt, guilt, guilt. 

He wouldn’t be worried anymore when he found out the truth.

bin 😑 (2:38 p.m) pls talk to me

You wanted to talk to him. You so badly wanted to talk to him—not even about everything that had transpired over the past four days, just in general. You wanted to tease him, to laugh with him, to share a meal with him, to chatter about the most trivial, most mundane of topics with him because you could, because you enjoyed each other’s company and nothing else.

You missed your friend. But he was Chan’s friend first and foremost; Chan’s little brother. Losing Chan meant losing Changbin. The moment he’d find out what you’d done, how you’d hurt the person he admired most in this world, he would look at you with that same, dark glare that had unsettled you so much on the day you’d first met. Only this time, it wouldn’t be misleading, masking the kindness underneath. It would be real, intentional. He would mean every bit of it.

Minho’s glares were one thing. The thought of Changbin looking at you the same way was more than you could take. There was no place for you in his life anymore.

A droplet landed on your screen, splattering water across it and blurring the words of his message. You looked up at the sky. The clouds had broken.

You were going to cry.

It was for the best, probably. A pot could only withstand so much before it boiled over. And boil over, it did.

You pulled the hood of your jacket over your head just as the rain began to fall more steadily, sinking to the ground and settling on the curb of the sidewalk. You gave up on outrunning the wave. For once, uncaring of the people around you. For once, allowing yourself to be an inconvenience. 

Vaguely, you felt another buzz in your pocket; repeating, persistent. Changbin must have been calling you. Pressure rose in your chest. A strange sound built in your throat, an unpleasant, unfamiliar sensation pricked at your eyes. But before droplets of your own could well up in their corners, before you could release, the feeling of rain pattering relentlessly against your clothes came to a sudden halt. Something had passed over you, shielding you from it.

You didn’t bother to look up, praying that whoever it was whose presence you felt hovering above you, they’d take the hint and leave you alone. Just a moment to wallow in your misery. Just a moment to feel without worrying about anyone or anything else. Even now, that was too much to ask for, it seemed.

Through the roaring downpour, you barely caught it—soft, airy.

“It’s raining.”

Your blood ran cold, chilling you more than any of the water seeping through your clothing, right down to your bones.

Of course. You almost laughed out loud. Of fucking course.

This had to be some kind of joke, the universe’s cruel finale to everything it had put you through over the past three years.

“Go away.”

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me for learning how to use an umbrella?”

You peered up through the mess of hair and fabric blocking your vision, fixing him with a look fiercer than any of the insults he’d ever hurled your way.

“Go away.”

His stare didn’t waver, face unchanging as always. It must’ve been so easy, to be so unaffected. It must’ve been so easy, to care so little. He blinked down at you, and despite the static swarming your mind, through it all, you couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing harsh about the look he was giving you. Not quite warm, not quite cold. It was far from the self-satisfied expression of someone who knew he had been right all along. Of someone who knew that he had won. 

“Come with me.”

You watched him blankly, too appalled to speak. 

When you didn’t budge, he tilted his wrist, leaning his umbrella forward so that it covered you completely and exposed part of himself to the rain.

“I’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“Yeah? Brew yourself some yuja tea.”

His lip twitched into the beginnings of a smirk. Not smug, not condescending. Just faintly amused.

“That was pretty funny.” He tilted the umbrella further. The rain began to land on his hair, darkening it, weighing it down. “But I’m really starting to get cold, now.”

“I don’t care.”

He clicked his tongue. Still, he made no move to leave, not even to pull his umbrella back over himself. You might’ve been swayed by whatever approach he was taking if you weren’t too preoccupied with figuring out just how the hell you could get rid of this guy.

“By the way,” he added casually. “Changbin gave me something. I think it belongs to you?”

You cursed yourself for perking up so quickly, so obviously. It was only for a split second, but he caught on—of course he did—eyes glinting like a cat that had spotted its target in all your loose threads.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s talk,” he said. “Come with me, and the pencil’s all yours.”

You gave in. For whatever reason, Lee Minho had suddenly decided that you were now worth his time.

He didn’t offer his hand to help you come to full standing, but he kept the umbrella steadily above you as you rose from the curb, allowing himself to get drenched in the process. It almost made you grimace more than his usual behavior, solely because it felt so wrong. And, maybe, because you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Not even from someone like him.

As he led you down the sidewalk towards wherever he planned to take you, you inched away from him, back into the rain. He made no effort to move closer again, but you did notice his eyes flicker your way once or twice.

You shuffled awkwardly behind him, focus kept firmly on the pavement, feet kicking up water with every step you took. It wasn’t until the warm, addictive scent of freshly-ground coffee flooded your senses that you lifted your head with a start, just in time to see Minho wiping the bottom of his shoes on the campus library mat. He shook out his umbrella and stepped inside, seemingly debating for a moment whether or not he should hold the door open for you.

An ache gripped your heart, somehow, stronger than anything you’d felt over the past four days. It ached and throbbed and pulsed when you processed where you were headed. The table right across from the entrance, at the very back of the library.

You half-expected to find him there—shrouded in black, hunched over his laptop, one set of fingers playing with his lips, the other set tapping along to the melody of his music. But his seat was empty. He wasn't there anymore.

You tried to control the sheer enormity of your anguish as you approached its source. You’d already humiliated yourself enough in front of the last person you’d ever have wanted to witness it. Even if he didn’t seem nearly as delighted with your downfall as you’d imagined, the fact that he’d caught you more vulnerable than anyone else had before, more than Chan ever had, made your skin positively crawl.

Minho sat down with a heavy sigh, ruffling his hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it out. He slipped off his drenched jacket, giving it a disgusted look before dropping it on the table.

“Want some coffee?”

“No.”

“It’ll warm you up.”

You narrowed your eyes. If you’d had any semblance of rationality left in your system, you would’ve told yourself that it was just an offhand comment, that he couldn’t possibly have known just how devoid of warmth you truly were. But you were far past that point. Everything he said was a trap and everything he did was a taunt.

When he saw that you had no plans to respond, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Where’s my pencil?”

“Oh,” he sniffed. “I lied about that.”

You bristled. “What?”

“I don’t have it,” he clarified. “I lied so you’d come with me. Get it?”

You reached for your bag, preparing to leave.

“You can take it from Changbin yourself,” he continued. “Once this is all fixed.”

For once, the absolute certainty with which he spoke, like anything that came out of his mouth was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, wasn’t used to stir doubt within you. You froze in place. Whether it was a flash of hope, or a stubborn indignation that kept you rooted to your chair, you weren’t quite sure.

“Once this is fixed?” you echoed, rife with hostility. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? Chan hates me just as much as you do, now. You win.”

“I don’t hate you.”

You scoffed, expecting the lie—because it had to be a lie, a jeer, a vicious way to kick you while you were down—to be followed by that same scornful sneer that had become all too familiar for your liking. 

But it never came.

Your disbelief was only met with a sincere, unbreaking expression. No games, no underlying meaning. A complete contrast to everything you associated with Lee Minho.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t believe me?” he feigned hurt, which you had half a mind to be infuriated about considering the many, many worse things he’d assumed about you. “I mean it. I don’t hate you.”

You blinked.

“I probably could’ve,” he added unhelpfully. “If what I'd thought about you turned out to be true. But really, I just didn’t trust you.”

You grunted to at least acknowledge his confession, unsure of how else you should react. If that was how he treated the people he didn’t trust, you’d love to know what his hatred looked like. 

You’d long told yourself not to take it personally, but for some reason, there was an undeniable sting there. Maybe it was because Minho was eerily perceptive, so much that this whole ordeal had planted the idea in your head that he had to be correct. Or maybe, it was because you’d always felt like there was a bit of truth to his impression of you, even before you’d met him, even before his opinion of you had sunk straight into the gutter. Having someone else say it out loud had just forced you to come to terms with it.

That constant voice in the back of your head, etching guilt into your mind. Telling you that you liked hurting the people who depended on you, that you liked to build them a safe haven and then crush it before their very eyes. Exactly what he had claimed you’d done to him.

Exactly what you’d done to Chan.

“Am I making things worse?” Minho tilted his head. 

“No,” you answered, and it was mostly honest. “Go on.”

He said nothing, eyeing you for a moment longer. It put you on high alert. Similarly to Chan, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was delving straight into your center—but unlike Chan, there was no comfort of being able to stare right back into his. 

“You probably know this by now, but Chan is an easy target for a lot of people,” he began. Slow, deliberate, no playful lilt to it. “He can usually tell when he’s being mistreated, but even so, he puts up with it. He thinks he can make it all better.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your spot, concentrating on the rain droplets that hadn’t yet dried from your hair. “Yeah, I know.” 

I know better than you. The petty side of you wanted to tack on. But you decided against it, instead choosing to foster whatever kind of tentative truce was coming to fruition here.

Minho paused again. “Right.”

“So, what, you thought I was one of those people?”

“Mm.” Blunt as ever. “Like I said, I've seen the type before. And if Chan wasn’t going to do anything about it, then I was.”

He’d changed his wording, you noticed. It had been your type before, uttered with all the contempt and venom in the world. You wanted to find consolation in that subtle difference, but it didn’t stop the memory from rousing your defiance all over again.

“You think he can’t make decisions for himself?”

It was a risk—hypocritical, too, when you knew firsthand what kind of decisions Chan made for himself, when you knew firsthand the powerlessness of trying to get him to stop—but you said it anyway. Minho hummed, leaning back in his chair, as if the challenge in your words hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

“Of course he can,” he replied evenly. “Doesn’t make them right. When you see your friend make the same decision over and over and get hurt every single time, wouldn’t it be cruel to just sit by and watch?”

He looked off to the side, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought that he was—God forbid—trying to prevent you from possibly catching on to an emotion of his.

“That’s what real insanity is—isn’t that how the saying goes? Repeating the same thing and expecting different results.”

You knew, deep down, that his explanation made sense, and somehow, that only stung more. You felt wronged, like the collateral damage for all the people who had harmed Chan in the past. Knowing Minho had treated you so coldly out of the goodness of his heart wasn’t much of a compensation. In a childish sense, it made things even worse, because now, your own negative feelings towards him felt unjustified.

That didn’t even begin to cover the fact that he had been right. 

Every part of you wanted to object to him lumping you in with all the others as the same decision, but in the end, you were just another name on the endless list of people who had hurt Chan.

When he saw how long you’d gone silent for, Minho spoke up again, looking unsure of himself for what may very well have been the first time in his life. 

“I’m…” he huffed. “Look, I was wrong.”

As always, what he said was the polar opposite of what you’d been thinking. It was almost comical, how the wavelengths the two of you operated on were so determined to be different in every conceivable way. 

His ears, you noticed, had dusted red at the tips—the exact same way Chan’s would flare up when he was flustered. You hated how it weakened your resolve, how his mere association with Chan had you more than willing to accept his olive branch, however awkwardly shaped it was.

“Chan’s done a lot for me—for everyone. I just wanted to protect him.”

That was the point of convergence, the one, precious point where your waves intersected. The desire to keep Chan safe. You understood it better than anything else, and so, for that fleeting moment, you understood Minho. Still, your pride—something you’d repressed far too many times in your attempts to reconcile with him before—wasn’t quite ready to back down.

“But you barely even knew me,” you protested. “What did I do to make you decide that you hated me all of a sudden?”

“Didn’t hate you,” he corrected.

You pressed your lips together into an annoyed line. “What made you think I wanted to…to hurt him?”

Minho looked contemplative, and you found yourself worrying that he may simply decide not to tell you. You wouldn’t put it past him. It would be painfully on-brand, actually, at least with the version of him that you’d come to know. 

“Chan came home crying.”

Your throat went dry.

“What?” you rasped. “When?”

“Back in July. The morning I got back from summer break.”

The morning after you’d first slept together. All at once, everything snapped into place—pieces of the puzzle that you hadn’t been able to connect, pieces that you hadn’t even known were missing in the first place.

“So, he comes home from your place, crying, with those marks all over his neck,” he explained. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened. I put two and two together.”

You felt sick enough that you actually feared you might throw up, right there, on the library floor.

“I thought he must’ve landed himself in a bad spot again. With someone who only wanted to use him.”

“Why?” You gripped your soaked bag to your chest, with so much force that residual water began to dribble out of it. “Why was he crying?”

How did I hurt him? You wanted to add. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I notice? 

How could you have ever let this happen?

Minho hesitated, and you squeezed your eyes shut, not entirely certain that you even wanted to hear the answer.

“He was happy.”

Confusion. And then, relief. And then, confusion again. The turmoil must have been written all over your face, because Minho ever so graciously decided to elaborate.

“I didn’t find that part out until yesterday, though. Not much of a happy crier, myself.”

A fresh surge of anger overtook everything else you were struggling to comprehend. Thoughts of what could’ve been, of how it all might have turned out if it weren’t for the man in front of you. The man who had given you all the tools in chiseling your self-doubt to perfection, who had passed you the hammer to destroy what you loved most.

You wanted it to be his fault. It would be so easy to pin the blame all on him. But nothing was ever that easy. Nothing was ever that simple. Even without the right tools, you would’ve found a way to destroy it regardless. It was what you were best at.

“You didn’t bother to ask him!?” you snapped.

“Oh. You think I’m stupid.” A glimpse of his former sharpness. You had to stop yourself from saying yes, just to spite him. “Of course, I asked. More than once. But his answer was the same as always—he smiled and told me not to worry. He’d say it with a gun to his head.”

You frowned. It was too much to process at once, too much for your already worn-down brain to compute. All you could really make sense of was a gut feeling, an instinct, telling you that you’d made a horrible, horrible mistake.

“I talked to Chan yesterday,” he mellowed again, back to his usual, airy tenor. “He told me everything. He doesn’t seem to fully understand it, but I do.”

Minho locked eyes with you, deep, intense. No longer the look of someone that had decided you were guilty, but a look that warned you that he would know if you were lying to him.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded, anyway. Such a simple thing to admit to. How could such a simple thing have ever led to all of this? 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “That’s why I did it. I was afraid I’d end up…”

You took in a shaky breath.

“I just didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Ah, seriously.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and he laughed. Incredulous, dry, ending with an exhale. “You broke up with him because you didn’t want to hurt him? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Your face heated up. “You’re the one who thought I would in the first place!”

“But I was wrong.”

You were taken aback by how plainly he admitted to it, how that indestructible, stubborn pride of his was extinguished the instant he’d learned it had harmed someone he cared about. Even more troubling than that, was that you could tell he was apologetic, even without him saying it outright. All of this, as annoyingly as he was going about it, was his apology to you. Changbin’s words—fond and reassuring and, now, truer than ever—reverberated in your mind. Soft at heart.

“People are supposed to help each other. You know that, right?”

You snorted at the absurdity of the question. 

“Obviously.”

“So why are you so weird about it?”

“It’s different with Chan,” you insisted. “You said it yourself. He does so much—everyone takes so much from him. I didn’t want to do the same.”

“But that’s still not fair, is it?” he countered. “You’d just be giving everything instead. Chan doesn’t want that, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, only for the words to die in your throat. There was no way to justify it without sounding ridiculous—maybe, because it was a bit ridiculous. But Chan was the exception, he would always be the exception. You would give everything to him because you knew he would never take it for granted. You would give everything to him because he’d already given everyone so much.

Because he’d given you so much. 

Ah.

“God, you two are so—” Minho cradled his head dramatically, sensing that you’d finally worked it out in your mind. “You’ve already got the hardest part figured out. Just learn to take once in a while. You’re not gonna die.”

“But he won’t change unless I do,” you muttered. “I know he won’t.”

He gave you a look of pure exasperation, as if the answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

“So, change.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The feeling of your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, courtesy of Bang Christopher Chan, was one you’d become well-acquainted with over the past seven months. But of all the times you’d experienced it, it’d never been quite like this. This was something else entirely.

A day to mull everything over after your conversation with Minho, a sleepless night spent trying and failing to map out how you could possibly approach the situation, and over an hour of pacing restlessly around your apartment—all useless in ebbing the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. Before the clock had even struck 10:00 a.m., you’d not only felt like you had run a marathon, but that you could run another for good measure. 

You’d spoken to Changbin first. He at least deserved to know what was going on. He deserved an apology, even if the very real possibility that he would never speak to you again afterwards made your stomach churn. On a more selfish note—you figured today was as good as any to start with that—you’d also just really, really missed him. 

As it turned out, he’d more or less come to grasp the situation, even when being protected from all angles. Between what little Minho had let slip, Chan’s avoidant behavior (to the surprise of no one, he’d hardly let Changbin know a thing) and your vaguely ominous texts, he’d gathered up enough bits and pieces for his genius intuition to fill in the gaps. The sound of his voice once you’d revealed what had happened in full; compassionate, calm—not an ounce of the disdain you’d resigned yourself to be met with so viciously—had almost been enough to make you choke up.

“You should’ve told me,” he’d chided. “Why do you love doing that to yourself? What, you think I’m not strong enough to lean on?”

You’d let out a long exhale, heavy with all the apprehension you released with it; relieved, embarrassed. “It’s not that, Bin,” you’d mumbled. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Not when Chan and Minho both mean so much to you.”

“And you think you don’t? C’mon, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

Naturally, it only added to your guilt, that you’d created such an uncharacteristically cruel image of him in your head. This was Seo Changbin, after all. A great talker, but an even better listener, and as much as he liked to tease Chan for his age, he had a level of emotional intelligence far beyond his years. A wisdom that you would probably do well to learn from whenever it bothered to make an appearance. 

At the same time, however, this was Seo Changbin, the one man show, Leo incarnate. Once the relief of hearing back from you had eased his conscience (as much as it could, knowing how horribly tangled up everything had become), the theatrics had ensued.

“Dating my best friend is one thing, but breaking his heart is off limits!” he’d complained. It was mostly light. No real anger behind it, just plenty of highly-warranted frustration. “Not only that—breaking your own heart too! What am I supposed to do with two brokenhearted best friends? Hang out with Minho!?”

After a slew of loud, nagging, reprimands, and a very serious threat that Cinnamoroll would be held hostage until further notice, Changbin had let you go. For the first time in five days, you’d laughed. You’d never felt more grateful, or more stupid, in your life. He made it all sound so simple. Lee Minho, quite possibly the most convoluted piece of work you’d ever encountered in this world, had made it all sound so simple. 

You could only hope that you hadn’t crushed it into something infinitely more complicated, something beyond repair.

The trembling of your fingers, coupled with that strange sensation in your thumb that had yet to go away, made it difficult for you to type properly. Still, you persisted, throwing caution to the wind. Caution had ruled over you for far too long, anyway.

you (10:03 a.m.) hi

you (10:04 a.m.) i understand if you want some space right now but if you can, i’d like to talk

You prepared to lock your phone, not expecting a reply for some time—if any at all. Even under normal circumstances, he didn’t always get back to you right away. But, well, maybe the fact that the circumstances were anything but normal should’ve been enough for you to know better, because you didn’t even get the chance to swipe out of your messaging app before you noticed three little dots below your chat bubble.

Appearing. Disappearing. Appearing. Disappearing. Just a sign of life from him, and your palms had grown clammy. With fear, anticipation, dread. The dread of being met with anything but love, anything but warmth.

Then, at last, a single word.

channie 🐺 (10:08 a.m.) about?

you (10:08 a.m.) everything us

This time, it took him longer to respond. Ignoring every instinct that screamed otherwise, you typed up another text. There was no use hiding. There was never any use hiding with him.

you (10:12 a.m.) i don’t think i can do this

Almost immediately.

channie 🐺 (10:12 a.m.) me neither

Your heart leapt. You didn’t want it to give you hope. He had every right, every reason in the world, to not give you the time of day. He could get his closure and leave you, just as you’d left him.

channie 🐺 (10:13 a.m.) i can be over in 10?

A million thoughts sparked to life at once. The question of why he was already so close by. The urge to insist that you go meet him instead. The sudden realization that you were in no way prepared to see him so soon.

But all of it, overwhelming as it was, didn’t hold a candle to your strongest desire—a desire that could never be subdued by anything else. To put Chan first.

you (10:14 a.m.) okay, sure see you soon

You didn't deserve to say it, so you added it in your head. Get here safe, Channie.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Chan looked tired when you opened the door. Eyes dull, drooping, littered with traces of pink and lined with dark circles. A few stray curls peeked out from beneath his beanie. You prayed that the black hoodie he was wearing wasn’t the same one he’d had on five days ago. He looked so tired. Tired and cold.

His gaze met yours. Just for a heartbeat, then it fell to the ground. You wanted to think it was because he felt self-conscious, you wanted to think it was that shyness—that hopelessly endearing shyness that got the best of him no matter how many times he looked at you. You didn’t want to believe that he simply couldn’t stomach the sight of you anymore.

“Are you okay?”

Chan tensed. Then, he caught you eyeing the bandaid on his thumb. He brushed his finger over it absentmindedly. He’d thought the pain had faded until now.

“Yeah. Just cut my finger.”

Your expression changed.

“On accident.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit.”

You reached up to tug at your ear. He swiped his thumb over his nose.

“I—” you swallowed. The moment he’d stepped through the door, everything you’d so carefully planned to say, every point you’d spent hours trying to piece together into something comprehensible, was immediately tossed out the window. You had to navigate this in real time. There was no map for it—the path to something better. The only place you’d ever journeyed was your own destruction. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “I think I messed up.”

He lifted his head. For once, unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

He knew what you meant, you were sure of it. But he wanted you to say it—needed you to say it. He needed you to dare to open yourself up to him, just as he had to you.

You understood now. That was the most important thing you could’ve ever given him, yet the one thing you’d refused to give.

“I’m not used to this,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to get used to it. You’re…you’re so good, Chan. To everyone. To me.”

Already, cracks were beginning to form in your composure. You had to keep it together, just enough to fix this. Just enough to hold the mirror up to him before it shattered. 

“When someone that good comes into your life, you wanna do everything you can to keep them, y’know? I wanted to do everything for you.”

Chan’s breath caught in his throat, audibly, and you knew a protest was building on his tongue. So, you barreled through.  

“It’s exactly because you’re so good that I got so scared. Because you wouldn’t just let me do it all for you like everyone else does.”

There was a pause, long and heavy enough for you to debate if you should just keep going, to air it all out and pray that at least some of it would come out sensical. But before you could, he spoke up, attentive as ever in what he chose to focus on. He narrowed it down like second nature, sought out the most essential part. The root of it all.

“You were scared?”

You winced. “I…yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever remained of your heart from the past few days was effectively smashed into pieces. An apology from the last person on earth you needed to hear it from. An apology from someone who was owed so many apologies. From you, from himself, and from countless others who would never have to say it.

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I drove you to this, didn't I?” he whispered. “I thought about it the past few days—talked with Minho about it. I put you in a position you didn’t want. It’s my fault.”

“Oh, Channie,” it slipped out so naturally, with such ease, you didn’t even have the chance to second-guess yourself. “Your only fault is the way you treat yourself.”

Chan didn’t appear convinced. He shuffled his feet from side to side, hands heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. Restless, ashamed. Still not looking you in the eye. You weren’t grateful for it anymore; you missed his gaze. Dark and reflective, kind and curious. Seeing right through you, even with all its flickering around. 

“Maybe I needed to be put in that position,” you continued. “I was just too much of a coward to take it. B-because you were right. I try to be everything for people, then I end up being nothing. I was so afraid I was going to do that to you—or even worse. I was afraid I was going to be the one taking everything from you.”

“Why would you ever think that?” he sounded so helpless, like you were communicating in two completely foreign tongues. No room for speaking in riddles. “I saw every little way you cared for me. Always. Did you think I didn’t?”

Challenging him meant challenging yourself. You’d taken the plunge acutely aware of that fact, this time. Still, the panic rose in your chest all over again, the itch in your feet goaded you to turn and run.

“I know you did. And that’s more than enough for me.” You forced yourself to take a step forward instead, desperate to get through to him, desperate to reach him. “But when you do these things for me at your own expense…when you don’t tell me about it, don’t you see how that could scare me? As someone who cares about you?”

In all the time you’d known Chan, you’d never once have guessed that he could be so difficult. But if that unshakeable stubbornness would emerge over anything, of course it would be this. He would never make things difficult for anyone but himself. You still remembered how plainly he’d said it, how bleak and merciless and cold it had been: “It doesn’t matter.”

You could tell he sensed how on-edge you were, how laughably out of your element something like this was for you. But you were pushing yourself—for him. So, like a true reflection, he matched you.

“I guess I was scared, too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s been the only thing I know how to do for so long. I thought…I-I thought you’d leave if I did anything else. Because why else would you stay, y’know?”

You’d known it. Even before he’d bared himself to you, even before you’d had the knowledge to connect all the dots, you’d felt it, deep within you. But that didn’t make hearing him say it out loud any less devastating.

“I don’t love you because of what you can do for me, Chan.”

His eyes shot up at last. Wide, intense, searching. Realigning with you. A break in the fog that had been clouding your view of each other for the past five days.

It may have been unfair—cruel, even—to say now. But you needed him to hear it, even if this was the end of the road for you and him. You needed to at least plant the seed in his mind with the hopes that one day, with enough care, it might sprout into something beautiful.

“You’re worth so much as you are,” you tried to get a handle on the shake creeping into it. “You do so much for me just by being yourself.”

Chan blinked. Pupils darting between you and the floor, hands slipping from his pockets, face muscles twisting in an internal conflict. You could see him physically exerting all his willpower to not reject the idea—to dare to accept a love so unconditional, solely so that you might accept it in return.

“If I told you the same thing,” he began slowly. “Would you believe me?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “I can learn to believe it.”

His fingers flexed. You realized for the first time how close the distance between you and him had become—drifting towards each other involuntarily. That inevitable, magnetic pull, more powerful than any of the forces you’d studied in four years.

“Okay.” He was reaching out for you. “Then, how about we learn together, yeah?”

Your heart jumped against your ribcage. Over his words. Over the sight of his pinky, held out in earnest despite you giving it such little reason to ever do so again, waiting patiently to curl against yours. 

You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

“Together.”

Just as quickly as things had fallen apart, the foundation was laid out for them to be put back together. A steady foundation, built to last. Your belief that day had turned out to be true, after all. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan. When you leaned into him. When you didn’t run.

Heat rippled through you the instant your fingers entwined, fiercer, more all-consuming than even the first time you’d ever touched. Still, neither of you pulled away. For the first time in five days, you were warm again.

The new, unspoken promise igniting to life between you reminded you of another; one that you’d let sit on your ledger for far too long. One you’d made so carelessly to the boy who deserved all the care in the world. The boy who treated you with all the care in the world.

“I’m going to be more selfish from now on.” You tightened your hold on his pinky, creating a fresh buzz of heat. “Because I want you to be, too.”

You thought you were hallucinating it for a second, the beginnings of a grin on Chan’s face. Soft cheeks rising, not enough to draw out his dimples or eclipse his eyes, but enough to make you certain of your decision. The key you’d tossed out a year and a half ago was in that smile.

“Guess I’ve got no choice but to mirror you.”

“That’s right,” any firmness it might’ve had was lost to a smile of your own. Exhausted, but tragically enamored with the boy in front of you. “Since you wanna be my other half so bad, and all.”

He giggled. Short, sweet, playing the strings of your heart like a harp. Or, rather, its melody was the sound of your heart.

“I’m gonna tell you some things,” you warned. “And they’re not going to be nice. Or good. Is that okay?”

“Anything.” He unhooked his pinky from yours, only to wiggle his sleeve back and weave all of your fingers together instead. Five fingers, one for each of the days you’d spent apart. Your palm pressed against his, pumping faintly with your quickening pulse. “Tell me anything.”

You inhaled. Better to start with something smaller, first. A test run in this whole emotional openness thing.

“About Minho…”

“He gave you plenty of trouble, didn’t he?”

You puffed out a soft laugh. “Well, I gave him some back.”

“I scolded him,” Chan mumbled. “A lot. Bin did, too.”

You tried not to feel too satisfied about it. The idea of Chan, so doting, so unabashed in his adoration for the younger boy, rebuking him, addressing him with anything but overflowing fondness. You would take it as a small, private victory—one that Minho didn’t need to know about now that you’d both chosen to bury the hatchet.

“But…I hope you won’t think badly of him. He means well, really. He’s—”

“Soft at heart, right?” you finished for him. “It’s okay, we talked it out in the end. I think."

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, he told me.”

You could’ve laughed. Lee Minho. You never thought you’d see the day where the mention of him wouldn’t be promptly followed by a wave of absolute revulsion. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had even agreed to see you today. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had only been ten minutes away from your apartment before you’d even sent him a message.

“I just wish you’d told me.”

I wish you’d told me. They were words you’d said to him so many times, words you’d wanted to say on even more occasions. But it was in your hands, now. You were in each other’s hands, now. You didn’t have to wish anymore.

“I know.” You gave his palm a squeeze. “But you can see why I didn’t, right?”

He nodded, sheepish, well aware that it was a pointed question.

“A lot of the things Minho did were to protect you,” you murmured. “But, a lot of the things he said were things someone else once said to me. I guess it made them easier to believe.”

Chan’s thumb glided delicately across the back of your hand. You knew he could predict where this was going.

“When you told me about what happened two years ago, I think I related to you a lot. I think it was one of those shared experiences you talked about.”

Each sentence felt like it was being dragged out of you, uprooted. But it was necessary. Clearing the weeds out to make room for something less parasitic—maybe, even flowers. “My last relationship was with someone who took a lot out of me, too. He needed someone to depend on. I…I wanted to be that for him.”

“I know you did.” Gentle, sad. A tenderness for you and, hopefully, himself. It gave you the strength to keep going.

“He needed so many things, felt so many things. All his emotions became mine until I didn’t have any for myself,” you were losing control of your voice again. “I didn’t understand how you could ever blame yourself for what that girl did to you. But, really, I’ve always blamed myself, too. Because I let him rely on me. I promised to be everything for him, then I left.”

“But he never let you rely on him, did he?” Chan didn’t miss a beat, like he already knew the answer. “He wanted you to carry it all yourself.”

You averted your stare. “M-maybe. And maybe I wanted that, too. Some people just need more support than others, y’know? I thought I could handle it.”

You always thought you could handle it, even when every past experience proved otherwise. That was yet another thing Minho had been right about. You’d driven yourself mad repeating the same cycle over and over again, deluding yourself into thinking it could ever turn out any different.

“Nobody needs no support at all,” he pointed out. “Not even someone as strong as you.”

Strong. Hearing the word come out of his mouth—his perfect mouth, in that light, melodic voice—pricked at your eyes. It was a term you’d never once thought to describe yourself with. It was the exact opposite of everything you’d come to believe about yourself. You wanted to reject it, to crush the idea before letting it get to your head. But how could you, when it came from the strongest person you knew? How could you do anything but cling to it, cherish it?

“I don’t know if I’m strong,” you muttered, blinking away what was sure to come eventually. “It’s just that every time I’ve tried to lean on someone, they let me fall. So it’s better to stand on my own.”

“Yeah. I understand."

You knew that much was true. You knew, painfully well, how much he understood. And you knew he still thought you were strong.

“I…” Everything had been put into place—or, rather, everything had been properly displaced—for the dam to break loose. Tentatively, lovingly, he was helping you pull out each log. It filled you with fear, down to every last fiber of your being, but you knew that you could break in front of him. He wouldn’t crumble with you. He wouldn’t shatter over the mere prospect of you expressing an emotion of your own. He’d let you release, and when it was all over, he’d help you pick up the pieces. Just as you had with him.

“I lost my friend last year.”

“Lost…?”

“I mean, she passed away—last summer. She was in an accident back home.”

Such a common way to die for someone who was anything but. Such a special person to become part of such an ordinary statistic. Chan’s face morphed into something heartbreaking, a look that told you he felt everything you were feeling in that moment. The gears were turning in his head, you could see it unfolding through your blurred vision. That was why you hadn’t wanted to return home over the summer. That was why you’d come back to him so soon.

“I’m so sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t only giving his condolences, he was apologizing for ever cornering you to reveal it. For forcing you to unveil the wound that had been festering for so long. Bleeding with no signs of stopping, neglected with no signs of healing.

“It’s okay, I—” A lump rose in your throat. “I need to talk about it, I think. Never really did.”

His hand tugged at yours, just barely, uncertain. Always hesitant to pull you as close as he really wanted. You leaned forward all at once, falling into him. And he caught you.

“Never?” 

“I tried once.” You rested your head against him, and his arms locked securely around you straight away. No room for you to fear, even for a second, that he might let you fall. “I tried to tell him. He always said he felt bad that he wasn’t there for me like I was for him. B-but…” The wave was rising again. “He just left.”

You couldn’t see Chan’s expression, you weren’t sure if you wanted to. You didn’t want to know what anger might look like on such an angelic face. But you could feel it, his jaw clenching, his muscles tensing. You figured he must look something like you had that night in October, struggling to maintain the delicacy in your movements as he revealed things that had filled you with a protective fire.

“He left?” Chan repeated, strained. “He left you like that?”

“Yeah. I-I guess it made him feel worse to be there.”

His hand began to run slowly up and down your back; drawing out your pain and soothing it simultaneously. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. He’d put his anger to the side, just as you had that night. “It must have been lonely for you.” 

Lonely. Something else you’d never once considered. Something else that became so obvious only once he’d said it. You’d always been surrounded by people, but they were all flocking to a version of you that didn’t exist. A version you’d let them believe was real, because that was so much easier. Maybe the version of you, in your truest form, had been lonely.

“A little.” You buried your nose into his hoodie. No scent of sweet citrus today, no vanilla cherry blossom. Just him. “I think she’s the only one I could’ve talked to about it. She…she was a lot like you, in some ways.”

Something seemed to dawn on Chan, because he gripped you a little tighter, pulled you impossibly closer. The realization that the universe had taken away the only person you’d ever come to rely on. Of course you would be terrified to ever let anyone take that role again.

“She sounds exactly like the kind of friend you deserve,” his voice rumbled softly where you rested against his chest. “You can tell me about her. About it all. I’m here to listen.”

“I want to,” you took in a sharp inhale. “But I think I’m going to cry.”

“You can do that, too.” 

The wave engulfed you in full. For the first time since the day you’d lost her, you allowed yourself to cry over her.

Given how long you’d been holding it in, it didn’t come out nearly as explosive as you’d expected. The tears slipped from your eyes and down your cheeks without a sound, but they came and came and came. Each hot stream was immediately followed by a fresh one, a buildup of all the sorrow you’d kept sealed inside you for the past year and a half, and all the years before that. You didn’t sob or wail or scream out, but with how tightly Chan was holding you, you were certain he felt every tremor, every subdued hiccup, every droplet soaking through his clothes.

“It’ll be okay, one day,” he promised. “You’ll remember all the happy times with her. That’s something you can never lose.”

You hoped it was true. You hoped that one day, you could step off the train in your hometown, take in the pine-tinged summer air, pick a chrysanthemum from that flower stall, and remember her with that warm, glowing ball of light you used to carry in your chest.

Chan didn’t stop rubbing your back the entire time you cried. He didn’t stop enveloping you in his warmth. He didn’t stop humming sweetly in your ear. 

He didn’t leave.

The tears eventually stopped flowing, not because it didn’t hurt anymore—you just didn’t think your body could keep up. No amount of tears could ever live up to your grief for her. But your breathing slowed, your shaking steadied, and, as much as your head positively throbbed, a sense of tranquility came with it, one you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you mumbled. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

After everything you’d put him through the past five days, after he’d listened to you so intently and patiently as you poured your heart out, after he’d comforted you when he was still in such a fragile state himself, he was thanking you. It was hopeless. You would fall in love with him over and over again, every moment you spent with him. 

“Have you…” he hesitated. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone? About everything?”

“No,” you choked out a sad laugh. “Not really.”

Chan hummed again, quiet. He rested his hand on the back of your head, as if to pull you so far into him that you’d meld fully together.

“You shouldn’t torture yourself anymore,” he murmured.

“Neither should you.”

So immediate, so resolute, it made him stiffen against you.

“My stuff doesn’t compare to any of this.”

“That’s not true. You’ve only told me the half of it, haven’t you?” You curled your fingers a bit tighter around his hoodie. “You've been through so much to become this strong, haven’t you?”

The peaceful drag of his hand finally stopped. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. He'd been holding it together up until now, for you, even if your every tremble and sniffle made his chest ache like your pain was his own.

“Maybe,” he rasped. 

“So, let’s work towards something better. Together.”

“Together,” he agreed.

You raised your head at last, squeezing your eyes shut so that any remaining trace of tears trickled free. Chan reached up to swipe the droplets away with his thumb, soaking his bandaid. Still, neither of you let go. There were so many things to let go of, but not each other.

“I finished Placebo,” he said softly. “Do you want to hear it?”

The final promise that had yet to be fulfilled.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Weak, a piteous sight, probably, but genuine. “It makes me happy.”

You were lulled back to that day in April, seated next to Chan in the warm, coffee-infused atmosphere of the library, trying not to fall head over heels in love with him right then and there while he played the instrumental for you with a giddiness so uncontainable that he had to bite down on his fist. As you heard Placebo’s lyrics for the first time—lyrics that had gone through countless rearrangements, rewrites, and delays—you decided it must’ve been fate that it had been brought to completion now, of all times. You felt Chan in every line, every vitalizing beat, every nostalgic melody of the synth. You understood it better now than you ever would have back then.

But just as you’d predicted on that warm day in April, it became your new favorite.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The sun had been shining for two days straight. Bright, unobstructed by a single cloud, bathing everything in gold. It filtered through the blinds of your window, casting a delicate pattern of light on Chan’s face and creating quite possibly the most breathtaking view you’d ever seen. And you were warm. Warm against each other.

His curls were free, messy, tousled as you combed through them. You relished in every ringlet dancing between your fingers, in each content sound he let slip when your nails grazed his scalp. You brushed his bangs back, revealing his face to you in full—droopy eyes, big, adorable nose, soft cheeks, faintly freckled skin, every feature illuminated with nowhere to hide—then allowed them to fall into his eyes once more. The dark locks moved as one, a fluffy unit. He wasn’t taking care of them properly. You wanted to wash them again, give them the treatment they deserved.

Chan watched you the entire time you played with his hair, curious, mesmerized. Every flop of his curls against his forehead made him giggle, and so, you did it again and again. You couldn’t help it. After five days without him, without that sweet, harmonious sound, you could listen to him laugh for hours on end and still yearn for more.

But his lips were getting poutier with every card of your fingers, his thighs were shifting beneath you more and more. Impatient, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it. So, you leaned in and kissed him.

He sighed into it, just like he always did. But it was higher in pitch this time, involuntary, a neediness he typically tried to suppress until later down the line when it grew into something unbearable. He was already so vocal, so responsive, but today, he needed you more than ever. Every gap, every crevice between your bodies, he needed filled with you.

His lips consumed your senses, plush and plump and warm. They moved against yours seamlessly, encasing you in his softness, matching your rhythm, every part and pucker. So attentive, even through his haze of longing. It was familiar, the most natural thing in the world, yet still something you’d never get used to—something you never wanted to get used to. How his lips chased yours so insatiably, how they warmed you to your very core.

You were both breathless when you broke apart. That was nothing new either, you would kiss each other until your lungs cried out and then some. With the way Chan hardly pulled back, mouth ghosting just a centimeter away as you panted lightly in unison, you might’ve thought he needed to kiss you more than he needed oxygen. You took his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling delicately just to get a taste of him while the two of you caught your breath.

“Missed you,” he whimpered. “God, I missed you.”

Your chest ached. 

“I know, baby.” 

Giving his bottom lip a light tug, you released it. You could tell his head was starting to go fuzzy, it was far more important for you to speak clearly. You rested your hand on his curls again, trying to keep yourself composed for his sake—even if your body was screaming for you to take him back and take him back now. “I know. I missed you, too.”

“Don’t leave me, please?” For once, a selfish request. 

He pecked the corner of your mouth as he said it, then your jaw, growing less controlled the further down he moved. He was getting lost in you, he wanted to lose himself in you and never find his way out again.

“Never,” you assured him. 

“Promise?” 

He nuzzled his nose into your neck, lips pressing urgent kisses to every spot of flesh they touched. Gentle and intense, hot and wet. They cooled your skin and set it ablaze, all at once. 

You’d gone five days without each other before—even longer, on particularly hectic weeks—but it had never been anything like this. After the emptiness that came in your time apart, the holes that had been left behind where you’d ripped yourself away from him, you wanted every kiss absorbed into your skin, filling them up one by one. You found yourself wondering, for what was neither the first nor the last time, how you’d ever managed to trick yourself into thinking you could be without him. You couldn’t even take him in moderation.

“I promise,” you murmured. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chan whined, opening his mouth against the edge of your collarbone, sucking, tongue flickering lightly against it. You allowed him to, petting his head, humming sweetly to him as he covered every inch he roamed with that irresistible heat.

His restlessness beneath you grew more obvious—squirming. He ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and grabbing and holding onto you like you might disappear if he didn’t. His usual hesitance to touch was nowhere to be found today, far overpowered by his hunger for you. You adjusted your position in his lap, and the beginnings of his desire brushed against your thigh, adorably transparent as always. It made your own self-control slip just a bit. Suddenly, his clothes were forming far too thick of a barrier between you and him for your liking.

You pulled gently at his hair, catching his attention enough for him to lift his head from your neck. His lips were already swelling, deepening from that pretty pink shade into something even more addictive. His eyes were dark, dilated, and so hopeful, like he didn’t already know where this was going. Like he had no idea that you craved him every bit as much as he craved you.

“It’s getting warm, huh, Channie?”

“Mhm.” He rested his cheek against your palm. “You’re so warm.”

“Let’s get you out of this, then.” You reached down to dip your fingers under the hem of his sweater. Reluctant to let go for even a moment, Chan kept his hands close to you, wiggling around as best as he could to help you slip the garment off. He blinked his eyes open once you’d pulled it over his head, catching a glimpse of his reflection in your dresser mirror, directly across from where the two of you sat tangled up in each other. It made his stomach drop a bit. Hair unkempt, eyes sunken, face puffy from what was a concerning lack of rest over the past week, even by his standards.

His gaze averted, flickering right back to you the instant he took in his appearance. Brief as the action was, it wasn’t lost on you, twisting your emotions and resurfacing an idea in your mind—one that had been brewing ever since the day of the showcase, where Chan had avoided looking into the bathroom mirror like his life depended on it.

You cupped his cheeks, pushing them together just enough for his lips to pucker.

“You’re glowing, Channie,” you marveled. “You’re so beautiful.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not.”

You pressed your thumbs into his skin, chiding. “The light’s hitting your face so perfectly. You look like an angel.” 

Chan’s breath quickened, another deflection building in his throat. You slid your hands down from his face, allowing the golden rays of the sun to fully illuminate him, just as they illuminated the moon. 

“I…” he chuckled. “Th-thank you, but I’m a mess.”

You frowned, placing your hands over his. Panic struck when you urged him to unlatch his fingers from your hips, you could tell by the way he gripped you just a bit tighter. It was another pang to your chest. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, that reflex had been ingrained. But you weren’t going to leave him, not even for a second. You kept your hands firmly rested on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself off his lap and settled down right behind him on the mattress. Comforting him with your touch, reminding him that you were there.

You peered into the mirror from over Chan’s shoulder, met with the gorgeous sight of his bare upper half and, unsurprisingly, his head ducked in embarrassment. A mop of dark curls shielding him from himself. 

“You should try looking at yourself through my eyes,” you suggested. “You might like what you see.”

He glanced up to meet your stare in the mirror, stubbornly set on ignoring his own figure. You dragged your hands along his tense shoulders, feeling up the warm expanse of skin, the curves of his muscles—taut, yet tender.

“Rather look at you,” he said softly.

Affection swelled inside you, but you were determined to maintain your resolve, even when faced with an opponent as formidable as Chan’s deep-seated inhibitions. 

“Why?” You faked a pout. “You’ve already got such a pretty view right here.”

You lowered yourself to brush your lips against his neck, almost completely out of sight. He all but jolted as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss right below his jawline, just as reactive as your first night together. Just as honest and open and just as painfully cute. Your hand slipped over his shoulder to take hold of his chin, tilting it up, exposing his throat fully to you and encouraging him to look at himself.

“You’re a gorgeous boy, Channie.” Your words melted right into his ear. “Everyone can see it.”

You pressed another kiss to the juncture of his shoulder and neck—his weak spot. With how sensitive he was, every part of his body may as well have been his weak spot, but the sound he let out as you grazed your teeth over it was like no other. Sweet and pleading in the back of his throat. It spiked in volume when you closed your mouth over the patch of skin, unconcerned this time over whether or not the mark would show. He wanted it to. And, selfishly, so did you.

“I-I don’t see it,” he stuttered at last. “I can’t.”

Your tsk of disapproval was met with another shaky sigh as you ran your tongue over the fresh lovebite. It soothed his burning skin, fogged up any remaining space in his head. You took a moment to admire the blooming red ring before gliding your lips over to a new spot to sully. He was yours, even untouched, but you wanted to leave traces of yourself everywhere, to make him a part of you in every sense.

“Look at yourself, baby,” you ordered gently.

His Adam's apple bobbed under your mouth, swallowing down his misgivings and finding the courage to comply. Before he even locked eyes with himself in the mirror, his ears were already flushing at their tips.

“There we go. Good boy.”

The praise eased his mind a bit, but you could still feel his heartbeat racing under your kisses, pulsing beneath your traveling fingers. All simply because of the sight of himself—a sight you wanted engraved permanently into your memories, just as badly as he wanted it removed from his. 

“Look at all these muscles. So big and strong.” You flattened your palms against his broad shoulders, trailing slowly, appreciatively, down to his biceps. Arms you used to dream about having bulge beneath your hands. Arms you had at your mercy, even in all their strength. Because it was a strength used solely to protect others, never to harm.

You wrapped your fingers around the defined muscles, too large to even close your grip entirely around. They flexed under your touch—a detail you found adorable, strangely enough.

“D-do you…” Chan licked his lips. “D’you like them?”

You smiled against his skin. Such an endearingly Chan question. Setting himself up for a response that he wouldn’t be able to handle; a response that was sure to set his face on fire and put a stammer in his speech.

“I might like them too much,” you admitted. “So gorgeous to look at. So irresistible to touch. So cute when I hold them down,” you mumbled the compliments between each kiss you peppered along his arm veins, protruding from his nervous hold on the sheets. “So safe and reliable. So strong, but so weak for me.”

Chan’s reaction didn’t disappoint, cheeks heating up instantly to match the burn of his ears, dimples making a timid appearance. Anything he attempted to say was lost in the shy, breathless laugh he sputtered out. You knew right about now that he was wishing he had some kind of cap, beanie—anything to pull over his face and hide away. To hear your doting words without having to face himself. Maybe then, he’d believe them.

“You work so hard, don’t you, Channie?” you cooed. “Such a strong, beautiful body for a strong, beautiful boy.”

“A-ah…please.” Chan fought back the impulse to cross his arms over his torso, solely because he didn’t want to lose the feeling of your mouth ravishing them, appreciating every curve. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed, too flustered to bear. Your hands found his chest without warning, cupping his pecs and making him squeak. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, a split second too late in trying to mask the pitiful noise.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” You dug your nails delicately into his chest, just enough to make him shudder. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

To that, he didn’t object. “Yours, ‘m all yours.” It was eager, immediate, accompanied by a tilt of his head. Urging you to make it known, to leave more marks of yourself all over his neck until it belonged just as much to you as it did him. 

“All mine.” You rolled his nipples delicately between your fingers, earning a broken whimper that made heat pool in your stomach. “My pretty boy.”

Chan jerked forward, every intoxicating word of praise, every drop of your attention making his arousal skyrocket. With his eyes still shut tight, all his other senses were on high alert. The serene sound of your voice reverberated all around him, the deliberate care of your touch sent tremors up his spine. You roamed further down his body, fingertips dancing over his lean abdomen, tracing the outlines of his muscles. His stomach clenched as you did; exhilarated, rising and falling with each rapid breath. He felt so vulnerable—all his pleasure, all his comfort, all his worth in the palm of your hand. More exposed than ever, yet somehow, safer than ever. He could stay blind through it all and trust you to guide him to the other side.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

He pressed his lips together, protest cut short when you inched dangerously close to where he needed you most.

“There,” he gasped out. “There, please.”

Mischievously, you pinched the skin right above his waistband, satisfaction rushing through you when he throbbed in the confines of his sweatpants. “Where?” you questioned, deceptively innocent. “You have to look and see.”

You drifted further down, skimming the softness of his hips and stroking his tensed thigh. “Here?”

“No,” he huffed, face scrunching in frustration. “Please, ‘s too embarrassing.”

Your hum was full of sympathy, but your hand said otherwise, moving along his inner thigh and giving it a light squeeze. “How about here?”

You knew what was coming by now. So, you snaked your legs around his waist from behind, prying his thighs apart before they could clamp together reflexively. The added contact only made Chan’s composure weaken further, a low groan spilling out of him. Practically every part of your body was pressed against his—head tucked into his neck, chest rubbing against his back, hands grasping him wherever they slid, thighs resting on his—but it wasn’t enough. He needed more before he crumbled completely against you. Or, rather, he needed more to crumble completely against you.

His eyes snapped open at last, hazy, disoriented. He blinked a few times to readjust his vision, taking in the view before him. His puffed, rosy cheeks, his neck, painted with deep, crimson marks, his arms and torso, lined with the faint drag of your nails. Every part of himself that he chose to focus on was evidence of you on his body.

“Beautiful,” you said firmly.

“Ah…th-thank you.”

His reflection peered back at him, nowhere to hide. But with it, he found his other reflection, one he could admire so wholeheartedly, one he could never run out of things to love about. When at your side, maybe he didn’t look so bad.

Your lips were by his ear again, he felt your breath fanning softly next to it, saw your mouth opening unexpectedly close to his piercing—so close that he thought you may take it between your teeth again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself if you did.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Channie?” you whispered.

His stare dropped to your hand, more than ready for any excuse to redirect his attention from himself. You rubbed gentle circles into his thighs, traveling upwards at an agonizingly slow place. Chan sucked in through his teeth, a fresh wave of embarrassment passing over him when his dick twitched again, as if it was crying out the answer for him.

“My baby’s so shy,” you remarked playfully. “But your body isn't.”

He squirmed between your legs with a sound of pure helplessness, too worked up to handle your teasing properly—not that he ever really handled it well, in the first place. 

“P-please, need you so bad.”

You softened. “I’m here.”

His eyes followed your movements in a glimmer of hope, fixated on your hand like a puppy would with its favorite treat. When you came to brush over his bulge at last, his hips shot forward, pressing into your palm in a way that made your stomach flutter, and his twist with pleasure. He didn’t even have the chance to feel humiliated about it, not when you finally curled your fingers around him like he’d been longing for so intently, so fiercely that even thinking straight had become a challenge for him.

“Is this it?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes. There, please.”

You gave him a squeeze, feeling up the shape of his length through his sweatpants. So hard without a single touch to it, more than ready for you—desperate for you. It made the ache between your own legs take over in full. Restraint slipping, you dipped your fingers below his waistband to tug his sweatpants off. Chan reacted immediately, scrambling to raise himself from the mattress just enough for you to slide them down along with his underwear. You couldn’t even find the patience in you to remove the garments entirely, instead letting them rest halfway down his legs.

Chan’s gaze flickered back to you in the mirror, just in time to catch the way your eyes gleamed at the sight of his bare body. Length glistening with precum, pressed and dripping against his stomach. Milky thighs, dotted with delicate moles you could kiss endlessly. But you wanted to leave a different kind of mark on them, today. You ran your hands along his flesh—gentle, pacifying—then dragged your nails back up all at once, raking his skin and leaving a trail of pale lines that quickly deepened in shade. Chan inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against your shoulder, muscles constricting under your fingers.

“Pretty little thing,” you crooned. “You’re unreal.”

There was no time for him to recover—not from the delicious sting on his thighs, not from your doting words—before you took his cock into your hold at last. It sent a ripple of heat all throughout his body, almost enough to make him unravel right then and there.

You gave him a few careful pumps, delighted by the sheer amount of wetness that had dribbled from his tip, allowing you to move with ease. Using your free hand, you nudged his head from your shoulder to direct him back to the mirror. Despite knowing full well that the visual he’d be met with would turn his brain to mush, he obeyed. He would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You’re just like that moon you love so much,” you murmured. “You know that, Channie?”

It pierced through the lust occupying his thoughts, pulling him out from his haze just enough to string together a feeble response. “What—ah. What d’you mean?”

He tried not to let the sight of your fingers, sticky with his arousal, gliding up and down his most intimate spot, twisting and teasing in all the right ways like you knew his body better than he did, distract him from what you said next. If there was anything to focus on, it was you. 

“The moon can only see itself reflected in the water.” You swirled your thumb along his slit, using your other hand to run the pads of your fingers tenderly along his cheek. The combination was enough to make him dizzy. So much love, so much pleasure. He didn’t know how to handle it. He would never know how to handle it. “It doesn’t see its own beauty or light. Just the way it gets distorted by the ripples all around it.”

Before he could even fully process the comparison, Chan’s eyes began to water. This time, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was happiness imbued in those tears. A happiness the both of you still needed adjusting to.

“So, look at yourself clearly, now,” you encouraged, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Look at your reflection when it isn’t broken.”

It may have been too much for him at once; such adoration amidst everything else he was experiencing. The stimulation to every last one of his nerve endings, the bliss consuming his body and mind, robbing him of any coherent thought. But you needed to say it just as much as he needed to hear it. You wanted all the pleasure, all the love he felt in that moment to be associated with himself.

“O-oh, wow,” he choked out. “I…I don’t…”

I don’t deserve this. You could hear it on the tip of his tongue, clear as day. But he was too awestruck to protest, too awestruck to even speak. You felt a tinge of protectiveness—he was so far gone.

“D-dunno what to s-say,” he stammered. You knew it was taking every ounce of his strength not to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to let himself go completely and forget about anything that wasn’t you.

“It’s okay, Channie. You don’t have to say anything. Just look.”

You studied him in the mirror, nearly melting when you noticed him blinking the few, fragile droplets from his eyes—listening diligently to you, clearing his vision from any water that might distort it. He drank in his reflection in full, stiff, uneasy, but relaxing slightly between your legs when you pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“So pretty, every inch of you.” Your hand resumed its stroking, sliding down to the base of his length, cupping him gently. “Even prettier when you’re filling me up.”

“Oh my gosh,” he gasped, jerking in your grip. Even with the mirror there to guide him, he struggled to coordinate his hand movements, pawing aimlessly behind him to find some part of you to grab onto, some part of you to anchor himself with. “Please, please. Wanna feel you.”

“I know, baby boy,” you shushed him. “You’re dripping so much. Poor thing.”

You dragged your index finger along the underside of his cock one last time before pulling away with a light flick. Chan barely stopped himself from surging forward, chasing your hand like an instinct. That, coupled with the mewl he let out when he registered the sudden loss of your body heat around him, tugged at your heart just as much as it spiked your adrenaline. You made quick work of removing your clothes, well aware of his eyes, wide as moons, watching you undress through the mirror, waiting for you to return to him. Keen, yearning, but obedient above all else.

He reached for you the instant you settled back in his lap, hovering over your waist for just a second before ultimately latching on, skin on skin, a whole new layer of heat. You took his length back into your grasp, turning your body so that you were both facing your dresser mirror. You could hear Chan’s breathing pick up behind you, feel his chest expanding against your back.

“See that, Channie?” You dragged the head of his dick along your folds, coating it with your own wetness. “Just looking at you gets me like this.”

If all you’d said wasn’t enough, maybe the physical proof of his effects on you would help do the trick. A sweet, desperate vocalization, so rife with need that you could practically taste it, was all he could manage. It morphed into a moan as you sank down on him all at once—loud, absolutely shameless. You would never think it came from the boy who couldn’t even catch a glimpse of himself without being reduced to a flustered wreck. Just as your heat engulfed him, his engulfed you. It came more intensely than ever before, more staggering than even your first time together, bolting through your veins and making you suppress a gasp. You clenched around his cock, relishing in the feeling of him pressed so snugly inside you, as close as physically possible. So comforting in its familiarity, so exhilarating in its return. It was something you could only describe as relief, relief in the warmth, the fullness, the completion you brought to each other.

Chan’s head fell forward with a whimper, chin resting against your shoulder, clinging to you so tightly that it was difficult to move. You weren’t even sure if he was aware of it, a subconscious desire to stay buried inside you, not wanting to lose the security of your walls wrapped around him for even a second.

“Missed you so much,” he slurred into your skin. “W-wanna stay like this forever.”

You reached back to cradle his head, running your fingers through his hair. “I missed you too, angel. Missed the way you fill me up so perfectly.”

You lifted yourself until just the head of his cock was left pulsing inside you. When you noticed Chan’s blissed out expression in the mirror—eyes fluttered shut, lips swollen against your shoulder, eyebrows knitted together—a golden opportunity presented itself. It took him a second or two to realize that you weren’t sliding back down, another soft plea rumbling in his throat, vibrating into your skin. You gave his scalp an affectionate scratch, prompting him to look. This time, he listened without question, driven solely by the need to feel your wet heat around him again.

“Good boy.” You took him back inside immediately, not keen on being apart for much longer, either. He gritted his teeth as you did, trying his best to keep his gaze leveled with his reflection for you, for your satisfaction, for your approval. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out of your mouth next. 

“See how perfect you look when you’re inside me, Channie? See all the pretty faces you make? My pretty baby, feeling so good. Making me feel so good.”

At that, the precious little that had remained of Chan’s composure fizzled out completely. His hands flew up to cover his face, hot with shame, burning with arousal. The filthy sight of him pushing in and out of you, the wet sounds filling his ears, the teasing lilt of your voice. It was all too much. He shoved his nose into his palms, letting out a cute, mortified wail that echoed throughout the bedroom, mixing with your breathless giggles. 

Even as you continued riding him, he stayed hidden behind the safety net of his fingers, shyness turned back up to full blast with no signs of disappearing. It only added to the pressure building up inside your abdomen to see him so overwhelmed, each muffled grunt and soft whimper of his spurring you on. Your words from earlier rang truer than ever—he was so weak for you.

You allowed him to stay that way for the sake of his sanity, petting his head with a gentleness that contrasted the steady pace of your bouncing. It wasn’t until you felt his cock begin to jerk inside you that he pulled his hands away from his face with a choked noise, reaching out for you once more.

“Can’t take it—mmph—‘m getting close! ‘M s-sorry!”

His fingers dug deep into your flesh, igniting heat at every point of contact. You basked in the feeling for as long as you could, then halted your movements altogether, pulling off of him in one fell swoop. The loss made both of your bodies cry out in protest. Chan hiccuped pathetically, mouth falling open, confused blinks reflecting in the mirror when your softness, your warmth, escaped him without warning.

He trembled underneath you, tugging at your waist as he tried to get a handle on his voice. With care, you turned in his lap to come face to face with him again, moving slowly enough as not to break his hold on you, not even for a moment.

“Did I…” he panted. “Did I do something wrong?”

You brushed your thumb over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had begun to accumulate. “No, baby. You’re doing so well for me,” you assured him. “But you wanna finish together, don’t you?”

It was almost funny, in a sense, how the way Chan’s face lit up—how his features flooded with pure delight—made your heart flutter more than anything else. More than any irresistible sound he let out, more than any way he let you use his body to your heart’s content. You were just as captivated, just as endeared, just as hopelessly taken with him as that night in May, walking home alongside him under the moonlight and knowing your fate was sealed.

“Y-yeah, together. Together, please.” He leaned forward, nose finding your neck, taking in your scent. “Can we stay like this? Wanna see you.”

Your hand found his length again, wrapping just tight enough around it to make him jolt. “Hm…you can see me in the mirror though, can’t you?”

“Please,” he repeated, pouty lips brushing against your skin. “Only wanna see you. Need you.”

You relented. Regardless of how badly you wanted to get the message across to him, regardless of how addictive you found the sight of him on display in ways you’d never seen before, you knew he’d just about reached his limit. And, well, maybe you needed him too. Needed to watch him fall apart right before your very eyes, needed to have every bit of your skin pressed against his, needed to kiss him when it all became too much for his foggy mind.

“You’re so cute. I’ve got you, baby.” You tilted his chin up with your free hand, half-lidded doe eyes finding yours. Knowing him, the eye contact wouldn’t last long before he was ducking away again. So, you took advantage of it, realigning him with you and watching his features flood with pleasure as you sank down on him once more. He had to stop himself from bucking up into you, body stiffening with effort, a breathy, grateful moan, nothing short of angelic, slipping past his lips.

“You’ve gotta hold on for a bit, alright?” You gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re close. Can you do that for me, Channie?”

His arms wrapped around you in full, no longer content with just his hands on your waist. “Mhm.” He barely mustered up a nod, pulling himself closer to you in a way that burrowed his cock impossibly deeper inside. “Promise. W-wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna be a good boy for you.”

“My good boy,” you cooed. “See how well you fit inside me? See how good you make me feel?” You clenched around him as you dragged yourself up his length, snapping back down with a delicious speed. “You were made for me.”

“M-made for you,” he agreed, head falling forward to nestle into your chest. “Ah—fuck! You’re so warm. Feels s-so good.”

You dug your nails into his muscles, using your grip on him for leverage as you began working your way up to a pace even more vigorous than before. Immediately, the new angle took a toll on Chan. It allowed the head of his length to rub directly against your sweet spot with each rock of your hips, making the both of you shudder. You could feel his mouth fall open against you to let out an especially sharp cry, nibbling mindlessly at your flesh, matching your rhythm.

“Y-you’re mine, too, right? Gonna stay with me?” he babbled into your skin. “Please, tell me you’ll stay. I’ll be good for you. P-please.”

The coil in your chest twisted just as tight as the one in your abdomen. You knew his thoughts were muddled, ridding him of any filter and making him ramble in the heat of the moment. But you also knew it stemmed from a very real fear, one that you would never feed into again.

“You’re already so good for me, Channie. You’re perfect. My perfect boy,” you spoke as steadily as your erratic movements and shaky breath would allow, ensuring that each reassurance found him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here ‘cause I love you.”

Chan whined, ringing out loud and clear even through the softness of your chest. “Love you. I love you so much.” He nuzzled further into you, strengthening his hold around you, hands pawing at your sides. The words seemed to have opened the floodgates within him, like he’d been waiting to hear them—the catalyst for him to lose himself in you completely. “Love you, love you, love you. ‘M almost th-there.”

This time, there was a short delay before you could bring yourself to stop. You didn’t want to let go of him again, no amount of time would be tolerable enough. So, you stayed perfectly still, indulging selfishly in the feeling of him inside you without snapping the final thread just yet. Chan lifted his head, disoriented, biting down on his bottom lip to fight back a pathetic groan as his climax was denied once more. You could feel his thighs quivering under yours, his arms flexing around you, his cock twitching wildly against your walls. Every bit of his energy was being expended to hold himself together, to endure it however many times you saw fit.

“You’re doing so well, baby boy. Lasting so long for me.” You twirled a lock of his damp curls around your finger, hoping to keep him grounded enough to hang on just a bit more.

“Y-yeah? ‘M doing okay?” He brushed his nose against yours, a silent plea that you understood all too well by now. “Making you feel good?”

“So good, Channie. I’m getting close, too.” You closed the gap between you and him before his wordless request became another whine, taking his swollen lips between yours. They were hot, pillowy, unbelievably wet. You tried your best not to flutter around him, but it was impossible not to when he was humming so eagerly into your mouth, kissing without an ounce of self-control left in his system. His movements were sloppy, uncoordinated, but each messy slide of his lips sent another jolt through your senses. The hug he’d enveloped you in loosened at last, hands wandering obsessively over your body until he found your chest. He paused for a moment, mumbling out something that made drool drip from the corner of his mouth.

“Mmph, c-can I? Wanna touch, please.”

Even now, he was clinging to the last few shreds of his rationality for you, thinking of you above all else when the promise of his climax was dangling right in front of his face. It took the arousal coursing through your veins to a whole new degree, so intensely that you had to stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his lips out of raw affection. 

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured.

Chan cupped the soft flesh in an instant, sighing like he was slipping into a dream. His kisses became near-frantic, so drunk on you that he had trouble staying confined to just your lips, landing on the corner of your mouth, all over your cheeks, pecking and sucking any spot he could. Despite that, his hands were gentle, kneading at your flesh in a delicate back and forth pattern that calmed him and kindled a fresh warmth in your body. He was doing so well for you, trying his absolute best for you. You wanted to give him everything. You wanted to take his heart that he offered up to you so willingly, and give him yours in return.

“Ready to keep going, Channie? Can you take it?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, please,” he breathed. “Gonna do it for you. I’ll do anything.”

“My sweet boy.” You cupped his cheeks, steadying his clumsy kisses, but holding him just close enough to keep him content. He hissed softly as you began moving again, rolling your hips down so that his length grinded against your walls, stimulating every nerve-ending inside you. The heat building between your bodies became much harder to ignore, filling the air around you and seeping into your skin. It was heavy, thick, but it made you feel lighter than ever. Your high was drawing near, and, judging by the way Chan’s hips stuttered with less and less restraint, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer either.

The pads of his fingers dug into your breasts just as he let out a warning moan. “Oh God, ‘m sorry. Please, don’t wanna finish without you. So—ngh—close.”

You grinded down against him, spine tingling when Chan yelped in response, so sharp it almost sounded like he was in pain. “Mm, just a little more, baby boy. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“I-I…oh, please,” he swallowed hard, eyebrows scrunching together as you dragged yourself all the way up his length, mind-numbingly slow. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll be g-good.”

Your hands traveled up to his hair, tangling in his curls and pulling at them just hard enough to make goosebumps rise at his nape. “Channie listens so well,” you purred. “You were made to please, hm? Good boy, good boy.”

If your honeyed praises weren’t enough to push him alarmingly close to the edge, the way you squeezed around him as you sank back down, wrapping him in your heat all the way to his base surely was. Chan surged forward with a sob, head falling into your shoulder, fingers grasping at you helplessly.

“Your good boy,” he whimpered. “Please, please, ‘m not gonna l-last.”

You cradled the back of his head. “It’s too much, huh angel?” you pouted. “You can let it all out, now.”

“Together?” You could hear the strain in his voice, mere seconds away from losing it completely. “Together—ah—right?”

“Together.”

At that, you gave one last sloppy glide along his length, snapping the tension in both of you at once. Chan cried out, teeth grazing against your shoulder, hips surging up to push as far into you as your bodies would allow. A delicious heat seared through your senses, only amplified by the flood of his release coating your insides, stronger than ever from how long he’d been holding back. You tried to keep your own sounds under control, far more entranced by the ones slipping from his trembling lips. Mewls of your name, slurring out how much he loved you, chanting his gratitude like a mantra as you guided him through your shared high.

Minutes or hours could’ve passed and you wouldn’t have known the difference—you wouldn’t have minded either way. Eventually, the shivers in Chan’s body faded out, his panting evened into softer, more peaceful breaths. When he finally found it in him to pull his head from the comfort of your neck, droplets had begun to form in his eyes again. Not enough to spill down his cheeks quite yet, just enough to glaze his pupils over with happy tears, just enough to make them shine.

Your fingers danced absentmindedly in his hair, serving as a different pleasure from the kind that had just rocked your bodies. “You did so well for me, Channie. I’m proud of you.”

He blinked up at you. Slow, lazy, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re s’ beautiful.”

“Sweet baby,” you murmured. “I hope you think the same when you see yourself.”

Anything he planned to say trailed off when you reached down for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. He was still buried deep inside you, hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch, but he did his best not to squirm as you pressed kisses to his fingertips, paying extra attention to the fading cut on his thumb. The pain was long gone, now. Still, it made a few glistening tears trickle out delicately. You kissed them away, too.

“You’re still my favorite reflection.”

Shy, barely audible, but spoken with all the sincerity in the world. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It was a start, at least. Maybe the parts of yourselves that you loved in each other, you could eventually come to love in yourselves.

“Can we—?”

“Stay like this?” you finished for him, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Yeah, we can.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, letting out an exhausted giggle, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing. He was glazed with sweat, skin sticky, damp curls pressed to his forehead, but he shone with every ray of light that slipped through your blinds.

The urge to check on him, to fuss over him, to care for him, still nagged at your mind. That was something that would never change. You wanted to clean him up, wash away the soreness and soothe the marks all over his body. But he didn’t need any of that right now. He just needed you. That was it. From day one, it had been as simple as that. You didn’t need to do anything. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed each other. Maybe, you could stay wrapped up in the mess you’d left on each other’s bodies for a while—bask in it, even. 

Chan’s innocent nuzzles inevitably led to another kiss. Soft, but just as hungry for you, just as desperate to stay immersed in this moment. You shifted slightly on his lap, making your heart jump and making him jolt against you. The poorly concealed sound that built up in his throat might’ve made you giggle if you didn’t need him just as much. No more limits. No more restraint. You didn’t have to worry about taking him in moderation.

You wanted each other endlessly. You fell into each other again and again.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

A sudden buzz against your nightstand cut through the tranquil rhythm of breath that filled your bedroom, pulling you from the haze of sleep that had been pricking at your mind’s edges. It was a brief, low vibration, but still loud enough for you to worry that it may wake the boy in your arms. For once, you allowed yourself to be unavailable, not daring to disturb his peace for even a moment to roll over and read the notification. You already had a good idea of who it might be, anyway: Changbin, triple checking what time you’d all be meeting up for jjajangmyeon on Friday. The thought alone made fondness bubble up inside you, lips curling into a private smile. After four years of tardiness, absences, and missed deadlines throughout his academic career, this was the one thing he was determined to be on time for.

Graduation was two days away. You and Changbin’s class ceremony would take place in the early morning, while Chan’s was scheduled for later that same night. Timed seamlessly with the rise of the sun and the moon. The finish line that you’d been terrified of for so long was a mere few steps away, but when viewed up close, it wasn’t quite so daunting anymore. Even if the path you walked next was still unfamiliar, uncarved by anyone before you to clear the way, you knew who you’d be walking it with, and you knew where it would lead you. You’d walk side by side with Chan, towards something better.

His family had flown in from Australia earlier in the week to visit, to attend his ceremony—to celebrate him. An occasion that was just as precious to them even with the bitter memories that surrounded it, even in its delay, even if Chan had spent the past two years of his life convincing himself otherwise. He’d been a nervous wreck before leaving to meet with them when they first arrived, you could see it in every awkward shift of his feet, every subconscious rub of his neck, every unnecessary adjustment of his clothes. However much you’d tried to comfort him beforehand, however many grateful smiles he’d given you, you’d known that there was no real way to ease his apprehension. He hadn’t seen them in person for over a year, and, even prior to that, it’d been two years since he’d had an interaction with them that wasn’t engulfed in shame.

But when he’d returned, he had a smile that almost reached his eyes; hopeful. It hadn’t been perfect, everything wasn’t okay yet, but the seed had at least been planted for it to blossom one day. He’d missed them so much. It made your heart sing and ache at the same time. You only wished that he’d believed he deserved to see them before now—to stand in front of them as the son and brother that they loved, not as the collection of faults and disappointments he saw himself as. 

Though, you supposed you weren’t exactly one to talk. Your family would be coming into the city on the day of your ceremony as well, a very blatant reminder that you had yet to visit your hometown again like you’d promised them over the summer.

You weren’t quite ready to return yet. But just like Chan, you would be, one day. And you would try again. Of all the things you’d come to learn in your time with him, the value of upholding a promise was undoubtedly the most important one. You weren’t going to run. You would try as many times as it took until your home felt like home again, until you remembered all the good times, until the memories laced in every crack and crevice didn’t add to the sting in your skin, but eased it. 

You eyed Chan’s form through the darkness, nestled against you with his head buried in the softness of your chest—sound asleep, for once. 

Your arm was still draped over his waist, lingering at the small of his back where you’d been rubbing as he drifted off. In turn, his muscular arm was wrapped securely around you. Holding each other, protecting each other. An endless cycle of drawing strength from one another without growing any weaker in the process. You could give him everything, and not lose a single drop of yourself.

For the first time, you could hold someone in your arms without that underlying sense of dread spreading its roots in your mind. For the first time, your heart was still. A calm and clear surface of a lake, one that you hoped could reflect Chan’s light in its truest, most unbroken form.

You were no longer held together by a butterfly bandage, an ill-fitted adhesive, forcibly closing your wounds without giving them the chance to heal properly. At last, you were stitched up. Stitched up by the very same thread of fate that had brought you and Chan together. 

You didn’t have to ask to know that he felt the same. You could feel his emotions like they were your own, after all.

#bang chan x reader #skz x reader #bang chan angst #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!bang chan #sub!skz #stray kids x reader #dom!reader #skz angst #bang chan fanfic #skz fanfic #sub!chan #bang chan x you #skz x you #skz imagines #bang chan imagines

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 8 ⬅ch.7

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. alcohol. nsfw. wc 4.8k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | had the pleasure of writing this chapter... also the fic is at 27k words already! whoo, this is officially my longest fic.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“we’re all meetin’ down at the local pub, if you’d care t’join,” soap said, leaning against the doorway of the infirmary with his arms crossed over his chest. 

you looked up from your clipboard and raised a brow. “oh, yeah?”

“yeah. the men could use a load off.”

he was right. it had been a tense week at base as the men worked on tracking down hassan and going out on missions but turning up with no luck. it was frustrating and tiring. you could see it in their drained faces. 

the infirmary was empty for the night, no one having any substantial injuries that required overnight care, so you figured it’d be alright to go with them.

“yeah, okay,” you said, nodding your head in agreement.

“sweet!” soap’s reply made you smile. he always made you feel wanted. 

something in you yearned to ask if ghost was going to be there, but that would just raise alarms. and as daft as johnny could be, you didn’t want to risk him finding out about your little… crush . ghost’s words rang in your head and you quickly abandoned that thought process, a flush rising on your face and chest.

you stood in your room feeling like an imposter. you glanced at yourself in the mirror and debated multiple times on removing your dress, but you really had nothing else nice to wear. 

all you had in your wardrobe was workout wear and your uniform. you just never found yourself needing much more than that. you mentioned your lack of a wardrobe to your friend in the infirmary and she immediately offered her assistance. “i have the cutest little dress you can wear! i think you’re my size…” she said as she looked between the two of you. 

you felt your face warm. “a dress? oh, i don’t know,” you said with a nervous laugh. “don’t you think that will be a bit much for a bar?”

“no! we’re always in these drab clothes,” – she gestured between the two of you – “it will feel good to put on something feminine for once. trust me.”

“oh, are you saying i don’t look feminine?” you teased, gesturing to your outfit which was a dark shirt, cargo pants, and boots. 

she rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, ready to head back to her room. “shut up and follow me.”

now you were standing alone in your room and rethinking everything. the dress was simple: black, just short enough, and flattered your figure. but you still felt odd in it. after seeing yourself in your uniform for so long, this felt completely out of the ordinary. 

you played with the hem and debated changing. but what would you change into? sweatpants? 

you made a note to get some casual wear – jeans, a simple top, a sweater maybe – just things to wear on your off days. 

before you could talk yourself out of it more, you slid on the flats your friend has also let you borrow and you fumbled out of your room. 

it was nice enough out, and the bar was pretty close, so you decided to walk, your friend beside you. “you look hot,” she said. a smile was dragged out of you, not used to such compliments. she sported a similar outfit: a shorter dress, simple shoes, her hair down in waves. 

she hooked her arm around yours and you both giggled. maybe it would be nice to feel normal for a bit. to go out like most women your age do on the weekends.

you wondered if johnny and the others were already there. maybe you should have told him to wait for you so you could go together. 

you pushed your hair out of your face as the wind blew and looked up at the stars. it was such a beautiful night. you deserved this . you deserved to have a little fun. 

and you knew the men did this rather often. but that was before you had become friends with johnny and slowly with the others as well. now you were officially invited to things like this and it made your chest flutter with acceptance. 

the bar was a bit grungier than you expected, its windows blacked out, the sign light flickering, a group of motorcyclists outside smoking. your friend looked the men outside up and down, intrigued, and you heard them whistle back at her. “let's go,” you said, pulling her along with you.

you both pushed your way inside and were greeted with the smell of sweat, alcohol, too much cologne, and burning wood. the bar was dimly lit and there was already a crowd of people inside. 

you felt nervous as you scanned the room for someone you knew. you spotted soap and gaz in the corner and you smiled. your friend slipped away from you, seeing her friends at the bar, but not before making sure you were okay. you nodded to her then made your way towards soap. 

“soap!” you said cheerfully, making the man spin to face you. 

his face lit up, looking you up and down. “you clean up nice.”

“wish I could say the same,” you laughed. he gave you a cheeky grin in return.

your growing smile faltered when you saw a looming figure behind soap at the table. ghost . 

shit. shit. shit .

you could feel his eyes on you and you shifted uncomfortably on the heels of your feet. 

soap noticed your empty hand. “let me get you a drink,” he said over the noise and slipped off to the bar. 

you awkwardly turned to the table and greeted gaz who was talking with a few other men you recognized but couldn’t remember their names. 

you couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering over to where ghost was sitting he wore a black hoodie that he had pulled over his head, his balaclava mask, and dark jeans and boots. his hands rested on the table and he was still staring at you. 

letting him win, you turned away. why did things have to be so weird between you two? were you the one making things uncomfortable?

before you could wallow in your thoughts, soap appeared beside you again and handed you a beer. 

“i’m not supposed to take drinks from strange men,” you teased. 

“ha. ha. very funny, lass.”

you nudged him in the shoulder.

“hey,” a voice said beside you. you looked up and saw commander graves approaching your table. “fuck,” he said, taking you in. “i didn’t recognize you. you look great,” he complimented. 

you thanked him a bit awkwardly. soap reached over you and wrapped an arm over your shoulders protectively. “i don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at her,” johnny said towards graves. 

graves laughed, raising his hands in surrender. you rolled your eyes at the nonsense of these two men. “i can do my own bidding,” you said up to soap. 

“you heard her, she can turn me down herself,” graves teased. 

you smiled, all three of you laughing, however, your smile broke when ghost got up and left the table. 

“what’s his problem?” you asked soap, trying to sound casual, taking a sip of the cold beer. 

“honestly, m’not sure. he’s been like this all week.”

you nodded, wanting to pry more, but that would be a bit conspicuous, so you just drank your beer and fell into conversation with the men around you.

three beers and three shots later, you were slurring your words slightly as you argued with the table about how you had the ability to multiply any set of numbers in your head. 

“you’ve got a calculator under there,” gaz said, referring to your hands conveniently placed under the table. 

you held your hands up, “go ahead. ask me another.”

soap laughed and spewed off a random combination of numbers, “four hundred eighty-six, times three thousand five hundred and seven.” gaz quickly punched the numbers into his phone's calculator.

you took a moment, the gears in your head turning, before answering. “one million, seven hundred four thousand, four hundred and two.”

the other two men beside gaz leaned over to look at his phone screen to read the correct answer.

“well, i’ll be fucked,” gaz said astonished, all the men gaping up at you. 

you smiled and did a little twirl in victory. “i believe you owe me a drink, kyle.”

gaz nodded before standing. “honestly, i’m not even mad,” he said before passing you and going to the bar. 

you turned to soap, “i’m going to the restroom. i’ll be right back. make sure gaz doesn’t spit in my drink.”

he smirked and nodded then focused back on the guys who were now spewing out nonsense about who could down a beer the quickest. personally, your bet was on soap.

you laughed to yourself and made your way through the moving bodies. once you made it through the crowd, there was a small, dark hallway in the corner of the bar with two bathrooms at the end. it was a lot less busy over here and the music rang far quieter in your ears, you were thankful for the reprieve. 

as you edged around the corner you tripped and stumbled, laughing to yourself as you did. two arms caught you and you giggled at how drunk you were. “t-thank you,” you muttered. you finally focused on the person’s arms and spotted tattoos peeking out of their rolled-up sleeves. your eyes went wide and you quickly snapped your head up. simon . 

“s-sorry,” you said, trying to get untangled from his grip and lock yourself away in the bathroom out of embarrassment. 

“wait,” he clutched your arm and pulled you back to him. it was easy for him to move you, like you weighed nothing to him. that sent both a thrill of fear and excitement through your body. 

you clashed into his chest and immediately tried to gain a bit of space between you two. you hesitated but looked up at him as he loomed over you. to anyone else, they would be terrified to be faced with a man in a dark hallway, his hood pulled, his face covered, and his stance over six feet. but you knew ghost. knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

“what?” you asked, a bit more snippy than you intended. 

his hands lingered on your arm, tightening briefly before letting go. “are you with johnny?” the seriousness in his tone surprised you. 

you scoffed. “what?” you were certainly taken aback. then you got a bit annoyed. “is there something wrong if i was?” you rolled your eyes and bit the inside of your lip. “I’ll have you know, there’s nothing forbidden about soap and i. there’d be no conflict of interest. so really, you have no right t-to ask.” you hiccuped on your last sentence and crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look assertive.

“how much have you had to drink?” he demanded. 

“ god, ghost,” you threw your hands up in defeat. “what does it matter? why do you care? me being drunk or s-sleeping with soap has nothing t’do with you. and my intoxication level has nothing to d-do with what i’m feeling.”

“so, you are with him, then?” his eyes darkened as he glared at you from beneath his mask. a smudge of his black face paint was still circled around his eyes, making him appear cynical and slightly terrifying. 

you laughed, he was missing the point. “no. jesus . i’m not with soap. we’re friends ,” you dragged out the ‘s’. 

you stared at him, waiting for him to say something. you decided if he didn’t answer in the next few seconds, you were going to turn around and walk away. this outing was supposed to be fun.

just as you were about to sidestep him, he took a step towards you. you actually had to crane your head back now to look at him. “you know why i care? why i’m askin’ you all this?” you could smell the whiskey on him and it sent a shiver through you.

you shook your head. “no. that’s what i’ve been asking you ,” you whined in mental exhaustion, your voice was far quieter than mere moments ago. the anger behind your words seemed to have left you. “enlighten me. tell me why you’ve been so hot n’ cold lately,” you whispered, losing all your momentum as his eyes flickered between yours. “do you hate me, or n-not?!”

one of ghost’s hands came up and tucked a tendril of your hair behind your ear. your lips parted in a silent gasp. his fingers tickled as they barely brushed over your skin. you swallowed and his hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers slipping into your hair. he leaned forward and you felt your breath get caught in your throat, your eyes widening in surprise. all sane thoughts left your body. all that filled your senses was him. simon.

he used his free hand to snake up between your bodies and push his mask up to his nose, exposing his stubble and scars. “ i’m going to kiss you now ,” he mumbled. he lingered a moment, giving you enough time to escape his hold, but you stayed rooted in place. 

in a painfully slow motion, simon leaned forward, hunching over and pulling your face up to meet him, and placed his lips on yours. 

your eyes fluttered shut and you felt a race of adrenaline pump through you. his hand was gentle as he caressed your face, pulling you further and further into him. you couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

your lips moved out of sync for a moment but you quickly learned how to flow together. your hands instinctively reached out and fisted his shirt, allowing you to extend higher up into him and also keep your balance. 

he turned you so your back hit the wall, making a squealing noise sound in the back of your throat, his free hand going to your hip, pushing you backward. he pressed his body into yours, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip and then slipping into your mouth. 

you groaned into the kiss as he consumed you, his body shielding you completely. if someone saw ghost from behind, they’d have no idea you were pinned underneath him. 

you gasped as he pulled away, his mouth still dangerously close to yours. 

“simon… i—“ you began, panting as you spoke, trying to catch your breath. 

your hands were still lost in his shirt, his hand still on your hip, but his other one was now on the wall beside your head. “don’t talk.” he kissed you again before you could protest. his lips felt so soft against yours, his stubble tickling you. his hand on the wall couldn’t stop itself from coming back to the side of your cheek, wanting to kiss you as deep as he possibly could. he was truly stealing the breath away from you.

your body rolled into his and you heard him grunt in the back of his throat. it was one of the hottest sounds you’ve ever heard. you felt like you were getting high off him, as he attacked your mouth with such fervor and heady need.

when he pulled away again, you gaped up at him. his eyes danced between yours, appraising you. trying to cypher through your thoughts. you looked at him through your eyelashes, waiting for him to speak or to move. you felt frozen in time. like if you moved, the illusion of him would fade away into a puff of smoke. 

then he moved you in a haze, your eyes focused solely on his silhouette. he grabbed your hand, engulfing it with his own, and pulled you into one of the single-person bathrooms. 

“what’re you—?” 

he shut the door behind the two of you, locked it, and pushed you up against it, your feet rising so you were standing on the tips of your toes. he was panting again, completely succumbing to what he explicitly told himself not to do. the alcohol gave him just strength to suppress the voice yelling at him in his head.

then he kissed you again. this time rough and hungry. your body fell limp as you let him hold you up, his mouth moving against yours in sync. your arms reached up and draped across his shoulders, both of you fighting for dominance, but you gave up rather quickly and let him win. 

simon’s hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. any rational thought about pushing him away vanished. you knew you needed to talk about things — to figure out what he wanted from you. but right now, all you wanted was whatever this was. 

“this goddamn dress ,” he murmured in between kisses, his voice husky and low. your chest rushed with flames at his words, knowing that you were affecting him by simply wearing a short dress, and it made you clench your thighs together. 

simon’s hands went to the hem of your dress and he pushed it up, your body hot and clammy as his hand gilded along your skin. he nipped at your lip, his hand slowly descending between your legs. when he got to the apex of your thighs, he softly dragged his fingers across you, forcing you to moan into his mouth. 

“i fuckin’ hate seeing you with other guys,” he said hoarsely. 

you looked at him, a bit dazed, and still intoxicated — but now by more than just alcohol. “what?” you said breathlessly.

“soap. gaz,” he said flatly. “graves,” he said the commander's name with more anger, his fingers beginning to slide up and down you above your underwear. 

you gripped his shoulders. “okay,” you hastily spoke, still not understanding him, but also not wanting him to stop. 

he pushed your underwear to the side and you were thankful you wore one of your skimpier pairs tonight. as his fingers glidded across you, his fingers getting coated with your arousal, he spoke again. “jus’ with me,” he said. 

just with him? what the fuck was he talking about? you nodded anyway. “just with you,” you repeated. 

“ good girl .” your heart fluttered in your chest at his praise. you never knew those two words could sound so heavenly. but when ghost’s thick accent growled them out breathlessly, you found your core warming more than you thought possible. 

simon pressed two fingers against your entrance, his lips now attacking your neck. you were trying to catch your breath, your mind fogged, your body limp, your heart racing. 

when he pushed them both in, you gasped rather loudly. “ ohmygod ,” you slurred. you were beginning to pant wildly.

you could feel him smile ever so slightly against you. “ mmm ,” he hummed. 

he slowly began to move his fingers, your body ready for him and letting him move with ease. “ so fuckin’ wet for me ,” he mumbled. 

you clutched onto his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut as you focused on the feeling of him inside you. he curled his fingers slightly as he went, pumping them in and out at a decent speed, your body squelching with each thrust. 

normally, you might be a bit self-conscious about being vocal the first time you were intimate with a new person, but you literally could not contain your sounds. you moaned and mewled, crying out when he sped up, his palm bumping your clit each time his fingers went in as far as they could. 

he felt you clenching around him and he marveled at how fast you were approaching your orgasm. it’s not that he had any doubts in his ability, but he’s never made a woman come quite this fast. and you had never had a man make you come this fast either. it was new for both of you.

one of your legs hooked around simon’s thigh, wanting to take him as deep as you could. “fuck,” he grunted, his free hand palming your breast over your dress. “you gonna come for me already, pet?” 

you nodded your head repeatedly, raspy breaths the only response you could vocalize. 

“go on then,” he commanded, keeping his speed. 

your walls spasmed around his fingers and your head buried against his chest. your legs began to shake as you felt yourself reach your high. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck !” ghost engulfed you, holding you up and into him while you clutched him in desperation.

you moaned into his chest and you could hear him panting above you — as if he had just climaxed too. 

he kept moving his fingers, making sure to bump your clit, letting you ride out your orgasm to completion.

when you stopped shaking and were trying to catch your breath, he slowed and eased his fingers out of you. 

neither of you moved. you were still clinging to him and he still had his hands around you, your leg propped on his waist. 

after several beats of silence while you both gasped for air, your hands snaked down his body and fiddled with his belt. you felt simon straighten slightly at your touch, his hand slipping into your hair and making you look at him. 

you succeeded in undoing his belt and you let him tilt your head up toward him. “you don’t have t—“ your hand slid into his pants and grabbed him, cutting him off. he was painfully hard and he groaned the second he felt your fingers on him. 

simon cleared his throat, trying to concentrate as you slowly began to stroke his length. “i’m serious. you d-don’t have to,” he stuttered.

a lazy smile filled your lips knowing how intensely you were affecting him. “i wanna,” you whispered. 

simon’s eyes opened and searched yours, looking for any sign of… displeasure? 

you let your leg fall to your side and you both untangled your bodies. you pushed his chest, baking him up against the sink so he was half sitting on the counter. you pried his pants down enough to free him completely. he watched you intently as you fell to your knees. he was thankful he had the counter for support because seeing you drop to your knees before him made him want to do the same.

god, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to last. he was already impossibly hard from hearing you moan at his touch. and now you were on your knees, begging to suck him off. he was absolutely fucked. 

you gulped, realizing how big he was. simon murmured your name and you immediately took him in your mouth. 

“ugh— fuck —!” he cried. one of your hands grabbed his base where your mouth couldn’t reach and you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down. your hand made twisting motions and your tongue pressed against his cock as you sucked. 

“jus’ like that,” he groaned, his hand coming out to tangle in your hair. his other hand gripped the countertop, holding it so harshly he thought he might crack the porcelain. 

you came up for a breath and a bit of spit dribbled out of your mouth and onto his cock. simon groaned, his hips begging to buck forward. 

you took him in again and simon’s grip in your hair tightened. “not gonna last much— f-fuck —longer,” he said through bated breaths. 

you hummed against him and the vibrations made his cock twitch. he gently bucked his hips forward and you gagged. the noises you were making were so obscene, and simon wanted them ingrained in his brain forever. 

“god, pet. you feel so fuckin’ good .” 

you sucked at the tip of his cock and began to stroke him at a more erratic pace. then you slipped him back in and his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag again. 

“if you d-don’t want me to come in your mouth, you better stop n-now,” he moaned, his head tilting back slightly in pure ecstasy. 

you continued to work him, wanting to taste him. and with a few more bobs of your head and jerk of your hands, simon came in your mouth. 

the hoarse moan he made sent a wave of pleasure between your legs, making you ache to fully have him. you held your mouth in place but continued to suck, making simon’s legs shake slightly. his hand in your hair was now painfully grasping at you but you didn’t mind. 

simon moaned your name as he slowly came back to earth. you popped him out of your mouth and caught your breath, looking up at him. his cheeks were flushed where his mask was pushed up and he was looking at you in astonishment. 

you were kneeling before him, swallowing his come, blinking at him through your eyelashes, your dress still hiked up a bit too high and you’d hair disheveled. you were a fucking work of art and simon was so fucking screwed. 

reality came crashing down on him and he let go of your hair and stood up from the counter, pulling his pants up and redoing his belt. 

he pulled his mask down and you rose in apprehension at his sudden shift. 

“i’m sorry,” he said.

you furrowed your bows. “for what?” 

simon cleared his throat, trying to gain some distance from you. “i shouldnt have taken advantage of you.” 

you gave a mirthless smile. “i told you i wanted to. you didn’t take advantage—“

he breathed your name. “you want something i can’t give.”

“you don’t know what i want,” you said with more merit, but you hugged your arms over your body which said the opposite.

“you’re not the kinda girl for a quick fuck. and i can’t do all the–” he gestured around him with his hands, “– strings.” 

you looked at him with hurt in your eyes. simon wished he could take back what he said. but he kept going anyway, sabotaging himself. 

“you looked good in your dress. that’s all. m’sorry.” 

you gulped, nodding your head but averting your eyes. you swallowed back tears and stood there dumbfounded for a moment. 

you turned to leave the bathroom. you wanted to get as far away as possible from him. 

he called out your name and reached for your arm. 

“don’t!” you shouted, shrugging him off and storming out of the bathroom and back into the bar. 

ghost cursed under his breath as the door slowly shut. he turned and put both hands on the sink’s counter and hung his head. why was he this fucking stupid? why did he hurt you like that? 

why did he lie to you ?

it was true — he didn’t think he could do a proper relationship — but what wasn’t true was that you were simply a warm body to him. no. he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. he had been thinking about you against his will for weeks now. and seeing you in that dress, looking up at him with such soft eyes, he was done for. 

he had never had butterflies when he kissed someone. but with you, his stomach did flips and his heart raced in his chest. he should have stopped then. he couldn’t give you what you wanted. and he couldn’t give himself what he wanted.

it was like he thrived on punishing himself. he didn’t deserve good things. and good things never last. the way you pulled at him led him to believe that he wouldn’t fully recover if he let you get close just to leave him. so he couldn’t let himself get to that point with you. 

and you were innocent and full of hope. you’d hate him once you got to know him. he’d been hurt too many times to count and he thought he had forgotten what it was like to love — to have someone you care about. he wasn’t sure he even knew how to love anymore. he’d hurt you. and he was your superior. it was a disaster waiting to unravel. 

but bloody fuckin’ hell, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to feel what he just felt in that shitty bar bathroom with anyone else. and that scared him. 

he could chase after you. you probably hadn’t gotten very far. he could explain everything. tell you upfront about his concerns. you could discuss this like adults. he could let himself have something good for once in his life. but he didn’t feel like he deserved it… deserved you.

he stayed in the bathroom, sick of his face, and punished his reflection, slamming his fist against the mirror, and shattering it. his knuckles coated with blood and he growled. he threw the bathroom door open and startled the two people waiting outside it. 

“what the fuck—you okay, man?” the stranger asked noticing ghost’s hand. 

ghost pushed past them and left the bar, but not before spotting you with soap. you were drunk and he needed to be sure you’d get back safely. 

he saw tears staining your cheeks and a pang of guilt filled him as he stormed out of the bar. 

chapter 9 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

[chaosology]

haven't i given enough?

— Sam Kerr x reader

based off another fic I wrote, hope it's ok!! masterlist

there will be a part two, let me know what you think :)

When Sam and Y/N met, everything had just fallen into place. Y/N was interning at the local hospital when the Matilda's had come for a charity event, cheering up sick kids on the ward. Y/N had never been much into sports, instead choosing to lock herself in her room on Sunday mornings when her sister would train. In fact, she had no real intention of even interacting with the team. For all she knew, they were a bother - cluttering the halls and blocking the entry ways.

That was until she slammed right into one of them.

Her pager was quiet for the first time that shift, and she had taken the opportunity to go get coffee from the break room. The pathology results in her hands were suddenly scattered on the ground as she was forced several steps back. She had just cursed, not even bothering to look at her now enemy as she crouched down to pick them up.

"Shit! I'm so so sorry," the voice came, "I'll get it for you."

Her hands were joined by two more that anxiously fumbled around on the vinyl tiles, attempting to pick up the A4 sheets that would just fall from her fingers and slip back out.

"No no, it's fine." Y/N fired back. She wanted to add a sly you've already done enough, but at least her mystery attacker had tried to help. That was more than she could say for others.

"Quite some force you've got there." Y/N followed with. She was too embarrassed to life her gaze from the ground and instead focused on the blue nikes in front of her, now reordering the papers and securing them into her clipboard.

"Yeah, comes with the job I guess"

Huh?

Y/N looked up and was met with an apologetic set of eyes and a warm smile. She took her outstretched hand, allowing herself to be pulled up.

"I'm sorry. I'm Sam... I'm Sam and I'm sorry." She was tripping over her words awkwardly, a blush beginning to paint her cheeks. Y/N had laughed, looking down to realise her hand was still in hers.

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

"So, when can I meet your family?"

You looked over to the couch where Sam was resting with her phone, the sun painting a warm glow over her body - she looked beautiful. The question had caught you off guard, Sam could tell. The way your body tensed and nervously chewed on your lip. Your relationship with your family was... complicated.. In the nine months you'd been dating, there was never any mention of your relatives despite your meeting hers.

Your older sister Ami was everything you weren't. She was sporty and athletic, witty and carefree. She exuded an air of confidence that you could never quite match no matter how hard you tried - but that you could handle. It was the taking.

At 14 you stood anxiously by the lockers as you admired Cara Stevens from afar. She was so dreamy, blonde curls framing her freckled face. She had all the important qualities you needed as a 14 year old: she was pretty, a year above AND she had the nicest stationary in her grade. You couldn't believe when she walked over to you of all people, leaning against the door of your locker. Your heart was racing, almost beating out of your chest as you met her eye.

"Hey there, you're Y/N... right?" she had asked. She smelled of fresh mint and you swear she could combust right then and there. "I was just wondering if you could give me your sister's number? No harm in trying, right?"

All feeling had left your body as you absentmindedly scribbled down her mobile number, saying nothing as you watched Cara walk over to her friends and hold up the number like it was a trophy.

You cried in the bathrooms that day.

At 19, you met Grace Li. She was your first proper girlfriend, as you swore off dating in high school to focus on getting into medicine. Grace was studying radiology and you bonded over your mutual love of the sciences, regularly making dates out of shared lectures and labs. Grace clicked instantly with your family, always coming over and helping out when she could. You didn't think much of how she would always sit next to your sister and chat when she had the chance (even if the seat next to you was free.) You thought her inviting out your sister when you went clubbing with friends was just her trying to make a good impression.

You realised you were wrong when you walked in on them with their tongues down their throats in the bathroom.

Your sister had only offered a half-hearted apology that morning. "It's not my fault, Y/N. She came on to me and we were both super drunk. You guys weren't even that serious, right?"

It irked you that it seemed she hadn't even wanted a relationship with Grace, only to win her over and have her claim. But they were only human, right? You spent that weekend in bed crying not only from sadness, but the all-consuming guilt from momentarily hating your sister. You felt so awful.

You never saw Grace again.

At 23, you begged your mum and dad to drive you to the hospital for your first day as an intern. All throughout your childhood, they would take your first day of school off work to drop you off. You'd get breakfast before and play Strawberry Kisses on the radio, singing in the back of the car and kicking your dad's seat to annoy him. You had worked your ass off to get here and wanted nothing more to relive a favourite childhood memory on what would be the most exciting day of your life.

As you left your room to meet in the kitchen of the family home, you were greeted by the obnoxiously yellow note on the fridge.

"Sorry love, Ami was subbed in for a big game! Maybe tomorrow? x"

Your emotions had bubbled up to the surface as you ripped the note from the fridge. It crumpled in your hand as you stood there, tears falling down your cheeks. You had wiped them away pathetically, sniffling as you grabbed your lunch and stuffed it in your bag. The drive to work was silent. There was no Strawberry Kisses, no breakfast and kiss on the cheek. There was no photo of you in your scrubs outside the hospital, mimicking the cheesy grin you made in your kindy photo.

They never made up for it.

So yes, the relationship with your family was strained. There was no awareness on their part; instead, they would pass comments at the table about how you were oh so distant. They would tease about Ami "stealing" Grace as you sat eating, feeling like a little girl all over again. You loved your family, but they had the ability to reduce you to nothing in seconds without even realising it. The worst part was could never quite bring yourself to criticise it, always too guilty to think even a bad word.

You had wanted so desperately to keep Sam a secret, but she was getting impatient. You texted your mother that evening, asking if she was free for dinner and made plans for the following Saturday. Sam held you in that arms as you slept that night, but you couldn't quite rid yourself of that sinking feeling in your stomach.

When you arrived at dinner that night, you noticed the way your sister left the spare chair next to her and insisted you sat next to your father. Sam had looked almost uncomfortable at first, but next you knew she was having an animated conversation with Ami about football. The sinking feeling returned.

As you laid in bed that night, you traced Sam's face. She was exhausted - having fallen asleep as her head hit the pillow. Your fingers danced delicately across her cupid's bow, running down her jawline and coming to rest just above her heart.

The tender moment was interrupted by the buzz of her phone. She was too far gone to even notice and the screen eventually turned back off, returning the room to darkness. Until it buzzed again. And again.

Frustrated, you grabbed it to put it on silent. Thats when you noticed.

"Heya, it's Ami. Lovely meeting Y/N's better half tonight :) Send me that link we spoke about? x"

Oh.

#sam kerr x reader #sam kerr fanfic #sam kerr fanfiction #woso x reader #matildas x reader #fanfiction #woso oneshot #sam kerr imagines #sam kerr imagine #matildas imagine #woso imagines #woso fanfics

[littlemissthunderstorms]

warp speed chic pt.1

“the shining city on the fritz”

a tranquility base hotel and casino alternate universe.

———

you were in awe.

warm, glimmering lights hung down from the ceiling, the soft glittering reflections painting the walls like a mirrorball. smooth jazz filled the reception area, muddled by various chitter chatter and conversations. the whole atmosphere was warm and welcoming, but you couldn’t help the shiver than ran down your spine when you caught a glance out of one of the big windows, vast space scattered with stars and nebulas stretching on and on above the spectacular intergalactic city lights.

you caught yourself staring, jaw agape.

“can i help you miss?” a man with a sleek suit holding a clipboard looked up at you through his thick rimmed glasses, waiting for an answer. “oh- um, yes! i’m actually supposed to meet um..” you glanced at your card, “alex turner?” the man raised his eyebrows. “mr. turner you say?”

you nodded, not really aware of his importance, or if he had any at all. you just knew you were supposed to meet with him first thing. the man glanced down at his clipboard, shaking his head and scurrying over to the phone at the desk, where he fumbled with the buttons, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while he waited for someone to pick up.

you clacked your nails on the desk, looking around as you waited, still breath taken by the gorgeous architecture, the way design flowed so beautifully throughout the space. “good evening mr. turner! sorry to trouble you sir, i’ve got someone who’s apparently supposed to be meeting- oh! great, i’ll send her right up. thank you- you too sir.”

you smiled at the man, nervously biting your lip. another dude in a sleek suit came up to the desk, annoyed. “jeremy, i’m the phone guy. what are you doing?” the man with the thick glasses, presumably named jeremy, rolled his eyes. “mark, i don’t want to hear it. go take this young ladies luggage up to her room,” he snapped back, quickly clacking away on his keyboard. “room 505.” mark scoffed, mustering a fake smile for you as he took your luggage and scurried away.

“sorry about him. he’s got a knack for directing calls... anyway, mr. turner’s been expecting you, follow me.” you smile and nod awkwardly, following him as he treks down a long, red carpeted hallway.

———

turns out, it’s a little frightening riding the elevator up to the top floor. you’ve never been too afraid of heights, but this elevator is a round tube of pure glass, giving you a chill inducing view of all the buildings as the lift rises, just getting higher and higher, the tops of the neon buildings getting lower and lower.

it was frightening for sure, but interesting nonetheless. the booming metro city outside was a design of neon lights and intricate architecture. surely there were many lives and different storylines sprawling and networking throughout the city, as there was everywhere but it seemed so much more captivating on the moon. you wondered what it was like to live here.

once the elevator reached the peak of the building, dinging as the doors slid open, you happily slid out into the hallway. “go straight down the hall, through that big door. that’s his office.” you nodded, a little intimidated now. “thank you sir.” he smiled. “have a wonderful evening miss.”

and with that he was gone, the elevator dinging once more as it closed, followed by the low hum of the lift descending back down, leaving you on your own. the top floor was eerily quiet, the lights dim. you took a deep breath before walking towards the huge door at the end of the hall, noticing the shiny gold plaque in the middle that read alexander turner, founder of tranquility base hotel & casino.

great. you were set to be talking to the goddamn owner of this place. you seemed very mentally unprepared, all you knew is that you would be working on designing the new wing that was just built, along with a team of designers. of course you were qualified for the job, and it was an honor to design for a place this spectacular, you were just a bit intimidated.

you quickly fluffed up your hair and smoothed down your shirt before knocking, your stomach knotting up. a muffled shuffling sound followed by a few heavy footsteps were heard from behind the door before it swung open.

the man that greeted you on the other side was quite striking. you didn’t quite know who you were expecting, but he was much younger than you imagined, probably no more of an age gap of 3 years between you and him, you assumed. the man wore a crisp, perfectly tailored navy blue suit, the cream button up below equally sleek. his dark hair was slicked back, his vampire-esque hairline on display.

“hello, it’s lovely to have you, i’m alex,” he shook your hand and you smiled, trying not to show your nerves as you introduced yourself. “come, have a seat,” he moved your chair out from under the desk, sitting in his own across from you after you’d sat down.

his office was a bit of a contrast from the rest of the establishment. instead of sleek, polished furniture and vast space, the room inhabited more of a homey, lived in essence. you could tell he’d actually done work here. mahogany bookcases lined the whole wall behind his desk, sprawling with books and journals. various paintings scattered the walls, an occasional sticky note or reminder stuck to a golden frame. instead of overhead lighting, vintage lamps scattered the room, basking the space in a comforting warmth that soothed your nerves.

he ran a hand through his gelled hair, fidgeting with the fold of his sleeves. “we’re really excited to have you here. i’ve got to say, i’m a big fan of your work.” this comment surprised you. “thank you, it’s an honor, really.” you smiled, your cheeks starting to hurt. “i just wanted to see you so i could get you all set up. just before you arrived, i emailed you everything you need to know, so um- just be sure to go over that.”

you nodded attentively. “tomorrow you’ll have a meeting with the other designers in the conference hall, which shouldn’t be tricky to find, there’s a map of the place attached to the email as well,” the man rambled on a bit, telling you a bit about the place, sometimes starting sentences just to never finish them, getting lost in his own thoughts.

you liked the way he spoke, his accent, the dreamlike quality his tone held. “any questions?” he chimed after telling you about the library. you shook your head. you had a lot of questions for him, so many you couldn’t even pick, and plus, you didn’t want to worry him anymore, so you saved those questions for another time, storing them in your mind as if they were books on his shelves. alex sat up, smoothing a hand over his blazer.

“well then, i’ll walk you to your room,” he smiled. “oh, that’s alright it’s no worry,” you stood up. surely he was busy, you didn’t want to bother him. he tilted his head. “do you know where it is?” you were silent for a moment, thinking of the plethora of hallways this place had, your chance of finding the suite on your own was small. “no…” you shook your head, smiling awkwardly.

———

“here you are, room 505,” he smiled, holding out a keycard for you. the walk to the suite area had been silent for the most part. the hotel was starting to quiet down since it was getting late. every so often he’d look back and give you a gentle smile before turning back, his heeled boots clacking against the sleek wood flooring. he was so intriguing to you, unlike anyone you’d ever met. you wouldn’t be surprised if he melted into the shadows, seeping away into darkness, like some sort of creature. you couldn’t explain it.

“thank you, mr. turner,” you smiled, grabbing the keycard. “it’s no problem, and call me alex,” he added, stepping away slightly as he realized he might’ve been a bit too close for comfort. “it was nice to meet you, alex.” he grinned. “it’s been a pleasure, have a wonderful night.”

as his footsteps faded off into the darkness, you held your keycard up to the scanner, eyes widening when the door clicked and swung open.

the place was stunning. a large, circular bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned in plush maroon and silky red pillows, with a matching maroon comforter. a white sheer lace bed curtain was tied to each of the four wooden posts, making a gorgeous canopy. the room was tasteful, soft, consisting of intricately designed carpets, sleek 70’s style furniture, and a plasma tv that slid down from the ceiling with a click of a button.

you almost squealed at the sight of the bathroom. the rooms porcelain tiles were pink and cream, matching with the patchwork carpet that sat in front of the clawfoot tub, which was filled with expensive soaps. you opened another sliding door to find a nearly empty walk-in closet, a cherry red silk robe hung on one of the racks, a matching pair of slippers below.

once you were snug in bed, practically melting into the mattress, being engulfed by the soft pillows, your eyes began to feel heavy. you slowly turned your head over to the exterior wall, sleepily gazing out of the large window. most of the city lights were off now, leaving only the inky black void of stars to lull you to sleep.

———

stepping into the conference room, you felt a little underdressed in your button down and slacks. there were about six other designers, all clad in an array of vibrancy. shiny space-age metallic tops, dynamic head scarfs, eccentric glasses. they all looked like they were set to walk a runway show, clearly you missed the memo.

you were a teensy bit late, thanks to the warm, soft bed that didn’t fail to keep you asleep through your alarm. you gave an awkward smile when they all turned to look at you, the door slamming a little too loud. you flushed, quickly setting your laptop and purse down as you pushed yourself into the seat across from alex, who gave you a gentle smile.

settling in, you looked up at the designer who was giving a presentation on his ideas for the new stargazing room. you fought to not scrunch your nose. white curtains? white furniture? white walls with gold detailing? it was cute, maybe for a suburban mom but it didn’t match the energy of the hotel whatsoever.

once it was your turn to present ideas, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. some of the other designers had okay ideas, but some were also good, and although you loved your plan, these people seemed intimidating.

for the stargazing area, you’d envisioned a more cozy, dreamlike room. the furniture and carpeting would be warm toned, various soft lamps and fairy lights scattered across the room. while you were walking everyone through your presentation, your nerves seemed to ease. when you turned back around to sit down, everyone was quiet, unreadable. great.

after each presentation was done, it was time to discuss. everyones attention redirected to alex. being the owner, he got a big say in the final decision. your heart raced once you heard him murmur your name. “i liked yours. we’ll go with that,” he concluded. “meeting over, see you guys tomorrow.”

your jaw was agape. no discussion, no nothing, he chose yours immediately. the other designers didn’t take it well either, mumbling and grumbling a bit as they gathered their things and stumbled out of the conference room.

the following week, you were in the conference room once again. everyone was discussing plans for the day spa, and you found yourself falling quiet. someone had suggested sleek wood paneled walls, which alex had liked. others had suggested fluorescent lighting installments, to which alex said no. you sat there, observing until alex turned to you. “what about you? any ideas?”

your cheeks flushed a bit. “i was thinking dim, hanging lights, a bunch of different kinds, all warm toned, it makes it more calming.” he fiddled with his pen, nodding and scribbling something down. “i like that.”

a designer across the table from you rolled his eyes subtly. you shrunk in your seat, feeling gross. you didn’t want to be known as some sort of suck up. you couldn’t help the way alex singled you out, agreeing with all your ideas.

nevertheless, it didn’t stop. you’d suggest paintings for the wall, he would agree, you’d bring up an interesting wallpaper, he’d find somewhere to put it, you’d point out curtains that complemented the room well, he’d nod approvingly and scribble it down on his notepad.

eventually, you learned to be quieter, trying to let the other designers have the spot light but sure enough, alex would ask you to share again, his eyes narrowing at you as he dismissed the annoyance that stifled the room.

every single time, you’d receive a subtle scoff or an eye roll from one of the other petty designers. you understood, it was annoying that they’d worked hard to get here and the majority of their ideas were being turned down, but still, were their egos just so fucking big that they couldn’t be at least a little happy for you?

———

the next morning, you found a loup mask outside your door. it was adorned in black satin and lace, small gold detailing outlining the eyes. underneath was a small, metallic gold envelope with an invitation inside.

you have been invited to the tranquility base masquerade party,

tonight, 7pm, @ the information action ratio, live music and free drinks.

so now here you were, clad in a black, lace dress, which mysteriously had showed up at your door later that morning, along with a stunning pair of gold earrings and a dainty necklace that matched the detailing on your mask. the black satin hugged you perfectly, making you wonder how they managed to nail your size and proportions.

chandeliers with bulbs of stars hung down in clusters, emitting a gentle glow. people danced and chatted, jazz flowing through the room from the band on the stage, the martini police. tons of different people wandered around, all masked and dressed in a variety of colors and textures.

letting your eyes linger, you spotted the group of designers all chatting at a booth. instead, you headed towards the bar, figuring they already hated you enough, why annoy them now. the bar was beautiful, lights lit up the whole structure, and as you ordered your martini, you couldn’t help but notice how good looking some of the bartenders were.

as you sipped your drink, you felt someone’s presence directly behind you, a little too close for comfort. you turned, trying to distinguish who was under the sparkly white cat mask. “so, are you fucking him or something?”

your eyebrows raised “huh?” the girl scoffed, and immediately you recognized her as one of the other designers. she had a model figure, super tall with platinum blonde hair, and a menacing scoff. she’d be a really good bully. “are you fucking alex? is that how you get him to pick all your ideas?”

you shook your head, cheeks flushed. “no. i have no idea why he favors me,” you stated, turning back to your drink when you felt a cold liquid down your back, making you gasp. you turned again, the blonde pretending to be shocked as she held her empty glass. “i’m so sorry! i’m so clumsy.”

you rolled your eyes, getting up and deciding you’d had enough. you just wanted to go back to your suite, shower and lay in bed. since you’d arrived, the crowd almost doubled in size. you fought your way through, bumping into a few shoulders as you tried not to step on dresses. a lady in a swan mask turned and bumped you, her feathery dress catching on your shoes. you lost balance, stumbling over your heels, about to fall onto another group of people when you felt strong hands on your waist, and in a whirlwind you were upright.

it was alex. he pulled you close to him and swept you away onto the dancefloor, his hand on your waist, a hand interlocked with yours. you almost didn’t recognize him at first. he wore a black masquerade mask, with dark shimmery sequins adorning the sides. his hair was fluffier, much unlike his usual slicked back look.

you looked up at him, noticing how your hand gripped his shoulder. he’d swept you away so swiftly, leaving you speechless. his dark eyes shimmered under the mask as he peered down at you, waiting for you to speak first. “i- i was just leaving,” you stuttered, hyperfixating on the way the spill made the wet satin stick to your skin. he made no remark, keeping his languid gaze, his mouth twisted into a subtle grin.

“there’s vodka all over my dress,” you added. alex shuffled, taking off his blazer and wrapping it around your shoulders. it didn’t help much, but you didn’t say anything. it was a nice gesture.

the mystery lingered in the back of your mind, you wanted to question him about his decisions to constantly favor you but his position of authority made you bite your tongue.

his position of authority. you noticed how many people were staring all of a sudden. you could sense it in his sharp suit, the expensive, musky cologne he wore. it was entrancing, he was quite entrancing himself, you couldn’t ignore it but you couldn’t do this. you didn’t want the taboo boss employee type of perception cast upon you and him. you wanted to be taken seriously. the other designers were already perceiving you as some sort of teachers pet. the thought instilled momentary nausea.

“alex, i’ve got to go,” you whispered. he looked down at you again. “i’ll walk you back.” you shook your head. “no, no thank you, i’ll manage.” you slipped out of his arms before handing him his blazer, maneuvering your way through the tight packed crowd, slipping around torsos and arms until you finally made it out into the secluded hallway.

you took a deep breath, the chatter, music, and clinking of glasses now muddled. the hall was dark, not counting the floor to ceiling window that casted a murky blue into the space. you pressed your hand up against the window. staring out, you still didn’t comprehend it all was real, convincing yourself that it was a dream, and dreams were merely fragments of space cut out and glued together, playing like a glitched out film reel in your sleep.

you snapped back to reality, the smell of vodka on your dress pungent. quickly, you headed back to your suite, heels clacking on the marble, loud in the silence.

———

hii! let me know what you think so far. sorry if this part is a little uneventful, i mostly wanted to set up the environment but trust, better things are coming.

taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed)- @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567 @blair-s-world @rentsturner @indierockgirrl @kittyrob0t @averyzversi0n @michelleisheres-blog @kennedy-brooke @madeinuk @mathdebate00 @sstar-ggirl @tangointhequango @nela-cutie

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #arctic monkeys #humbug #alex turner fluff #alex turner one shot #suck it and see #tlsp #alex turner smut #tranquility base hotel and casino #tbhc era #tbhc

[prismaticfaery]

Little Bunny

John Price x Fem!Reader

Summary: Never in a million years would Captain Price think that he'd have a chance at a family, but with how dangerous his profession was and his chances of becoming a father becoming a reality, you and him have to learn the hard way that moving on is the best you both can do.

**TW: Pregnancy, vomiting, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, labor, childbirth, anxiety, panic, angst, unrequited love. (Forgive me if I miss any!)

Rating: Mature

This is not short, it's 10K words! Also, don't expect too much of a happy ending!

Part Two

A/N: I was debating posting this for so long out of fear it was trash, please be gentle with me! To add, termination is always going to be your choice and it’s okay to consider that option!

Fluorescent lights hung overhead, your eyes poorly adjusting to the harsh lights as you fumbled with a pen nervously between your fingers. You had filled out a small packet of papers on a clipboard, the receptionist telling you that your doctor would see you soon and to make sure every bit of information was filled in. When you had initially told the receptionist that it would only be you when she asked if you were accompanied by a partner for a confirmation of pregnancy ultrasound, she gave you a look, and you knew she was silently judging you for your situation. 

“Y/N?” You hear a nurse call out while propping a door open, breaking you out of your trance.

It was two weeks ago when you had realized your period was late, your work schedule and general hecticness in your life made you suspect that it was stress at first but when your period never showed even a week later, and with having a pretty normal cycle, you darted to the commissary on base and bought two boxes of pregnancy tests– two different brands to make sure. Yeah, you had been more tired lately, and you had lost your appetite more than a few times, but you knew that those could also be normal premenstrual symptoms. 

With your uniform pants and panties down to your ankles, you held two different pregnancy test in your hands, the trembling in your arms and hands from fear only became worse when the test slowly turned positive. With a harsh breath in, you hold it for a moment, fresh tears stinging your eyes when you finally release your breath. Your body felt frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Do you tell him now? Do you wait? You were on birth control and never missed a dose, but of course, it’s not always foolproof. You weren’t even with the baby’s father on an exclusivity level, only really depending on each other for comfort and pleasure when you both needed it– not to mention he was your Captain, your superior. 

A hiccup leaves your throat, the metaphorical golf ball stuck in your throat nearly choking you as you place your head in your hands, those fresh tears gathering in the corners falling into your hands. You were active duty in the SAS and newly recruited into Task Force 141, though just a Sergeant, and you were living in the barracks, which was not the place to bring a baby up in, nor was it even allowed. You weren’t prepared for a baby to come along, and you knew that your Captain had no intention of having children while he always had a target on himself. You knew he wouldn’t take this news well. 

“It looks like you’re reaching nine weeks, strong heartbeat at 168 bpm– see it here?” the doctor pointed to the tiny fluttering heart on the ultrasound monitor. 

“I do,” you smile lightly, your eyes never leaving the small floating jelly bean that jerked and wiggled inside of your body. 

“Do you have support at home?” The doctor asked, her eyes meeting yours with a certain softness, knowing that you checked your marital status as “single”.

“Well I have my mother, but as for the other half of the child, he won’t be very happy,” you say, sitting up and adjusting the paper blanket draped across your nude bottom half. 

“Reach out to your mother, okay? Best of luck with everything,” the doctor takes her leave, giving you the privacy to clean up and put your uniform back on. 

You sat for a moment, the silence deafening save for the nurses speaking at their station outside the exam room door. You peek over at the ultrasound monitor, which had been paused on a picture of your tiny baby. Your heart ached, and you found yourself struggling to turn your head away, until a knock at the door sounded. 

“Here are your papers, there’s also a script for prenatal vitamins and some brochures,” the nurse smiles, handing you the small stack, “take care of yourself.”

The door closes behind the nurse and you decide that it’s time to finally get dressed. You wipe the ultrasound gel from your abdomen and lower region, and silently slip your clothing back on, your eyes never leaving the monitor until you notice a small black and white photo had been printed and attached to your after appointment papers. Your heart skipped, quickly tearing the photo from off of the stack to hold in your hands, your little baby’s side profile had been captured and you could see the tiny arms and legs scrunched up to its body. 

Checking the time on your watch, you pick up speed, remembering that you had a debriefing on a Task Force affair with your Captain soon and you were definitely going to be late arriving at it. You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your lack of punctuality, but you had proof that you were tied up in a last minute affair. 

Once arriving back at base, you could see the familiar form of Soap who was also a late arrival to the debriefing, but you knew it was because of his poor time management skills, or he was just waking up from one of his naps. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spins around in a wild fashion. 

“Good grief, ya scared the shite out of me,” Soap held a hand to his chest. 

“Sorry, I was just curious if we could walk together to the debrief,” you question, your eyes pleading for him to agree as to save yourself from being individually called out by your Captain. 

Soap nods, his longer legs falling into step with yours, “you’re not usually late to these things, something must have had you tied up,” Soap scratches his head, yawning into his unoccupied hand.

“Oh you know, women’s issues,” you shrugged, Soap wincing at your words. 

“Ah, I don’t think you need to explain,” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he was treading into territory he was very familiar with, having to be around female soldiers– especially with being around you so much– taught him more than enough. 

Opening the door to the small debriefing room, you could see Ghost leaning back in his chair, one leg over the other while his arms crossed against his chest, his usual black balaclava covering his face. Gaz was in the seat adjacent to Ghost, his face blank– an almost bored expression showing. 

Price’s body language was showing very clear annoyance as he watched you and Soap enter, the awkwardness in the room causing you to fumble into your seat, the loud scraping of the chair leg against the tile floor made Price audibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“You two are late, don’t let this happen again or I’ll have you assigned cleaning duty for a week,” Price points his finger first at Soap, then at you, your eyes casting downwards in embarrassment. 

As the debriefing went on, you could feel the familiar crystalline blue eyes of your Captain steal glances of you. You make yourself small and scarce in the meeting, your arms folding across your upper body and your body slinking into your chair. You felt strange about having such a huge secret being hidden away from your Captain who was more than deserving to know about it, but you needed time to formulate a plan on how you were going to carry out telling him. It would be better to tell him sooner than later though because you could be deployed at any time and that would be a dangerous situation for you and the life that was growing inside of you. 

“Ghost, you and Gaz will be going to Russia for some recon, I need intel– any intel on where they’re moving next,” Price nods his head in Ghost’s direction, handing Gaz a debriefing packet on his and Ghost’s deployment that they’ll go over together at a later time. 

You feel your body tense as a very heavy wave of nausea washes over you, Soap noticing your eyes fluttering and your skin becoming ashen and shiny from sweat. Pushing his seat out with the back of his legs, Soap rushes over to the trash bin, knowing all too well you wouldn’t make it yourself. He shoves the bin into your lap where you attempt to shield yourself with your arms as you empty the contents of your stomach. Gaz winces, and Ghost is pretty much unbothered but keeping a watchful eye on you. 

“You alright?” Price askes as he makes his way over to your hunched over form. 

“No, I really need to go,” you heave a sigh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Leave that, I’ll have someone clean it,” Price nods, motioning for you to leave. 

Long having discarded your uniform, you sat on your bed, staring at the white wall across the room. So many thoughts flooded your brain, and you felt like you were losing control of everything in your life all in the span of a few hours. You were young, and still inexperienced in life, halfway to reaching your thirties. The dried yet still sticky feeling of tears coated your cheeks and you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest every time you even thought of mentioning this pregnancy to Price. How the hell was he going to take it?

You knew that it would go two ways most likely– one: he’d walk away and break all contact, or two: he would tell you that he would support you and the baby, but would not be present.

A knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, your voice cracking as you told the visitor to come inside. Price’s tall body stands in the doorway for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was risky coming into your room so early in the evening but he was willing to take that chance. 

“Everything alright? Soap said you were dealing with something– didn’t know the pain got so bad for you during that time of the month,” Price sits beside you on your bed, his taller form making yours tiny in comparison. 

“I’m alright, I just need to rest,” your voice is small with a tinge of exhaustion, playing into Soap’s assumptions of you being on your period. 

“You been crying, love?” Price’s large hand caresses your neck, his thumb dancing across your cheek soothingly.

“A little, yeah,” you smile softly, leaning into his touch. 

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really, if that’s okay?” Your breath catches in your throat, you knew damn well you should tell him, but fear froze you in place. 

“I understand, hormones and all that lot can be difficult,” Price sighs, the hand that rested on your neck falling back into his lap. 

You suck in a breath as his words repeat in your head. Did he already know? Or did he have an inkling of an idea? No, that wasn’t possible. 

You feel the familiar burn of bile rising into your throat, your legs making a mad dash for the bathroom across your small barracks room. Heaving what little was left in your stomach, you could feel your Captain’s cool hands gather your loose hair from your sweat covered neck and forehead. As you breath in and out heavily, a soft cry escaping your lips from the horrifying nausea pounding through your body, you feel Price’s free hand rub soothing circles along your back. 

“You’re alright, sweet girl, let it out,” the deep gravel in his voice was soothing. 

You gag and heave one last time before you begin to feel like the nausea is subsiding, Price’s arm reaching over to flush the toilet and then bring your body back to lay against him as he leaned back against the tub. Your shorter legs are pulled up to your chest as his thick arms engulf you. 

“I’m pregnant,” a sob escapes your throat, a trembling hand brought up to your now teary eyes, wiping away any stray tears that escape. 

Everything goes silent around the two of you, and you could tell John was formulating his response and keeping himself from reacting in a way he would regret. His arms go slack around you and you begin sobbing even harder at his action. 

“Did you not take your pills?” Was all he could muster asking. 

“I did, I did-!” you cry, turning your body to face him now. 

“Y/N, you know what this could do to us– to me, right?” Price’s voice was dangerously low now, a look of pure anger painted on his face. 

You knew all too well what this situation could do to you both. Demotion, dishonorable discharge, enemies who had a target on both of you– but more specifically him, would know that there is something precious and innocent that could be easily taken away. 

Price goes quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks to himself for a moment, “I think you should consider your options.”

“So that’s it? You’re putting all of this on me?” your heart begins to sink into your stomach, knowing damn well that this was his way of telling you that he wanted to cut all contact and act like this situation never happened. 

“What will you have me do, Y/N, hm?” He points a finger at himself, the tip poking into his hardened chest. 

“At least consider options with me– it takes two-!”

“No, Y/N. No,” Price rises to his feet, leaving you in a puddle of anxiousness on the bathroom floor, your eyes frantically watching his hand swing the bathroom door open. 

“Please don’t–,” you reach an arm out to him, but he’s gone so quickly from your sight. 

You find out the next day that you were pardoned from work, formation, and PT for a full month, knowing that Price did this to allow you time to think about what to do with the pregnancy. You hardly left your room, and when you did, it was usually just to eat and do laundry. Soap tried to stop you a few times to catch up and ask how you were doing, but you instead offered a smile and a quick, “I’ve gotta go,”. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried out of his mind for you, sad eyes watching you disappear down the hallways. He was often your partner in missions and would offer a helping hand if and when you needed it. Maybe he just needed to wait for you to come to him? He would always wait for you. 

You stared at your discharge papers for days, the blanks filled out neatly, and the pen you used sat atop the thin packet. You were sure that this is what you wanted, and this would save John from the possibility of having everything he worked so hard for to be snatched away. No one would know he was the father of the baby, and you weren’t going to make him be something he didn’t want to be. You wouldn’t inform him of the gender, due date, name– anything, if he didn’t want to know, in which you knew he wouldn’t. 

You wanted to make this as easy as possible– slowly cutting off your military life, and going back home to make a new life for yourself and for your baby. Your mother was in agreement, telling you to come home and to get yourself back on your feet, that she’d be happy to watch over the baby while you worked. You would have your childhood room back and your mother’s cooking, and that was enough to put a smile on your face even for just a moment through the rough patch. She knew that having support was the most important thing for you. 

You gather the papers in your hands, tapping them on the counter to even them out. Taking a moment to think one last time if this was truly what you wanted, you let out a shaky breath, leaving your room and making your way to John’s office, your fingers grasping the papers tight enough to wrinkle them. 

You knock three times on Price’s door, waiting for him to call out an answer for you to enter, “come in,” you finally hear him say. 

He straightens in his desk chair, the air in the room becoming thick and tense. He looks to be stressed out, his hand soon covering his forehead as he attempts to relax. You sit in one of the two chairs across from his desk, sliding your filled out discharge paperwork over to him. Price’s vascular arm reaches over to grab the papers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. At first, he thinks that these are adoption papers for the baby, in which he would sign the parts that said “father’s information”, but he soon realizes that’s not what he was given. 

“You’re leaving the military?” his eyes darted up to look at you. 

“I won’t make this difficult. You don’t need to know a thing if you don’t want to, you won’t need to be present, just sign those papers and we’re gone.” 

“The Task Force needs you,” Price’s voice falters, his usual soft tone you were so used to is back. 

“I want to raise this baby, John– our baby,” you feel yourself spiraling, your hormones making it difficult to keep your composure. 

You could see his eyes flutter closed, his body shaking as he releases a large huff from his lungs, “you’ll be discharged immediately. I don’t want to see a trace of you left in that room.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had very little to pack up in your room, your mother having come from London to help you carry anything heavy. Soap had stopped by your room after hearing the news that you were being discharged. His thoughts soared wildly as he watched your mother pack away your things as you carried out items to her car, thinking of how sick you must have been to have to leave the military immediately. You must have been in need of serious medical treatment to just drop everything and leave. His form standing outside your door caught your mother’s attention, making his entire body tense. Turning on his heel, he prayed to whatever or whomever that your mother hadn’t seen the stray tear fall down his cheek. 

Your civilian clothing felt a little tight around your lower abdominal area, your belly poking out slightly, bloating from the pregnancy hormones and constipation since the baby was still very tiny to make an appearance quite yet. You were half tempted to keep your jeans unbuttoned but with it being so hot out, your shirt was cropped right above your belly button. You had to keep cool somehow and you weren’t sacrificing your style for your growing belly. You and your belly bump can be stylish together. 

“Is this the last of it, darling?” Your mother questions, placing the last box in the trunk of her sedan. 

“Yes,” you answer, looking around one last time before opening the passenger door of the car and slipping inside. 

Your eyes caught a glance of Price, who was outside on the training field with a group of soldiers. He was looking right at you, and it sent a flood of different emotions to wash over you. Tears stung your eyes, your throat swelling as you tried your best to keep yourself from falling apart. You were prepared to do this whole parenthood thing alone, but you were hoping that you would at least have him present for the sake of the child– not even for the sake of you because you weren’t what mattered in this situation. 

You had fallen madly for him but your job had made it very apparent that feelings for your superior could be a whirlwind of repercussions to pay. You had to play it safe in the shadows. John would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t also felt the same feelings as you, but kept it no more than a hook-up every once in a while. This was the most difficult decision you could ever make– deciding to walk away. 

It had taken you weeks to acclimate to civilian life after being in the military for so long. You were freshly 18 and had just graduated secondary school when you joined the Royal Army, just entering your mid 20’s when you passed selection for the SAS, Price was the first to congratulate you, shaking your hand and offering you a warm smile, the creases in the corners of his eyes sending you into a tizzy– goodness he was so handsome. His face was shaved then however. You loved his chops when he started growing them out, your eyes catching his own as he carefully combed through the thick auburn beard hairs with a sandalwood comb in the middle of his debriefings. 

You sat at the dining room table of your childhood home, scanning over the words on your laptop screen. You had gotten a new job and you were going to start working remotely from the house, which was perfect because of the baby coming around February. You had since gotten into a new doctor’s office, your mother accompanying you for support. Her face lit up when she saw the baby floating around on the screen, their little arms covering the front of their face. You had cried more than you liked and your nausea had increased dramatically once leaving the base. You thought it may have been from the stress of leaving your old life behind intermingling with the pregnancy hormones. 

Your mother was a huge support, telling you that you could take time to yourself before you found a civilian job. You waved her off however, saying that she had no business having to pick up the slack for her adult child. She had already taken to knitting small items for the baby, and your favorite was the small floppy bunny beanie that was a light cream color, the inside of the ears a dusty pink. 

“Have any of your military friends contacted you since leaving?” Your mother asks, peeking up from the cream colored blanket she had started days previous. 

“Soap has, but he ended up being deployed before I could answer. He probably thinks I’m dying with having left so suddenly when I was experiencing morning sickness during debrief,” the sigh that left your lips was a sad one, as Soap was someone you had grown quite close to over the years of being in the same barracks and then being on the Task Force together for a short period of time. 

“Well hopefully you can remain friends,” the nimble fingers of your mother placed a stitch marker into the blanket. 

“One can hope,” you lie. 

You were entering your 20th week of pregnancy– halfway to the finish line is what your mother said to you that morning. Her excitement was easy to spot as today was the day you would find the gender of the baby out. Your belly had grown some, but not enough for it to be immediately recognized as a baby bump. Maybe you just ate an entire pizza? 

Drinking the last bit of orange juice, to which your mother swore would make the baby more lively in your belly during the ultrasound, you look over the texts in your phone, Soap’s name popping up suddenly. It catches you off guard when you open the text, seeing a picture of Ghost and Price out on the firing range, Price’s hat sitting on top of Ghost’s head as he lay prone on the ground with a sniper rifle. Price had his arms crossed and was seeming to refuse being in the photo, his hand covering his face. Soap hadn’t sent so much as a “hi” in weeks, and you had hoped that he just moved on from the thought of you staying in touch with your old roots. Closing out of the text app, you place your phone face down on the kitchen counter, your heart dropping. You just won’t reply, just like you had been doing before. 

Patiently waiting in the exam room at the midwife’s office, you placed a hand on your belly, hoping that soon you would finally be able to feel movement. Your midwife said it’s normal to not have movements until now or even a little later but you were so impatient. Once entering the room, the midwife went over her routine questions, and took your blood pressure. 

“Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, are you getting enough water and rest?” The midwife asks, placing herself on the stool next to the ultrasound machine. 

“Mum wouldn’t let me live it down if I weren’t,” you answer. 

“I believe it,” the midwife chuckles, looking over at your mother who had taken a seat next to you on the exam table, “I would like for you to continue what you’re doing, and if you’re feeling any strange symptoms like dizziness, faintness, seeing stars in your vision, or pains in your chest or ribs, go to the hospital immediately.”

You nod your head, and the midwife starts setting your ultrasound up, helping you lie back on the bed as soon as she’s done. Unbuttoning your jeans, she places a flannel over the top of your jeans to keep the gel from staining them. The lights are then turned off and you begin to relax and clear your mind, ready to see your baby after weeks of waiting. Squeezing a large amount of gel onto your abdomen, the midwife places the transducer of the ultrasound machine onto the mound of gel, rubbing it around to find where the baby is positioned. 

“Look at those little puckered lips,” the midwife smiles down at you.

“Oh darling, look at that sweet baby,” your mom was in tears, her emotions always outmatched yours. 

As the midwife continues looking at the baby through the monitor, she takes her time going through all of the anatomy of the baby, noting it on the keys of the machine. Your hand was being squeezed so hard by your mother, you thought that your circulation might be cut off after so long. The tiny fingers of the baby were by their mouth, their legs stretching out and scrunching back up. 

“What were your bets on the gender, mum?” the midwife asks your mother, the two smiling at each other. 

“That’s a little girl in there.”

“Mum is correct,” the midwife points her finger to the wiggling baby, a clear picture of the baby’s gender boldly displayed. 

You’re going to have a little girl, Captain. 

Squealing with delight with fresh tears coating her cheeks, your mother squeezed your arm and kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you. I’m a grandma to a baby girl.”

While there was downtime, Price often grabbed drinks with the Task Force, his usual military uniform shed and his dog tags resting on his bedside table. The black jumper he wore had gotten a little loose, his appetite scarcely there since you told him about your pregnancy. His anxiety made his mind wander more than he liked. How were you doing? Was your belly finally popping out? Did you start purchasing baby items? He would always ground himself after some time, his internal voice telling him that this was for the safety of himself, and the safety of you and the baby. His baby. But not his baby at the same time, he made that clear with you all those weeks ago. 

Clutching a rocks glass in his hands at the bar, Price took a quick swig of the amber liquid as Soap sat to his right, scrolling through his social media timeline. Ghost was at the pool table across the bar, talking with Gaz, who had just taken a shot at a cue ball. It had been raining for days straight, the cool air flowing into the bar with each time the door opened. Were you also experiencing this weather? Or had you gone countries away to escape staying in the same country as your former friend with benefits with whom you now had forever ties with? 

“You know, Y/N’s social media was deactivated and she never answers my texts. I wonder if she’s okay?” Soap mumbled, unable to put his mind at ease as to where you went or what happened to you. 

“She was honorably discharged from the special forces, she’s probably cutting ties with her old life as much as possible,” Price’s voice was grim, however Soap didn’t quite catch on. 

“That’s not like her though– she used to post everyday–!” Soap gestured his hand to his phone, his social media app still open. 

“I think it’s best to allow her to move on,” Price slammed the rest of his whiskey, placing the glass back down on the bar with a loud clunk, “she’s been shot, wounded, seen death, caused death, stayed in hospital for weeks altogether in her career– she deserves peace.”

“She was ill, Captain,” those baby blue eyes of Soap’s were now filled with worry. 

“You said it yourself: she was experiencing her time of the month.”

“You’ve turned cold recently Captain–.”

“Move on, Soap. That’s the best you can do, for her sake and yours.”

Soap’s emotions were crushed, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his belly. Price knew Soap always cared too much, and that’s what set him apart from many people who had grown a bit cold and cynical while in the SAS– like Ghost for example. It was time for everyone to move on, it had been many weeks since your departure, and the only one who seemed to hold on the most was Soap… at times. Price struggled too but he was a Captain, he needed to be a leader and offer guidance to his soldiers, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but needed to hear. 

Holding his glass up to signal the barkeep for another pour, Price sighs, watching Soap scroll some more on his social media timeline, hitting the search bar and typing in anything and everything he could think of just to find you. He then sees him type in your mother’s name, his body language picking up in relief when a profile popped up, he just hoped your mother’s timeline wasn’t completely private. 

“Shite,” Soap mutters, disbelief flooding his tone, “she’s fuckin’ pregnant?” 

The Captain’s heart might as well have stopped beating right then and there when he heard Soap. Looking over at Soap’s phone, Soap adjusted the phone to show Price the screen, a post from two weeks ago exclaiming that you had just found out about the gender, a picture of you attached with a pink cupcake in your hand. 

“It’s a girl,” Price stared at the photo of you for way too long, his eyes softening when he saw that pregnancy glow, your cheeks becoming more filled out, and the swell in your lower belly being caressed by your hand. 

“Lucky lad, the father is,” Soap locked his phone, placing it face down on the bar, soon cradling his head in his hands. Soap is now trembling, a relieved yet saddened sigh leaving his mouth. 

Yeah, a lucky lad he would have been in a different world. 

Lying in the bath, the bubbles that had been added to the water thick and covering most of your body, your hands rested on your belly, rubbing the soft and stretched skin gently. Twenty two weeks along and you still hadn’t felt movements, and it was starting to worry you. Most people felt movement already. Sinking lower into the warm bath water, you feel the tension in your shoulders release after having worked all day. Come to think of it, your desk was still in a disarray with papers and pens and you had no energy to clean it up at the moment. 

Stilling yourself in the water and staring ahead at the faucet, you notice your stomach twitch, thinking that at first it was just a reflex, until it happened a few more times. You place the tips of your fingers where the twitches were happening, flinching when you could feel little taps. 

“Is that you in there, trying for your mummy’s attention?” You whisper, and another tap could be felt. 

Tears escape your eyes, quickly rolling down your cheeks when you think about how John is missing out on these moments. He would never be able to feel his little girl’s first movements. You wanted to imagine him being right there after you called out his name, his large hand reaching down into the tub, brushing softly against your swollen belly. He would wait patiently, at first discouraged that he missed those little kicks. Until finally, those little taps started up again, his baby blue eyes lighting up as he felt the tiniest movements against his palm. 

Wiping your tears away with the butts of your palms, you let out a shaky breath, attempting to ground yourself as much as you can in this moment, knowing that tears and sadness were not going to help get yourself through this. But it did feel good to cleanse your soul with a few tears after they built up for so long. 

When John had gotten to his room back at the barracks after downing three glasses of whiskey, he could feel his body give out from under him as soon as he shut the door behind him. His back slides down the door, his bottom meeting the cold tile, hands cradling his face as he chewed his bottom lip raw, the dull sting of the open wound radiating on his mouth. Hot torrents of anxiety begin to course through his body, tears stinging his eyes as he feels like he might crawl out of his skin. Clawing at his jumper collar, he feels like he’s suffocating, his breaths uneven and raspy. 

He missed you– missed those nights where he crawled into bed with you, your limbs entwining in a warm and comforting embrace after a hard day of work. His hands would search for the feeling of your soft skin in the darkness, only to feel an empty coldness on the sheets where your body should have been. You weren’t even his and vice versa but his attachment to you was obviously present from the beginning. His eyes always sought you out in the room, always scanning the battlefields to make sure you were safe. He should have pulled out all those times, knowing damn well that no birth control was 100% effective, other than abstinence or sterilization. He had gotten too comfortable with you, too lost in the warmth, the comfort you brought him. The smiles and the joking, the playful smacks you would give him, the wrestling and tickling matches that very often turned into that hot and heavy sex that left you both breathless and in a heavy daze. 

John knew he needed to move on, and to allow you the opportunity to live a happy and safe life with the baby, away from the military, the SAS, and the Task Force, but he was stuck on the idea that things could have been so different. If his duties weren’t so important– ridding the world of everything ugly and scary, meaning that his daughter wouldn’t have to one day live in fear, he would do it a million times over. No matter how much it hurt– no, how much it killed him, or how difficult it was to go day after day not knowing who or what she might be when she finally came into the world. How he’d never be able to see you become the mother you talked about being one day, holding a brand new baby while coming down off of the adrenaline, sweat still clinging to your forehead and cheeks. How he wanted so badly to witness that ecstatic yet exhausted “I did it,” come from your mouth, your tired eyes peering up at him. Being your support system while you struggled to nurse, changing the baby’s first nappy, letting you rest while he gently rocked and soothed the fragile bundle, whispering how much he loved her already. 

“Fuck–!” Price shouted, throwing his car keys across the room. 

At 32 weeks, your baby shower took place, friends that had kept in contact with you over the years came, as well as family members that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were in a comfortable maxi dress as your belly had gotten too big and it felt like the skin on your belly was always itchy so the soft fabric of the dress played a part in keeping that feeling away. There was a mountain of gifts that sat around the recliner in the den and you were overwhelmed with how much people cared to spoil the baby this much. 

As you sit in the recliner unwrapping the gifts, you smile for the pictures your mom begged to take so she could show you off, holding up each and every item you received. Blankets, nappies, outfits, baby gear, necessities, and even postpartum kits sat in a corner neatly. You were crying, feeling so undeserving of the kindness, but as your family and friends saw you, they all offered their comfort in the form of words of affirmation and bone crushing hugs. That you were loved and supported in this particularly difficult and confusing time. Your friends and family would have loved John. 

Your mother brings in another gift out of nowhere, her arms barely able to wrap around it, let alone carrying it over to you. Confused, you make her drop it, your body lifting from the recliner to help her set it down, her hand waving you off to not help her with something so heavy in your condition. She gives you a look and shrugs, saying there was no name on the gift. Tearing the wrapping paper off, you see a beautiful bassinet pictured on the large box. No one had fessed up to getting the gift for you, so you sat confused for longer than you would have liked as everyone else mingled. 

It had taken days for Price to figure out what he wanted to do for your upcoming baby shower. Your mother had posted an event, not realizing it was a public post, and fortunately for John, he knew your address from your paperwork and files. He found the sweetest bassinet, a cream color with a lacey pink border. It had a little storage area at the bottom so that you could keep any baby items at arm’s reach. Once he had put his payment and your address in, he hit the confirm button. He just hoped it would arrive on time. 

Sitting back in his desk chair, he listened to the busy hallways in which soldiers congregated and conversed while on their down time. His mind wandered to the most recent pictures your mother had posted, and your belly had grown bigger and you smiled so large. He imagined lying in bed, shirt removed, sweatpants on, your warm body next to his in a night dress that had become too short on you with your bump, his hand caressing the bottom of your abdomen, whispering sweet words. You were pressing your lips to his own, lingering for a moment and breathing in each other’s breath. 

“God, I hope you’re doing alright,” Price’s voice came out in a near whisper. 

Work has become a distraction of sorts, the meeting on your screen with several of your coworkers becoming something like a white noise as your mind wanders, your pen hanging loosely between your fingers as you stare into the void. A plate of biscuits and a cup of tea had been placed on your desk almost an hour ago by your mother, but they hadn’t been so much as even touched. You had a pretty significant headache that had gnawed away at the back of your head for the past few days that not even a paracetamol here and there helped. Thinking that the hormones had everything to do with it, you brushed it off without a second thought. 

“Y/N, what do you think about this?” Your coworker asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“I think it’s a great idea,” you answer, nodding and smiling into your webcam. 

Catching the fully set up bassinet that had been put in the other corner of the room in your video feed, you smile, placing your hands on your now nearly full term belly– 36 weeks to be exact. Your coworkers dismissed the meeting after agreeing to start the new project that had been outlined for a few weeks now, the small details and start date finally figured out. 

You stand from your desk chair, a hand placed on the underside of your belly to keep your center of gravity balanced and to keep your pelvis from hurting from the weight of your belly. The dress you wore swayed as you waddled over to the corner of the room where all of the baby’s things had been set up. Grunting as your knees bend to the floor, you drag the hospital bag you had been slowly putting together over the past few days. There were folded onesies, and knitted cardigans that you still had yet to pack away, as well as a small bag of toiletries. John would have chewed you out for being so carefree on such important things such as the hospital bags. He would have had his bag packed for weeks and sitting at the front door. 

Wincing from a twinge of pain in your chest, you stop what you’re doing for a moment to wait for it to subside. It could have been a trapped gas bubble– pregnancy and all of its little quirks. When the pain doesn't subside, you attempt to get onto your feet, but cry out when the pain worsens. 

“Mum–!” You cry out, bracing your hand on the bassinet and clutching your chest. 

Hearing your mother stomp up the stairs quickly, she barges into the room, rushing to your side and helping you up, “what happened, sweetheart?” she questions, eyes wide. 

“I’m having really bad pains in my chest,” you begin to cry, hot tears pooling in your eyes, scared out of your mind for the baby. 

After little to no convincing, your mother packed you and the bags into the car. It felt like the longest drive to the hospital ever, the diaper bag sitting in your lap and your own hospital bag at your feet, the baby kicking the wind out of your lungs, so you thought that she was hopefully doing just fine with all of her movements. There was a fresh sheet of snow on the ground and icicles formed on the trees, the freezing January air nipping at your skin. 

A nurse brought your mother and yourself over to triage, hooking you up to a non-stress test, the nodes placed cozily around your stomach, and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm that was inflating and squeezing the life out of you. You knew that 140/90 was not where a pregnant person’s blood pressure should be, and you were certain the nurse was going to have you pee in a cup to check for proteins. 

Sure enough, you had to pee in a cup, handing it over to the nurse when you were finished and it was a hard enough feat to reach under your belly. Thankfully though, the non-stress test wasn’t alarming, the baby’s heart rate staying in a normal range even with the issues you were facing. 

“I think it’s safe to induce you right now, I’m not liking the looks of your blood pressure and labs,” the midwife sits in a stool across from your bed. 

Everything started off manageable– the pains, you were able to breathe through. Your mother stood by your side the whole time, clutching your hand when you needed it. You sat cross-legged in a hospital gown, the bed placed at the highest position, and an IV placed in the crease of your elbow. It was five hours later when the pitocin had started causing the most excruciating pains you had ever felt, and you had been shot many times in the SAS. 

Crying out and grasping the handles of the bed, your breathing became ragged and your mouth dried out and you were so happy when your mother applied lip balm to your mouth to keep them from cracking. Each time your progress was checked, the pain worsened, the labor pains feeling like a searing hot knife was dragging across your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly for John to be here, sitting across from you on the bed, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while you groaned through your pains, but it was your mother who stood in his place, her tender touches breaking you out of your swimming mind. 

Hours later, your water had broken on its own, and now you were in the home stretch and the anxiousness began to flow throughout your body, knowing that your little girl was to make an appearance by the beginning of the next day. 

John’s body was wired, sleep not taking him this evening, his hand resting on his bare stomach as he splayed out on his bed, the blanket barely covering his waist. He scrolled mindlessly for hours on his phone when he finally decided to browse your mother’s social media, hoping that she had updated with anything that had to do with you. He shot up from his pillow when he saw a photo of you sitting up in a hospital bed, and IV and wires hooked up all over your body. 

“Posted three hours ago,” he mutters to himself, tapping your photo and zooming in on your face– you looked so angelic. 

His baby would be here so soon and it made his heart skip beats, anxiety flowing through his veins. He could be there right now in place of your mother, whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear, rocking with you and helping you breathe through the pain. Even when on the battlefield while injured, he knew you were terrible at controlling your breathing, often passing out and waking back up with him chewing your head off. 

“Make sure to breathe, sweet girl, you’ve got this,” he spoke almost silently– a whisper off his lips. 

Lying back down, he knew immediately that he was not going to sleep until he knew you had delivered safely and that the baby was okay. Knowing how much your mother posted updates about you, it was surefire that she’d post a picture of that sweet baby as soon as she arrived. What were you going to name her? Would you give her your surname? Of course you would, he doesn’t have that badge of honor– of his kid taking his name, when he wasn’t present. What would his daughter look like? Hopefully like you because you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth. 

The smallest hand was wrapped around your finger, swaddled in the cream colored blanket your mother knitted just for her. The baby came out kicking and screaming after almost two hours of pushing. You cried out for John, wanting him by your side more than anything. To hold your hand, to kiss you so deeply when the baby came and was placed on your chest. Your mother knew how much you missed John, your forlorn looks never fooling her, and so she felt great sympathy hearing you scream out for your past lover. 

“Look at you, Bunny,” you whisper, stroking the soft cheek of your little girl ever-so-softly. 

“Oh, you did such a good job, my love,” a kiss was placed on your cheek by your mother, her hand resting on the back of the baby’s bunny hat covered head. 

You would go through the pain of carrying her and bringing her forth a million times over, your heart swelling so much it might have exploded when your eyes caught the looks of her face. She was so perfect, so tiny. The moment she was placed on your chest, her eyes peered right into yours– those same crystal blue eyes she shared with her father. 

It was late morning the next day. John hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes heavy and Soap was late to debriefing– like that was a new thing though. He decided to sit at the table instead of the podium at the front of the room where the projector screen hung behind it, too exhausted to stand for more than needed. Gaz was away on deployment, leaving Ghost and Soap to sit in the seats to the right and left of him. Ghost’s eyes peered at his newest deployment papers, flipping through the pages pretty quickly as he was a fast reader. Soap had his head down, phone hidden under the table while there was a moment of silence– a break of sorts, in John’s meeting. 

“She had the baby, bonnie lass she is,” Soap says out loud, Ghost looking up from his papers with a quiet hum.

John frantically dug his phone out of his pocket, searching your mother’s name on social media. There you were, holding the tiniest bundle in your arms, swaddled inside a knitted blanket with her hands tucked under her chin. He had to leave, he needed a moment. The chair screeches when he stands, Soap’s attention snapping to his Captain, who started rushing out the door. 

Sharing a confused look with Ghost, Soap stood from his seat and left the room. Why did he leave in such a hurry? Why did he react like that in general? Soap was searching his brain for the possible answer. Come to think of it, Soap never noticed a gentleman by your side during your pregnancy and your mother had mentioned in posts how you were so strong and she was lucky to be by your side during this new adventure. Was John that baby’s father? Why was he not there with you? But then it all began to make sense the longer Soap thought– the SAS and Task Force were always keeping themselves hot on the tails of dangerous people, and those dangerous people would stop at nothing to take everything away from them. Maybe this was a mutual decision– and exactly why you left the military. 

John’s breathing was heavy as he shut the door to his room behind him. He felt unstable on his feet, nearly tripping on his way to sit on his bed. Your photo was zoomed in on his phone, your hair was disheveled, your hospital gown hanging from your shoulders– he was guessing you’d already attempted to feed the baby with how lazily it had been tied back up. John’s eyes focus on the baby, his heart skipping a beat when he looks at her sweet button nose and wispy little hairs poking out from her knitted bunny hat. Oh how beautiful his girls looked after all of their hard work. Pride swells in his chest, he knew this must have been so difficult, but you did it and looked even more beautiful than before as a new mother. 

The nights were long, the days melted together, and you found yourself lost. Though your mother lent a hand when she was available, you had taken on so much so quickly and had no adjustment time, as having a baby would do. Between nursing the baby and running on less sleep than you had gotten on some of your deployments, you were ingesting more caffeine than you liked, and you often found yourself nodding off at random times. But that little girl had been the easiest to please so far. As long as she got milk, had a clean nappy, warm clothes, and cuddles, she was content. 

John would have been the one to wake up at the first signs of movement in the bassinet– he was an incredibly light sleeper and would often rise earlier than most of his team. He’d say how much of a waste it was to sleep the morning away when you could be productive and get more important things done before the day actually needed to start. You weren’t much of a morning person and would often tell John to let you sleep in until the last possible minute if you stayed in his room for the night, but you always managed to slip out of his room before anyone came into the halls. 

Your mind wandered more during your maternity leave, often you questioned what John was doing, if he knew his daughter had arrived safely and if he knew how beautiful she was. Did he have any deployments in the time you were discharged to now? You were sure he was busy, as he always had been. 

A few weeks passed and John was on leave for three weeks, visiting home and executing plans he made with Soap for the day, who was taking a leave around the same time as John for a wedding. While walking the streets of London, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Soap to his side, the two talked about quick bite options nearby. John had a cafe in mind, mentioning that they had great coffee and sandwiches.

The late winter air nipped John’s nose, the tip dusted a light pink. He had a black beanie placed atop his head and a black peacoat over his jumper. Soap’s outfit resembled the outfit John wore, save the beanie, but add a scarf. Soap had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions since having the baby, but of course, you didn’t answer. Soap knew that he shouldn’t keep trying to pry and answer out of you, but he also knew that you needed the support of a friend, even though he wanted to be more than a friend. 

Price felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, telling Soap to go on ahead and order for them both– Price wasn’t picky. Opening the door to the cafe, Soap felt an immediate warmth wash over him and the heavy smell of coffee filling his nose. Taking a spot in the short line, he stared at the menu above, until he became distracted by the woman in front of him, kissing a very small baby on the head, cooing and rocking her body as her hands caressed the sling that held the baby to her chest. He knew your voice anywhere. 

“Y/N?” He places his large hand on your shoulder, spinning you to face him. 

Your eyes were wide, a scared look on your face until you noticed Soap’s familiar face. Barely able to string words together, Soap took you by the arm and dragged you to the side, his arms engulfing you in an embrace, careful as to not smoosh the baby’s head between your two chests. 

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?” Soap’s low voice vibrates the side of your face as your arms wrap around him. 

“I didn’t want my old life to follow me because of her,” your voice trembles.

“But you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“I do though,” you pull away, looking at Soap with watery eyes. 

Feeling his heart sink, knowing that what you said was true, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be the one to hold you– support you, and keep you safe. Even though what Price was doing was carrying out the same purpose. 

“She’s a beauty,” Soap nods to the sleeping baby covered almost entirely inside your sling, her little face settled against your chest, lips puckering as she stirs to get more comfortable. 

“Thank you Johnny,” you smile, stroking her cheek softly, then adjusting the knitted bunny hat to sit closer to her eyebrows. 

Johnny– he hadn’t heard you say his real name in so long, it was like a treat hearing it leave your soft lips. 

“Reach out to me from time to time, just so I know you’re doing okay?” Soap pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his words through to you. 

Nodding with a soft smile, you could hear your name being called by the barista. Grabbing your coffee, you turn to exit the cafe, offering Soap a soft “bye,” as you pass him. You wrap your thick shawl around the baby tight, holding onto her with one hand while you balance your coffee in the other. You were only minutes from your mother’s house, and the fresh air was something you needed after being cooped up in the house for so long. 

Then you see him– John. He was ending a call on his phone, placing it back in his coat pocket before setting off on his walk to the cafe to meet back up with Soap. Your heart was pounding, and almost as if the baby senses your unease, she begins to stir and whimper. You walk closer and closer to where John’s position is by a lamp post. His eyes spot you and his body freezes in place. You keep walking, shushing the baby softly, your hand placed on her back to let her know her mother was right here. 

“You’re alright, Little Bunny,” you say into her hat, softly kissing the crown of her head as you pass John. 

His daughter was right there, cozily pressed against your body in the chilly climate. The baby wore a cream knitted bunny ear hat, one ear flopping over the side of the sling. She looked so much like the both of you, it almost scared him. He wanted to hold her— hold you. It ate away at his insides, turning his guts to liquid as he watched your eyelashes flutter down to the ground, watching your feet. 

Tears were falling like mad down your face as you passed him without a word, John watching you in disbelief– he didn’t think he would be able to rest his eyes upon you again, not after going this long without contact. But it was for the best, you both knew this. 

His eyes followed you until you were no longer in sight, making sure you were absolutely safe with the baby. Life could be different, he could run after you and grovel on his knees for forgiveness. To beg you to forget he was ever cold to you and to start fresh. But he couldn’t, especially not after how things ended and with knowing he’d jeopardize yours and the baby’s safety.

It was days later that you had run into Soap and John while out in London. You hadn’t slept right in days and it was a mixture of having a newborn who needed your attention and the anxiousness of seeing your old lover and not being able to think about a thing other than him. 

Your mother’s footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs and she soon appears in the doorway with a small parcel. Handing it to you and planting herself on your bed next to you, she waits for you to open it. As you tear into the parcel, peeling the tape and opening the box, you look inside and see a knitted bunny, the yarn pink and soft. Pulling the bunny out, you notice a note attached to it, neatly folded and taped shut. As you carefully open the note, your eyes scan over the words written on it. You knew that handwriting— John’s handwriting. 

“For Little Bunny.”

#cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you

[jammed-out]

Hypnovember Day 7 - Technology

“Miss if I could just borrow you for one minute of your time.” Carlos sprinted after the woman while carrying his clipboard. The shopping mall was fairly empty, nearly closing time. The woman, in her pantsuit, carrying her designer bag, wearing sunglasses inside the mall paid him no mind even as he chased after her.

“Miss please. One minute. I have a quota to fill and if you could really spare one minute it would be greatly appreciated. You’ll even be compensated for your time.” Her walk slowed a half step. Carlos smiled and jogged up next to her breathing heavily, catching his breath. He fell into step beside her. She was older than he expected, at least in her mid to late forties.

“Thank you miss. I’m doing a survey about our recent video. If you could ju-“

She raised her hand cutting him off. She looked down on him, the sunglasses completely obscuring her eyes from view. “Look. I’m very busy. So what do I get from providing you my time.” Her voice was curt, almost cruel in the way she spoke. Carlos could feel her judging him as if her time was any more valuable than his.

He fumbled with the pen on his clipboard. “Um yes. We’re offering a free gift card to one of any number of salons around town for a full makeover. If none of that interests you we will be sure to provi-“

She turned to face him, placing her bag onto the ground. “Very well then. What is it that I have to do to be done with this?”

Carlos turned the clipboard out to her and held out the pen. “First I just need you to write your name at the bottom there, sign and date as well. It’s a non disclosure and statement that says you agree to volunteer.”

“Yes I’m quite familiar with boiler plate documentation.” She snatched the clipboard out of his hands roughly, pulling the pen that was strung to it from his other hand. She seemed to quickly scan the paper, glancing over it. Her hand reached out grabbing the pen that swung in the air. She brought it up to her mouth, licking the tip before setting it to the paper.

Carlos reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. It was a small rectangle, meant to look like a phone. He slipped the small earplugs that were embedded into the back into each ear, pressing them in tightly. He made a small humming sound just to verify that it was sound tight. Last thing he needed was a bit of a spill out.

He looked up at her. She was speaking or at least attempting to speak to him. He rolled his eyes and took the clipboard that she was waving at him. He quickly raised it up checking it. He slowly raised the device and pressed the on button.

The reaction was instantaneous. The woman’s face scowled for a second but quickly went loose, falling slack. Her jaw slowly dropped, her mouth falling open. He watched as her shoulders slumped down, hands falling from her hips down to her side. Her knees buckled slightly outward, causing her to sway from side to side loosely.

Carlos could see the reflection of the bright pink spiral in her glasses. Even the mirrored exterior couldn’t protect her from the sight. He knew the device was emitting a sound wave shutting down her motor functions at the moment allowing the subliminals to work there way into her mind. The soft thrumming against the earplugs meant that it was working.

He gently lowered the clipboard tucking it between his legs. Carlos reached up, his fingers coiling around the frame of her glasses. He slowly began to pull them from her face. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, her head turning to follow it whenever he shifted it slightly. The bags under her eyes had shown that she didn’t sleep much. She looked so tired. Carlos would have to make sure she was fully rested before handing her off to his superiors. They never liked product that was in poor condition.

The woman’s hands slowly rose in front of her, reaching out in front, gripping either end of the device in Carlos’s hand. She slowly wrapped her fingers around it tightly lifting it from his grip. He lowered his hand to the curve of her ass, squeezing it gently. She did not react to the sensation at all. He picked up her bag, depositing the clipboard into it before taking it in his hand. Slowly he began to walk, small steps, just gently guiding her forward. She followed, stumbling a bit at first in her heels. The hard bottoms clapping against the floor of the empty mall. The shops had all begun to lock up for the night leaving them almost alone.

He rounded a corner, gently nudging her with him. A small black door, inlaid into the window next to another shop, almost imperceptible and often passed off as just an office was where he stopped. He gently eased his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. Carlos flipped it over, thumbing it against the small black metal pad against the wall. A green light lit up followed by a soft click. Carlos gripped the door handle, shoving his wallet back into his pocket with his other hand. He pulled, the door opening with a snug pup into a dimly lit room. Carlos gently nudged the woman inside, glancing around behind him. Confident nobody was looking, he slowly began to pull the door shut. It slid in with a soft pop. The lock immediately clicked, snapping into place.

He turned around. The woman had walked over and placed the device onto the small holder across the room. The rest of the room was nearly empty. There was a singular desk, two small shelves filled with black locked drawers, and a couch small enough to hold two people. Nothing else was in the room. The device stuttered for a second, the pink spiral dimming down to a black screen.

The woman blinked, her hands stuttering for a second as her senses came back to her. She blinked a few times slowly looking at her hands. She was confused, they always were in this moment, the last moments of consciousness that they would have before being rewritten.

“Wh-“ her voice cracked “Where am I? What did you do to m-“

The device glowed bright green. The woman’s head rolled backwards as her hands began to move on their own. Immediately she began to grab the sides of her head. Her fingers tangled in her hair, forcing her to look forward at the screen. She tried to turn her head away except that her hands were no longer her own. The initial phase made sure of that. She stumbled over words, spit bubbling in her mouth as the green flashed, pulsing brighter and brighter.

Carlos slowly walked over the desk and pulled out the clipboard. He tossed it onto the desk and pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket. He slowly opened one of the drawers into it, unlocking it for safety and pulled out an empty manilla folder. He flipped it open, removing the papers she signed, the contract forfeiting her mind and body to the company. He grabbed the pen and quickly signed his name and dated it, sliding it into the folder. He pulled the stapler out from it and quickly stapled the file shut. He’d deliver it with her in a few days.

He looked up. The woman stood still, her arms at her side. He could see the screen had gone blank. He shrugged, usually woman like her took twice as long to break. Seems she was all talk. He closed the drawer, locking it back tightly. Slowly he pushed the chair back and stood up, walking over to the device. He picked it up, looking it over. Carefully he pulled each earplug from his ears, setting them back into the exterior of the device.

He turned, looking over the woman. She stared ahead blankly, her mind erased entirely. She still breathed, slowly, perfectly in sync, no hesitation. She would blink every few seconds, perfectly on rhythm, timed between her breaths. Otherwise she had no reaction. She’d stand there until the clean up crew came and took her for her makeover. After that, she’d make her way through the processing department and up to the superiors.

He sighed and let out a yawn. He did his part, now to go home and wait for tomorrow’s assignment. He flipped the device over in his hand and raised it up in front of his face. He pressed down the button, holding it tightly in place. A soft blue light engulfed his face. Immediately Carlos felt himself smile, all stress, all worries washing away.

“I am a good employee. I live to serve the company.” He repeated the words that flashed on the screen, his face full of joy and happiness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!

#brainwashing #hypnosis #hypnotism #mind control #mind conditioning #my writings #hypnovember #jam out hypnovember

[poppy-metal]

Camp counselor Nancy is very by-the-book, while you and Robin are a lot more relaxed. Hey, maybe if you break enough rules, counselor Nancy will punish you for being bad

me writing a whole thing.

The water is warm and nice, you think you’re happy to have fucked off and left the kids to nancy. Its nighttime anyway, they’ll all be in bed soon. You just wanted a moment to yourself, without that stuck up priss rolling her eyes at you.

“What’re you doing?” a voice calls, and you groan from where you'd been floating on your back. Nancy wheeler is standing at the edge of the dock, in a a jean skirt and a pink blouse, frowning out at you with her pouty glossed lips. Her stupid little clipboard is still in her hand.

You tread water to her until youre at the edge of the dock, gripping it and peering up at her with a grin, “having fun, wheeler. Heard of it?"

You see a flush rise to her cheeks, her blue eyes narrowing down, “you’re naked.”

Something about embarrassing nancy wheeler thrills you, you use the grip you have on the ledge to pull yourself up a little, so the tops of your breasts break the surface of the water, nipples hardening in the night air. You see her eyebrow twitch. “Excellent observation, nance. Its called skinny dipping.” you suddenly grab her ankle, “you should try it.”

She stiffens, expression bleeding all expression and going cold and impassive, “dont be ridiculous” she snaps, trying to shake your grip off her. “I just came to look for you because you were absent during dinner.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, “awe. Did you miss me that bad?”

She rolls her eyes, “as if. It was your turn to do cleanup. Im assuming this little side quest was purposeful?” she drags her eyes across the lake in a bored manner.

“Ill clean when im done.” you say, “m’not even pruned up yet.”

She finally succeeds in shaking your hand off her ankle, stepping back. Her lips curl, “typical,” she mutters and you frown.

“What?”

She shakes her head, “its just so you to push aside your responsibilities. I dont even know why you’re here, you dont take anything serious. You’re a joke.”

Her words hit their mark. You’d just wanted to have some fun and she’d gone and ruined it. Youd show her a joke. You wrap your hand around her ankle again, small and delicate just like the rest of her, “wanna see something really funny?”

Her eyes flare, “dont. Dont you da-”

Her words are cut off by you pulling her into the water. Her clipboard clatters onto the deck as she fumbles and topples into the lake. You’re already laughing by the time she pops back up, her perfectly styled hair now a wet mess atop her head, though it annoys you that shes still so pretty.

Her glare could melt Antarctica, you think. Or create a second ice age, with how frosty it is.

“You’re such a bitch.”

Your eyes widen, “oh my god. She curses!”

You’re rewarded with a splash of water in your face, she doesnt look amused. Little nancy wheeler is fuming. “What is wrong with you?”

You sober. “Nothing.”

She shakes her head, little flecks of water flying. “No, i mean it. You’ve had it out for me since the moment summer started. I want to know why? What did i do to you?”

You tread water a little bit back from her, looking off to the side, shrugging, “dunno, really. You’re just….”

“Im just.” she grits, “what.”

You fling your arms up, “you're just such a goddamn priss! With that godforsaken clipboard and your rules and commands, s’like you don’t even know what fun is. Wouldnt know it if it sat on your face.”

She looks at you for awhile. Shes unfairly pretty. “Alot of people think that,” she finally says, almost softly. She sighs, “its so fucking annoying.”

You blink. Woah. the second curse of the night.

You blink as she wades closer, closing the distance between you a little, “i like rules.” she says, “they’re there for a reason. To keep the children safe. They arent a joke. And despite what you might think, i know how to have fun. Just because its not with you doesnt give you the right to pass judgment onto me.”

“You? Know how to have fun? Are pigs flying?” you cup a hand over your eyes as you peer up into the starry sky, pretending to look. “Where?”

Nancy is rolling her eyes again, turning back to the deck to haul herself up.

You follow her. The mood had been ruined anyway.

Water drips from her body and her blouse sticks to her body. You can see her nipples poke through the fabric and she frowns, sighing before shes taking the wet shirt off, and then you’re really gawking, as she shimmies out of her jean skirt.

Shes wearing abhorrently girly underwear. Your cunt pulses anyway as she lays the skirt and blouse out on the deck. She glances at you, “where are your clothes?”

You blankly motion in the direction of a pile of your clothes at the bank of the lake. She goes to get them and you gape as she slips into your shirt and steps into your shorts.

“Um.”

She squeezes water out of her hair, “you pulled me into the lake against my will. If you dont want me to report you, you’ll shut up.”

“W-what amd i supposed to wear.”

She points to her still wet clothes, “those. When they dry.”

“Im supposed to stay here until then?!”

She shrugs. “Not my problem”

“Nancy. Come on-”

“No” she takes a step towards you, “im done. Do you understand? This stupid little rivalry you want with me ends here and now. Im not engaging with you. Its stupid and juvenile and beneath me. You’re beneath me. If you try to cross me again, ill make you regret it. You can try to underestimate that, but i promise ill make you. Fucking. Cry. dont test me.”

You dont know why you do it. If you’re being honest, you’ve been turned on since she came up to the dock. Youve had a thing for her for awhile. You wonder what it says about you that this is turning you on so much.

Either way, you’re both surprised when you lean in and kiss her.

You feel her stiffen, feel her hands rise as if to push you away and you close your eyes, prepared to be slapped.

She kisses you back.

Her small hands grip your wet hips and shes backing you up a few steps until your back is pressed against one of the beams on the dock. You gasp against her mouth when shes shoving a leg between your naked thighs, right up against your little pussy.

She pulls back. Her eyes look like they’re on fire. Or on ice.

“So thats why.” she says, almost to herself.

You blink a little dumbly, still stuck on the fact that shes just cornered you and shoved her thigh between your legs. Its still there. “Huh?”

“You’re pulling my pigtails because you have a crush.” she deadpans. She looks decidedly unimpressed. “Thats such a guy thing to do,” her knee dig up, right against your cunt, “is that you? Are you an immature little boy?”

You shake your head dumbly, “no”

“No?” she parrots, grinding the ridge of her knee into you. Your legs are shaking. “No i guess not. That cunt is unmistakable.”

She pulls back a little to look between your bodies, and you gasp when one of her fingers come down to pull back the hood covering your clit, pressing the pad of her thumb on the engorged center of you, “guess you’re more like a misbehaved puppy.”

“Nancy” you whine, hips bucking.”

“Nancy now? Where’s priss? Princess? Stuck up bitch?” with every word she rolls your clit around with her thumb, rocking you back and forth on her denim clad knee. Your denim shes wearing. “Im gonna tell you a secret”

She lets you hump her leg for a bit, the lips of your cunt spread lewdly as you grind down for some kind of friction or relief. Her hand reaches up to wind in your wet hair, yanks your head back so your neck is exposed to her mouth. She nips and sucks at the flesh as you gasp and mewl for her.

She licks the mark she left on your throat, “id know a good time if it sat on my face. Id tongue fuck that good time sooooo nice. Give her my fingers. Let her ride me. Cause this princess has a cock she likes to use. Likes when cute little girls like you spread your little cunt for me to fuck.”

As soon as she was on you, shes off, the pressure on your cunt gone as she backs up.

She smiles primly.

“Too bad you’re on my bad side now. We could’ve had so much fun.” she spins around, waving as she skips away, “see you!’

#ask #wow #nancy wheeler x reader #nancy wheeler smut #nanch wheeler fanfic #stranger things x reader

[johnnys-breastmilk]

desirable | doctor!peter parker x gn!reader

a/n — the pictures are so mismatched but i don't have a gif and they all work separately for the fic so yeah- mishmosh pishposh motherf*ckers <3 (this is a jokey but veryyy smutty fic i wrote to get out of writers block)

summary — Infatuated by the doctor treating you, you return with feigned sickness.

words — 2.9k

warnings — SMUT! 18+, throat-fucking, blowjobs, sexy peter parker

~~~

The office was stuffy, or maybe it was your throat swelling, with a scratch that only stuck out when you tried to speak. You scheduled an appointment within an older practice run by renowned Doctor Bruce Banner, who you had little confidence in since he could hardly understand things about his own body. Not that you would discredit someone of his intelligence, but he struggled to control his body at levels of extreme emotion, and dealing with any sickness is never something calm to bear through. He prevailed on your previous visits; that was the only reason you remained slumped against the wall of the waiting room chairs, fighting congestion and an endlessly parched thirst.

After a little while, a nurse in lime green scrubs called your name, prompting you to stand, and followed her into one of the few patient rooms once she checked your height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature. On your first visit, you were surprised to learn about the scarcity of rooms, only to realize that their sizes were far more massive than what would be required for a human-sized head specialist. The bed you sat on, paper crinkling on even the most trivial shift of your body, took up only a fraction of the room it occupied. The other side of the room had a desk and a chair that faced the wall, both oversized to fit Banner's frame but made the computer, keyboard, and mouse sitting atop it look like little playthings. To the left of the bed were a sink, a few hanging otoscopes to check your ears, and some other things you didn't recognize. To your right was the door the nurse walked out of, and no less than five minutes passed before a doctor with a deeper shade of green scrubs entered.

It was a pleasant surprise to learn that your doctor would not be the Hulk himself but a younger male in hulk-green scrubs who had only recently started working for Doctor Banner. Banner was nice but not always careful, especially with his large, discolored fingers. You were happy that he wouldn't be the one to lay a hand on your throat since he could probably crush your larynx with the jerk of a sneeze. Your new doctor didn't seem as friendly as the big guy, though, seized in a look of shock—possibly embarrassment—as he laid eyes on you, then fumbled with his clipboard. It almost fell to the ground but miraculously clung to the tips of his fingers, and he caught the board. He kept his head low and buried, busying himself with your information, hushedly repeating it aloud.

The doctor's face was pale aside from the flush of ignominy, possibly from the same bug you contracted somewhere around New York, though you figured he happened to not get enough sun. Judging by how he carried himself and the awkward chipperness in his voice, you suspected the latter. Yet he filled out his scrubs rather nicely, tautly stretching over his chest and struggling to hide his bulk for someone potentially sun-appalled. It was like he chose a size down from his typical day apparel to tempt his patients, to keep them engaged with whatever boring medical jargon he was most likely to spew out after giving them a diagnosis. You had to admit, it worked.

His short, chocolate curls looked like they had been on the receiving end of many pushbacks with a shaky hand as if he was excessively nervous. He had a simple complexion, easy on the eyes with warm brown hues that challenged the depth of rich soil. His nametag coruscated in the light; black, blocky lettering printed across the laminate—Dr.Parker.

Silence loomed over the room, only backing away when you let out a few sputtered hacks from the back of your throat. A simple coughing fit to others, but it felt like a raging war broke out for the millionth time today on your sore inner muscles. That's when he looked up.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Doctor Parker, and you must be . . ." he hesitated momentarily, scanning the clipboard again—was he that forgetful? His index finger followed the pages of your file before halting, and he spoke your name without his eyes leaving the inky letters. The way it rolled off his tongue felt different than how other people said it, like the set of his mouth was meant to twist and twitch with every syllable. "And a sore throat today, huh? That's gotta hurt."

"Kind of," you said, being courteous about how it hurt to swallow and that it felt like someone was constantly ramming something stiff and sharp down your throat each time you tried to eat the softest foods on the shelf. Doctor Parker moved over to the chair, taking a seat in it. You watched how the backing of the chair reached halfway up to the back of his head when he finally got comfortable in the seat, looking more like an excessively sized dog bed, significantly passing his spread legs. He took ahold of the mouse that filled out his hand—appearing to be more than a handful—and clicked open a few programs until he entered an alterable document. It was complete with information about your previous visits.

"What symptoms have you been dealing with?" he asked, hands resting on the keys underneath the monitor, his beautiful face illuminated by the blank, white screen. You told him about the troubles this illness brought but kept it brief to save your throat the pain later. After you relayed everything to him, his intent ears never missing a slurred or misspoken word, he moved on to diagnosing you.

He got out of the comically-sized chair and drew near. Cold hands met your warmed, overheated skin. "Definitely swollen," he muttered. Only a few words slipped from his mouth since he entered the room, and you hadn't even learned his first name, yet you happily listened and waited for more of his spoken thoughts. If your throat was back to normal, how he held it would have been much more evocative. Was he aware of the effect he had on his patients?

At first, his hands were gentle, like a deer carefully watching its step on an uneven meadow, but they had a growing bite as he started to press into your swollen lymph nodes. The force elicited a painful noise past your lips and a harsh "Ow."

His hands backed away immediately, retreating safely to his sides, and that's when he looked up to your face. You were sure it flushed at his worried glance and not from the sickness.

"Sorry, it's my first day on the job," he half-heartedly apologized.

"Really?" you asked skeptically. Maybe that was why you never saw Doctor Parker before now; he was new.

"No."

"Nervous?" your throat rasped.

His cracked lips stretched, hiding any anxiety he took out on them and forming a brief smile, "Yeah, uh, something like that."

The doctor refrained from putting his hands on you for the rest of the visit, asking you how the infection made you feel and what you noticed during the past few days of dealing with it. He concluded it to be tonsilitis and prescribed a healthy dose of antibiotics that would hopefully kill the infection thriving in your throat. They did their job and had you feeling better within a few days. 

From the view of your bathroom mirror, opaque-white lights cast visibility over your throat. The pain was gone, but the handsome doctor's touch never left, his pale hands turning a true translucent as you felt the ghost of them linger. You needed to go back for the resolution, but finding a reason to return would be difficult.

. . .

"Back again so soon? Guess you missed me," Doctor Parker remarked as he came through the door, realizing that you sat on the table in the same position as last time. "Still sick?"

You nodded, rebuffing words out of fear that the first one to slip out would sound unscratched by your throat, harmonious and smooth. 

"Did it get worse?" You nodded again. "Okay, huh, open up for me? Sorry, please." The doctor heard how it sounded out loud and took the opportunity to make banter with himself where you couldn't. His hand rose and followed your jaw, his thumb glossing over your chin as the rest nearly missed his touch from the last time. With your mouth open, the tip of his flashlight clicked, and out came the light pouring into the darkness. "You sure the medication didn't work? Still feels scratchy?"

You nodded—again. His hands slid down, two fingers on either side of your throat, feeling around for swelling and unwanted masses. Unfortunately, his touch didn't last long, as he pulled away with a look of certainty.

"I've seen enough. I'll call in for a prescription of antibiotics to kill that lie you're committed to."

Your voice slipped, mistakenly asking in a less husky tone, "What do you mean?"

He pushed the chair away from the desk, the tip of his toe sweeping the ground to swivel him around. "I don't want to catch a case of lying, but I don't think I could because you're not sick."

You let your voice return to normal, no longer feigning malady, "How could you tell?"

He stood, leaning against the tall desk. He folded his arms over his scrubs and scrunched the forest green cotton and rayon, "Your throat's gone down, and, obviously, I prescribed the right thing. Top of my class and all. Why did you do it?"

You trapped yourself in here, and there was nothing else to say but the truth, "I . . . think you're hot?"

"Wow, that's a new one—and a relief. Usually, the patients I see more than once have made-up names and appendages I can't even describe—you'd have to be there! And they always try to . . .kill me."

"What?"

"Hey, don't spin this around on me. I'm the one asking questions, here," he mirrored, uncomfortably shifting away from the desk. "How could you make it up to me?"

The question lingered like the newly raised hand to his chin to signify the thoughts running through his head. Your head started to conjure ideas of what exactly he would do. Doctor Parker didn't seem mad when he learned about the reason behind this contrived visit, but maybe it was how he handled things. He kept calm and probably already called security or would ask you to leave, from what you could assume. 

After a few moments of deliberation, he dropped his arms by his sides, "I think the best thing to do, is to give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"

With his elbows bent, his hands dug up the hem of his shirt and to the waistband stretching over his flat stomach. The hulk-green elastic slid up to the thenars of his hands with nowhere to go but down, thanks to the pressure he applied, the band easily giving way to reveal his partly defined Adonis belt. It was prominent, but the lines looked as if they were lightly sketched on what was otherwise a perfect sculpture.

"What are you doing?" you had to ask as if it wasn't obvious. His thumbs showed through the outline of his pants and a thicker, more pronounced, and lengthier silhouette just further down. You knew what he wanted; he only had to say it.

"Doing what you want, playing doctor and patient. Today's checkup involves a laryngoscopy—throat examination, if that was too confusing," he spoke as if he was in control but still had the consideration that his soft-leaning look won you over with on your first visit. This time, you saw his hardened and more defined side as he finally let his pants drop to his knees. No underwear. He was confident in a way where other people wouldn't know unless they were close to him. 

His cock stood tall, and his balls hung low with enough to push the limits of whatever it entered and was sure to create enough of a smack with each passionate hip-rock. Lengthy enough to reach all the right places, but not enough to go where it didn't belong. A couple of tugs with his right hand later proved the second half of that untrue as he grew even more excited.

"You're gonna have to lay back," he waded near you, half-pulled-down pants restricting his steps so far. With a single hand, he maneuvered you with impossible strength, only ceasing his hold when you were on your back, head titled over the foot of the examination bed. The table paper's end crinkled in your ears.

The fluorescent tubes casting light from above were shadowed by his figure stepping into the frame of your flipped world view. His smooth and defined thighs blocked your peripherals. In only seconds, the dry head of his cock was at your gated lips. He hastily spoke, teasing, "Say, ahh. I'll make it nice and sore, just like you need."

Your lips brushed it as they parted, "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"

"This is for me since you wasted my time. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little," he left you with that, suddenly entering your mouth, lips conforming to the girth. 

Your tongue felt the topside of his cock; the small ridge where the wide tip ended, and the length and all of its scattered veins began. It was tasteless, bland, and made even more uninteresting since the doctor took his sweet time. The only thing that saved it and provided excitement were the soft noises he made. He had been talkative up until now, but you still knew how he felt. His moans were enough to discern it. He spewed out hushed 'ohs' and pants, which seemed odd as he was less than halfway in your mouth. That was enough to tell he enjoyed it so far, but you wondered about the distance that far away could be. When he didn't have to guide himself into you anymore, the hand holding his hefty length moved to grip the table—tightly. You could have sworn you heard the metal creaking with the pressure.

His cock snaked forward, earning a sharp gluck once he reached your throat. Then, you convulsed, body shaking at the unnatural mass invading your mouth, lips sputtering around him. He sneered in delight, his own set of lips breaking the set of his face to form a smile. His slow pace stopped when a light tracing of hair grazed your chin, balls low enough to brush your nose. Your throat jutted, his head showing from the outside as a small peak in the middle, made more apparent by how your head was titled back.

Slowly, it began to sink and rise as he started to rock his hips. He started to pick up a pace, burying himself until there was nothing left to hide and reeling it back moments later to rest just short of your lips. Every now and then, he would make you swallow his cock for longer than a few seconds, causing welled-up spit to pour from your mouth and onto him and your face. At a certain point, he broke his rhythm, withdrawing all of himself from your wet encasement. Slicked in spit, his gorgeous length glistened in the fluorescent white.

"Feel good?" You could hardly stutter it out, jaw aching at the corners.

"Yeah, it feels great. Nothing wrong with it so far, but I'd like to consider a re-evaluation."

Familiarity washed over you, the same feeling as moments before returning with more wants. More needs. To your surprise, the hand on the examination table keeping his thrusts steady now rested around your throat. The doctor yearned to feel himself piercing you, putting his breath-taking looks into a literal sense. And he did; your throat unwillingly bulged with his deeply buried cock. An unregulated series of appearing and disappearing beneath his palm and wet noises coming from your spit-filled cavern.

After a few more globs of spit well up and spill from your mouth—making all the noises that were expected along with it—the doctor needily stated that he was "going to come." No less than a second later, warm white poured down your throat with no other option except to be swallowed.

The doctor pulled away, a mixture of release and slobber slicking his cock. He waded to the sink, reaching for a few paper towels from the dispenser to wipe himself off.

You sat up, wiping a hand over your mouth and nose to clear off some of his sticky come and your spit, "What about me?"

"What about you?" He laughed at the end of his return. Once he had fixed himself up to act as if the past twenty minutes had never happened, he went to the computer and took a seat on the oversized chair, like last time. 

As he tapped away at the keyboard, he informed you about the changes to your medical file, "I'll put myself as your Primary Care Physician from now on, but Doctor Banner might want to see you soon. I think he'll have a new stress reliever."

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x gender neutral!reader #peter parker x gn!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x gender neutral reader #peter parker x gn reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x m!reader #peter parker x fem!reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x gender neutral reader #spiderman x gn!reader #marvel x reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x reader #marvel #peter parker #spiderman #tom holland #marvel fanfiction #tom!spiderman #tom!peter parker #tom holland x reader #tom holland spiderman #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x male reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland x y/n

[lethalchiralium]

I Heard A Rumour | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

a/n: i might make riot a f!reader because i’m an asshole. SEND ME REQUESTS BEFORE I RUN OUT OF IDEAS 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

summary: Gaz and Soap think they’re smart - but you hear their rumor.

warnings: descriptions of medical attention, cussing, soap and gaz being idiots

Previous parts: Almost Out Of Time | Obvious

“I think that Riot’s in love with LT.” Soap’s voice rumbled in the large room, you could barely hear it as you inventoried your equipment. Your head didn’t move, knowing they could easily see you from across the room, sat upon a cot and scribbling down words that they didn’t know right now.

Gaz laughed a little before yapping in pain. “What? Price- He’s right. Don’t hit me- Ow!”

“Keep it down, you yappin’ terriers. LT is in love with ‘er.” Price spoke now, you glanced towards the mirror on the makeshift wardrobe, seeing how Price and Soap looked towards you then back to each other. You didn’t even move your head when you did, you looked up from your clipboard and began to count your gauze pads. One, two, three… “He’s like a little puppy, followin’ her around like he’s lost. Never seen anythin’ like it out of him.”

Seven, twelve- You almost slammed the pads down on the small table, but you didn’t. You bit your tongue and placed them beside you on the cot, then moving to your small vials of needed medications like morphine. You pulled out your pen again, writing down the dose and amount needed for each person on the 141 - next to the dozens of times you’ve done it in the past five minutes.

“Ghost is… well, Ghost. There isn’t much to him-“

“That’cha know of.” Soap finished Gaz’s statement, being kind to his friend even if he wasn’t in the room. “They spend a lot of time together. You remember last week, found ‘em in that warehouse, Ri on Ghost’s chest and he had both their pistols loaded, ready to defend ‘em.”

“Surprised he even let Riot come close to him.” Gaz commented, “Or Las Almas, he never went anywhere without knowin’ Riot was alright.”

“The both of you need to stop it.” Price butted in. “So what if they like each other? Let ‘em be happy. Be grateful for ‘em.”

“Ten quid that Riot kissed Ghost first.” Gaz smacked something that sounded like a table, a chuckle. You had stopped writing a minute ago, now your gaze moved to look towards the men, who all three now stared at you.

You smiled at them. “Hi boys, what’s up?”

“Nothing!” Soap loudly stated before pulling out his wallet, fumbling for some sort of bill before the three hurriedly turned away, their voices lowered much more than before. You couldn’t hear a thing they said now, you looked away and back to your “work”. You couldn’t help but smile and laugh a little, shaking your head. Imbeciles.

“Sergeant.”

You jumped out of your skin and yelped a little, looking up to see Ghost, standing and staring at you. “LT.” You gave him a smile too, gesturing to the chair next to your small table. He sat quietly, tugging the long sleeve up his arms, exposing the large white bandage on his forearm. You looked away from him to grab a pair of sterile gloves, pulling them on quickly. You gently began to pull it off, looking to your left to make sure you still had what you needed. “Any discomfort?”

“Nothin’ I can’t ignore.” Ghost answered, voice flat. You hummed and completely pulled off the bandage, seeing it still a little brown from dried blood. You throw it away in the little trash can, examining the stitches with gentle fingers. One hand turned his arm, making sure none of the stitches had broken or the injury had become infected.

Satisfied with the examination of a less than day old wound, you let go of his arm and began to grab an alcohol pad, new gauze, medical bandages to bind the bandage to his arm. “How is your day? Other than the wound, of course.”

“Fine.”

“Ever chipper, LT.” You smiled to yourself. You placed your equipment on the table and leaned a little closer to the Lieutenant, you made eye contact with him. “Do me a favor, sweetheart, and laugh.”

Ghost’s eyes closed a little, you knew his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

You leaned back and grabbed the alcohol pad, ripping it open and pulling it out before gently grabbing the bottom of his arm, holding it still. You held the alcohol pad in your other hand, eyes met his again. Your voice lower now. “They think we’re pining after each other. Laugh for me or something.”

“No, you laugh.”

You furrowed your own eyebrows, now wiping the area around the wound, making sure not to get too close while also clearing away some dried blood. “I’m working.”

Ghost shook his head a little. “You keep using that excuse, Riot.”

You rolled your eyes, cleaning more areas of blood. “And you keep not listening to me.” You threw away that alcohol pad, now grabbing a gauze pad and a pair of scissors. Your hands left his arm as you hovered the gauze pad above the stitches, guessing the size and beginning to cut the gauze pad away from the wound. “Sometimes I think you need a good hit to the head to set you straight.” Ghost chuckled at that, a smile tugged at your lips. “I guess I still win, Lieutenant. Riot seven and Ghost, what? Four?”

“If we’re counting arguments, I’ve won twelve.” He answered and you scoffed.

You placed the gauze pad down, grabbing the white medical tape and placing a perimeter of the tape on the gauze pad, sticking it to his forearm. You placed the white tape back on your table and then grabbed the beige tape and began to wind it around the arm. “Let me know if it’s too tight.”

“That’s what she said.”

You literally barked out a laugh, your whole chest rumbling as you smiled as wide as a kid on Christmas. You sat back, laughing so hard that your ribs began to hurt again, you held them quickly. And by the time you caught your breath, Ghost’s head had cocked to the side.

“That wasn’t even funny.”

You shook your head. “The delivery was fucking stunning. Ten out of ten, I almost laughed my ribs into bruising again.” You grabbed the beige bandage again, beginning to wrap the area.

“Whatever you say, Sergeant.”

“They are totally fucking.” Gaz commented and it was loud enough for Ghost to snap,

“I can hear you, Sergeant. Give me 100 push-ups.”

Gaz groaned, looking over the couch towards you two. You couldn’t see Ghost’s eyes but you knew that he was going to set Gaz on fire. “I was joking!”

“I’m not. 100 push-ups.”

“Haud yer wheesht!” Soap smacked Gaz on the arm. “For feck’s sake.”

“You too, Soap. Now.”

“Ah didn’t even do anythin’!” Soap declared, almost launching himself over the couch.

“You’re disrespecting our medic. Down now or it’s 200, both of you. Hop to it.”

Both Gaz and Soap groaned as they both stood from the couch, you had finished Ghost’s wrapping and patted him on his bicep. “You’re all good, LT.”

His voice lowered very quietly, “Meet me in your room in an hour.”

You moved back as he did, sorting away your equipment as the two other sergeants began their push-ups, Price counting for Ghost. You glanced towards Ghost and whispered, “Miss me or something, Ghost?”

The man stood, shrugging. “Maybe. I’ll see you around, Riot.” Ghost walked away and out of the room, leaving Gaz and Soap to continue their push-ups. You stood and walked towards them and in between them, towards the couch.

“11, down- Whatcha doin’, mate?” Price asked as you then grabbed the thirty quid on the coffee table.

You turned towards Price, walking past him before stopping right before the door.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” You smirked before looking at the men on the floor, still doing push-ups but staring at you. “You know, if you bet the other way around, boys, you’d have made your bet back.” You pushed the door open with your back, smiling as you heard Gaz and Soap literally begin to squawk like parrots.

———

Copyright © 2022 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley x you

[crowwritesaway]

Albert Wesker x Reader Pt. 1

“It’s funny. For someone I’m used to seeing so undefeated.” Albert thought, grinning as he stared at you.

You were locked inside a room. You stared at the people in lab coats. They were busy taking notes on your behavior. They were trying to see how you were reacting to the T- virus.

So far, you were dozing off. Nothing made sense. You didn’t understand what was happening. You had no relocation of what happened before. Where am I? Who are they? What the hell is going on? You huffed, slamming a hand down on the floor.

Wesker’s eyes flashed. She’s probably asking herself all the wrong questions. All in due time.

“Any drastic change.” He asked, the scientists that observed you. “Her body seems to be accepting the t- virus.”

Albert smiled. “Excellent. Proceed the next course of action.” The scientists nodded. Dr. Young called in someone to bring in Subject X.

Meanwhile, you shook your head. You felt your body jerk. The machine that monitored your body beeped. You gritted your teeth. You felt agitated. Tense. In pain. You aimed your glare at the shadows.

“What’s happening?” “Uhh, it appears that she’s angry.” A young scientist said, gripping on her clipboard. “Obviously. It’s her primary instincts. Rage. Wonder. Agony.” Albert told them, looking at you with a proud smile. “As long as she makes it through this round. We’ll have the next opponent for Alice.” Albert said, narrowing his eye at the thought of Alice. She’ll never see this coming. You would be stronger, faster, and better than her.

Some growling was heard along with shuffling. There were two guard holding onto chains. Attached to those chains was a zombie. His outfit was torn and had blood splattered across. He had a bag over his head. The only thing keeping him from snatching the chains was the drug that was administered which kept his violent behavior at a minimum.

Dr. Young entered a code. He was not worried about you escaping. The facility was located underground. Even if you did make it outside, there was nowhere for you to go.

You heard the doors open. You pulled yourself up. You staggered moving forward. You vision was clearing up. What the fuck is that? Why is it chained? You moved around, observing the men as they carried that thing in?

The men threw the zombie inside the room and exited quickly. Dr. Young closed the doors.

The zombie shook his head. It clumsily reached up and fumbled a bit before taking the bag off his head.

You stared at the zombie with eyes wide. You have got to be kidding me. Albert crossed his arms. “Keep me alerted with any information that involves her. This is our key for humanity.” He ordered them before he walked off. Dr. Young and the scientists nodded.

The zombie growled, snapping his jaw as if to catch food. You bit your lip. What asshole did I piss off? The zombie moved closer to you. You looked around for anything that you could use as a weapon. You groaned. Nothing.

Clang. Clang. His chains. You noticed his chains. That’s it. He got near you. You swiftly avoided the hands that reached out to grab you. You quickly snatched the chains and tied them around the table. The zombie turned around, growling because he couldn’t move.

You stood a few steps away from him. He looked at you and turned away. You tilted your head. Is that normal? I mean…great. But, zombies aren’t supposed to ignore humans.

Dr. Young watched the interaction between you and the zombie. He laughed. A laugh that sounded sinister. Gleeful.

He scribbled a few notes. Undetected by Zombie. “Marvelous.” He thought, staring at you with wonder. Maybe there’s hope after all.

#albert wesker x you #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x oc #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil albert wesker #x reader

[anonfanfic]

Write whichever ship you want! (Unless someone else suggests one. Or you could always do a random one)

Clexa it is! (haha)

"This trip is meant for mending fences and coming together!" The Raiders coach yelled above the din of the two teams disembarking from their buses and walking into the makeshift summer camp. 

“After you have found your bags, come to me for your room assignments!” The Hawks assistant coach yelled, her clipboard pressed tightly to her chest.

Clarke grabbed her backpack and single suitcase and walked over to figure out which Raider she would have to tolerate for three days of bonding.

“Griffin, Room 13 with Woods!” The coach announced so loudly that Clarke’s heart felt like it had stuttered over several beats. Both teams stopped what they were doing. Putting Clarke with the other captain was like putting oil and water together as far as they were concerned. They despised each other and it would be hard to make any bonding happen if the leaders tried to kill each other in their sleep. Clarke felt a strong and bright heat creep up to her cheeks and neck as she took the key from her outstretched hand.

Clarke walked toward the mess of cabins at the center of the grass field without looking back at the group. She had no desire to lock eyes with her cabinmate. The two teams that were involved in this little bonding trip did not like each other. That hatred was fueled mainly by the two leaders of either team. 

The Raiders and Hawks had always been rivals. But once Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin took captain spots last year, the rivalry had intensified to nuclear standards.

Clarke heard lightfoot falls running behind her and didn’t have to turn around to know that Lexa was jogging to catch up.

“Clarke, wait up!” Lexa called and Clarke heard howls and jeering from the group.

“What the fuck, Lexa!” Clarke spun around on her heels, her face still red and her jaw now clenched tightly. “Do you have to make this more of a spectacle than it already is?” 

“Lexa stopped just short of where Clarke stood and lifted her arms up defensively. “Whoa, I was just trying to get out of this heat. Sorry, didn't know it was a whole thing to get to my bed.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes and turned back to continue her walk to their cabin. She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a quick breath. 

“Bullshit, you knew what you were doing.” Clarke grumbled, fumbling with the old key and lock system. “I just want to survive this and finish my senior year so I can get the fuck out of this place.”

The door finally creaked open and Clarke walked in taking the bunk on the far right side.

“Hate it that bad here?” Lexa asked, walking in and avoiding the other beds that were further from Clarke’s and putting her bag on the one right next to where she had chosen. 

“Fuck you. You made me hate it here.” Clarke growled, getting up and moving over the the bed on the far left.

Lexa got up and followed Clarke, this time not sitting on the bed next to Clarke but jumping down next to her on the same bed. 

A loud crack echoed inside the cabin and the center of the mattress they were sitting on buckled and fell in.

Both girls jumped up and Lexa moved over to sit on the bed across from the broken bed.

“Because I didn’t want to be hidden away for four years?” Lexa asked, slamming herself down on the bed and looking up at Clarke.

Clarke’s fists were balled up at her side as she walked over to Lexa. “You didn’t fucking care when it mattered to you, too.” Clarke sat down on the bed with such force that the wooden side of the bed frame splintered, sending both of them to the ground.

Lexa jumped up and without pausing walked over to the bed on the right closest to the door.

“It never fucking mattered to me, Clarke. I loved you more than all this shit.” Lexa sat on the bed and crossed her arms over her chest. The sting of tears on the edges of her words.

Clarke got up and walked over to Lexa. She stood in front of her and looked down with intense eyes. “Everything in my life has come with a condition. How the fuck am I suppose to know this god damn relationship wasn’t going to cost me more than I had?” Clarke almost jumped off her feet before landing next to Lexa on the bed. The old frame basically buckled on the stress. Both girls got up and eyed the only other bed left in the small wooden cabin.

“I don’t know what else I can say to make you understand how much I love you.” Lexa got up from the destroyed bed and gently sat on the last remaining bed in the cabin.

Clarke got up and moved to the only door out and turned the brass lock. She moved toward the bed Lexa was sitting on and sat next to her.

“Why don’t you show me?” Clarke whispered, leaning in close to her ex.

#clexa fanfiction #clexa #clarke griffin #lexa kom trikru

[sinsandsweetness]

Assurance (sex and zombies- chapter 17)

pairing- (Rick x fem!reader)

summary- you want this.

warnings- canon typical gore. Nothing crazy tho. No smut in this chapter.

notes- (this is immediately following chapter 15)

*only 2-3 more chapters left for this work. I have just drafted the final chapter and love the way it ends <3

Feedback/comments are always appreciated!

You made sure to sneak away early in the morning. The sun had only just started to rise, making the bedroom fill with a gorgeous, orange hue. It wasn't that you didn’t enjoy waking up next to Ricks pretty face and an arm draped over your waist. But you weren’t exactly sure how he’d feel about last nights events, now that you’d both gotten a few orgasms out of the way. You figured maybe he’d be thinking more clearly. Not that you were. In fact, it had made things so much worse. All you could feel were his hands wrapped around your waist and his warm lips against yours.

So you took a quick shower and made your way to the infirmary. Wanting to subtly find out if there were any morning after pills hanging around. If not, then well, you’d definetly need to go on a run today. With little Judith babbling around and Maggie planning a pregnancy, you definitely didn’t need or want a baby. Right now, anyway.

Thankfully, Pete wasn’t in the office yet. So you were able to sneak in and look around. Inspecting the medications that had been organized so meticulously.

No luck.

In a cabinet above the sink, you found a bunch of weed though. Surprised and amused, you grabbed a couple joints and a baggy and tied them up. Stuffing them into your pocket. The door opened behind you and a blonde lady with glasses apologized quickly. You’d clearly startled her.

“Oh hey, sorry,” you smiled and put your hands up. Like you got caught. You did, though she didn’t seem to realize that.

“That’s ok… I’m Denise,” she stayed at the door holding a clipboard.

“Ok…”

“I’m the other doctor here. Sorry,” she was very awkward. You stuck a hand out and told her your name. “This might be a little weird, but I was wondering if you guys had any.. um… morning after pills...”

“Unfortunately we don’t. At least not that have been turned into the infirmary. I can ask around-“

“No that’s okay…um maybe we can just keep this, like between us?” You tell her.

She laughs. “Yes sorry,” she fumbled with her pen. “There is a drugstore. Not that far from here and I think if anywhere would have some, it would be there,” she started. “Actually I’ve been telling Deanna we need to have someone go looking for some stuff anyway. I have a list…” she held up her clipboard.

“Maybe I can take the lead on that then.” You tell her, and she smiles at you.

“One’s enough for you?”

You give her a look, not fully understanding the question.

“Like one kid,” she clarifies, “Obviously you’re not planning for another..?”

“Uh... I don’t have a kid…”

“Oh,” She looked confused.

“Wait why do you-”

“Well the baby, I thought… sorry, I thought she was yours.”

“She’s Ricks.” You tell her, thinking that had been made clear to everyone in Alexandria already.

“Yes I know that… I just figured… sorry I’m- I just figured you… uh. Yeah.”

Some strange part of you wanted to smile. A complete stranger thought you and Rick were together. Together with a baby. Did it seem that way? To everyone else at least?

“No, um Rick was married…before,” you tell her. She nodded, and looked down at the floor in discomfort.

“Look I’m gonna go talk to Deanna, see if I can take a car and maybe find some stuff on that list? Anything urgent?” You ask her. Switching the topic back to why you were actually here.

“Oh! Yeah that would be amazing! Um, just some regular stuff, I doubt you’ll find any of these,” she pointed to a few bullet points on her list. “Nothing urgent… I mean, definitely your pill. More if you can find them. Just any contraceptives. Antibiotics, anti inflammatories, cough meds. Anything over the counter. We can use it all. “

You nod and grab the list from her. “Thanks Denise. And the pill…um… just between us right?”

“Yes absolutely,” she nodded intently, “Lips are sealed.”

-

You were packing your bag on the kitchen island when Rick walked down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckle. The collared button up and tie he wore, made you squeeze your legs together. Fuck. You really thought he was going to be at Tobins for the day. Doing construction shit or whatever it was he was helping with.

“Hey,” he said walking to the cupboard.

“Hi.” You responded shyly. Memories of the night before, flooding into your brain.

“Why'd you run off this morning?” He glanced over at you, grabbing a tall glass of water from the tap, and downing it all in one.

“I didn’t run-”

"You did." He turned to face you.

"I did not-"

"Don’t lie.”

“Ok," You gulped. "I did- I... it was more of a jog...” You tried lightening the mood. He just rolled his eyes. He actually seemed irritated.

“Should we talk about last night? About us?” He asked, leaning up against the counter.

You pursed your lips. Seemed like a really heavy conversation for being so early in the morning.

“Alright then… can I ask you something?” He asked instead, the frustration evident in his tone.

You sighed. Knowing he would ask regardless of your answer. He came up to you, grabbing your face with his calloused hand, rubbing a thumb along your jaw. His touch making your knees all weak.

“What you said last night, about making you mine... Is that something you still want?" He sighed, and licked his lips. "Before, at the prison, I know we talked about it. But I- I just want to be sure... after everything... Were you just sayin’ that, in the moment?”

He didn’t like your hesitation and spoke again before you could even really process what he was asking.

“I can’t tell sometimes, with you- you just- you've been so closed off lately. I know we've been going through something, and I haven't always been the best... " he stopped himself, shaking his head. "I'm not perfect, I know that. But you haven't talked to me. You won't. And it's making me think that maybe- I don’t know… ” You weren’t fully understanding his question. He could tell. His stare burning right into you.

“Just- God dammit- do you want this? You and me? Do you want… this?” He squeezed your jaw slightly. Just enough to get his point across.

His baby blue eyes were locked on yours. The tiniest hint of worry flickered through them. Worried you were going to say no. Worried you had changed your mind after all the events between the prison and now.

You placed your hand on his wrist and nodded into his hand. Chewing on your inner lip nervously. You did want this. You’d wanted it back at the farm. You’d wanted it at the prison. At the church, and every awful and amazing moment in between. You’d wanted him. To be with him. And the way he was standing in front of you now, demanding clarification, was giving you all the reassurance that he wanted it too, just as much.

“Then quit running.” He whispered, letting his hand fall. You nodded, letting him know you understood. That you'd do whatever he asked. Whatever he wanted, if it meant you were his. Actually his. Officially.

He gave you a weak smile before turning back around and heading for the fridge to fix himself something to eat.

-

“Heyyy…” you sneak up behind Daryl, who was filling up his bike with gas.

“What’s up?”

“Found something fun… you want it?” You asked hiding the gift behind your back. Giving him a little grin.

“What is it?” He seemed intrigued, turning around. You lean up against his bike and feel the strap of your tank fall down your shoulder. Twirling the little baggie in your hand you show Daryl your prize.

“No way,” he smiled and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Mhm. They’re yours if you want em’.” He went to grab the bag from you but you snapped your hand back. “But I’d really like if you shared.”

He smiledd and grabbed the bag. Stuffing it into his pocket.

“I’m going on a run, wanna join?” You asked. You needed backup. And maybe some company.

“I’m actually going off with Aaron today. Sorry.”

You smiled softly, “That’s alright, I’ll find someone else. Be safe.”

You did find another group to go out with you. Glenn was willing to give Nick another chance after their last fuck up of a supply run. There was five of you. Nick, Glenn, yourself and two others that claimed to be experienced with outside the walls.

Turns out they weren't. At least not in the way you and Glenn were.

You did get the supplies you needed. Cleared the pharmacy pretty easily. Secretly took your plan B in the bathroom with a swig of warm, blue gatorade from the store. It was the way back home that went wrong. The car broke down. So you guys had to walk. Trying all the vehicles that you'd stumbled across, but nothing was working. And soon enough, while helping Glenn try and jumpstart an old Buick, there was a scream. A rather small cluster of walkers approaching you all, and somehow, one had bit one of your group members. On the arm, close to his wrist. Screaming and crying, the young man stumbled back, holding the bloody mess of his forearm as you and Glenn rushed over. Taking care of the walkers and quickly realizing what you'd have to do.

"Hold this" Glenn tightened the belt around the kids arm, above the bite. The kid was thrashing and screaming and making everything a lot harder. Nick yelling at you both telling you that it was gonna kill him.

It didn't.

No one died. But there was still an amputation. Having to carry the one boy back, passed out from pain. Draped over both of your shoulders as you walked towards the gate. The blood from his arm coating the majority of your torso.

-

“What the hell happened to you?"

Rick looked worried at the blood coating your torso. The kid getting taken off to the infirmary immediately, as Glenn and Nick started to argue at the fence. A bunch of your own group running to stop it. To calm everyone down.

“The kid got bit. These people are idiots, Rick. They can't even pay simple attention to their surroundings.” You told him as he grabbed your jaw, inspecting your face. Looking you up and down for injury. You could feel Nick looking over at you with a scowl.

“Are you ok? You hurt or anything?”

“I’m fine.” You grab his wrist gently, pulling it away. There was a guy missing an arm, and all Rick was focused on was you. Making sure you were ok. The realization sending a twinge of affirmation through your gut. And though you liked how much he cared, you also didn’t need taken care of right now. Even though he would clearly jump at the chance.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll talk with Deanna. Supper is at the other house ok?”

In the shower you scrubbed the blood of your chest and ran cold water all over your shirt, in a sad attempt to save it.

You put on a camisole and some soft little sleep shorts, and headed downstairs, over to the house next door. Delicious smells of whatever casserole Carol had come up with, wafting through the air.

“Bedtime already?” Rick came up beside you, leaning his forearms on the counter you were sitting at.

You give him a side eye and a little scowl.

“Are you okay? Really?” He asked, referring to your day. He plucked at the edge of your tank top, trying to lengthen it.

"Yeah. Used to it. I'm just glad the kids alive." You told him.

"It has been a while since you've gone out there. You did good. Quick thinking."

"Well I learned from the best." You looked up at him, turning to see his face. Trying to contain his smile by biting the inside of his cheek.

"The best, huh?"

You let out a little huff. "Don't let it get to your head." You rolled your eyes, spooning another bite of dinner into your mouth.

His hand was now brushing lightly on your lower back. Everyone else was talking and eating, paying you two absolutely no mind. You liked it that he was doing this in front of them. Touching you. Not hiding whatever was between you. Something the both of you had been doing since the prison.

“I won't."

He paused, and you could tell something was on his mind.

"What?"

"Just thinking'," He shook his head.

Turning on the barstool, to see his slight bashfulness, your knees brush his own legs.

“About what?”

"You." He answered. He seemed a little surprised that he'd said it out loud. You could feel your cheeks turn warm. You grabbed his hand and dragged it up the smooth skin on your leg, fingertips brushing the seam of your shorts.

He whispered your name, firm like a warning. But his hand didn’t move after you let yours fall. Still feeling your leg, thumb brushing over your scar.

“Yeah?” You whisper back innocently. As if you had no idea what your touch was doing to him. How soft you knew you felt underneath his rough hands. Looking up at him through long eyelashes. He gave you a glance. Playful, but stern.

Voice still low but no longer a whisper he pulls his hand back from your trance, “Look I got some business tonight. Gotta meet with Tobin about the expansion. I'll uh... I'll see you later?”

You nod at him. Knowing exactly what that question actually meant.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Internally debating wether or not to lean in for a kiss, and you wish he had.

“Don’t stay up too late,” his thumb rubbed over your cheekbone before he dropped his hand and walked away, giving you a little glance from the living room as he kissed Judiths forehead and whispered something to Carl. Slipping quietly out the front door.

You couldn't help the smile on your face or the butterflies swarming around in your stomach as you ate the rest of your meal.

See you later, Rick.

#rick grimes #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x y/n #twd fanfiction #rick grimes x reader #sex and zombies