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ohcaptains · 1 year

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abby love spell

pairing. abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis. abby’s been handsy all damn day. can’t even take her hands off of you on patrol, where she should be focusing on something far more important...like staying alive. naively, you think watching a movie will distract her. it’s no use, really.

an. anyway slay. this is based off of this request that someone sent years, nay, millennia ago. what can i say, i was busy procrastinating writing and focusing on playing the game. again. pls enjoy, comment and reblog, etc. it makes the gay thoughts stronger<3 (not showing in tags so reblogs appreciated)

warnings. 18+. please do not read or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. hand on throat (no choking), house wife kink, f!receiving penetration, strap on sex, lots of description of spit because i’m insane. references to oral, but no description. soz. maybe next time champ.

Something was up with Abby.

She’d always been an affectionate girlfriend, but today, she was stuck to you like glue. The pair of you, alongside Manny and Nora, had left for patrol in the morning. You had been busy making sure the truck was stocked, while Abby was busy trying to find a way to keep her hands on you at all times.

You were bent over the crates, checking and re-checking the contents, when her hands had slid onto your hips, thumbs looping into the belt buckles.

You went to flinch, hand coming out to grab hers, but you felt the familiar scabs on her knuckles. The familiar bumps of her veins – the map you knew off by heart.

“Hi Abby,” you sang, patting the back of her hand. Her chest pushed against your back, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, fully aware of what you were doing.

You answered her though – anything to keep her locked against you like this. There were a couple of layers of fabric between you, but you could still feel the heat radiating off of her.

“Packing the guns.”

Abby hummed, then grabbed at your hip, using it to twist you to face her. You grunted an oft! grabbing the lapels of her jacket to stabilise yourself.

“Shit – Abby,” you scorned, but she ignored you. Instead, she flexed her arms, and you couldn’t see the lines of muscles due to her jacket, but the bulge of her biceps was there all the same.

“Already got 'em, look,” she grinned, wiggling her brows, and you patted her chest, an amused frown on your face.

“What is with you?” you asked, smoothing out her jacket. “Ben put a little something extra in your porridge this morning?”

“I’m just my regular, goofy ol’ self – what do you mean?”

Her blue gaze flicked to your top, visible from underneath your open jacket.

“That’s my top,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Oh yeah – sorry,” you quickly spoke, glancing down at it, and thus not noticing the tick in Abby’s jaw. She always loved you in her clothes. Loved the way they draped over you – especially the jagged arm holes she cut into them.

The fabric would always hang loose at your sides, and she’d spend all day glimpsing at the drag of it over your chest. “Lights went out in the East block when you were at the gym. Had to get dressed in the dark—” you’re cut off, the surprise of Abby’s head dropping against your chest rendering your vocabulary to just one word, "Abby!”

“Mm,” she hummed, pushing her forehead between your breasts, “smells like me.” “Abby—” you said again, a giggle cracking at your lips. Your hands fumbled for her shoulders, shoving her away, or at least trying to – Abby was dead weight. You admired her strength. Loved it, but it was times like this when it was a hindrance to your mental stability. Finally, she stretched back to her height, shit eating grin on her face.

You were too busy transfixed on her features, that you didn’t notice her hands coming out to the bottom of your coat. Suddenly, she pulled the zip up to the top, and she knocked your chin up with her knuckle, leaning down to give you a deep kiss.

You went somewhere else for a second, the drag of her tongue knocking reality out of the way. Melted, succumb to her sudden overwhelming taste -- but she pulled away too soon.

“Cold out,” she grinned, hands rubbing at the length of your now-covered chest, and you were too dazed to respond.

It was like that all. Damn. Day.

She never once stopped playing around with you.

She’d boost you up walls, hands sliding under your thighs in an attempt to push you up. Hand at the bottom of your back to signal you to walk faster, hands on your hips to pull you out of the way.

Pulling you around like a damn rag doll.

Nice shot, she’d say, when it was actually pretty average.

Good girl, she casually praised, after you’d jumped and grabbed her arm, letting her pull you up onto a roof. That one had got you -- had to take a second to gather yourself as she spoke to Manny about which direction you were going.

Got to an abandoned warehouse and she pulled you to the side, sparing a few minutes to kiss you against a stack of boxes.

What’re you doing? You’d asked, and all she said was, kissing my girlfriend.

Now, you’re trying to watch a movie together.

Or at least, you’re trying to watch a movie – she’s too busy touching you to focus on the plot.

You’re comfy on your shared bed, resting on her broad chest as you sit between her muscular thighs, and she’s keeping you there by the arm she’s got slung around your front – bicep on your shoulder – as she lazily kisses at your neck.

It’s distracting, to say the least.

“’um trying to watch,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. The movie buzzes at you – an 80’s flick, all electronic beams, and bright colours. It’s about robots, and when Mel had brandished the disk in front of you last month, you’d been eager to have a watch.

Now, the direction Abby’s mouth is taking is far more interesting.

She scatters lazy, wet smooches over your neck, pausing before she places another as if she’s painting a picture. The drag of it makes you lethargic — makes you comfy and loose in Abby’s grip.

You want nothing more than to give into her touch. You’ve spent the whole day trying to shove down the overwhelming feeling of desire that she’d been pulling out of you. But you’ve been meaning to watch this movie for months.

No, you tell yourself. Focus. You breathe in, and shake your head, snapping back to the screen.

Abby hums. She’s so warm and soft -- her muscular chest surprisingly comfortable – that it’s lulling you into a sense of submission. You rest back against her, enveloped in her arms. Enveloped in the soft brush of her lips against your throat.

Focus, you repeat to yourself.

Got to give this movie back to Mel tomorrow, she’s been asking for it for weeks. “You can watch,” Abby whispers, brushing her mouth over your ear. The wetness of her lips forces a shiver down your spine. You try and run from it, shuffling in her grip, but Abby keeps you steady – lazily locked against you with her arm slung over your shoulder. “Just let me kiss you,” she breathes, placing a soft, delicate one on your ear lobe. Your eyes flutter again. She smells fresh from the shower. Smells clean, like her soap – pine and mint. Her hair is down too – you love it when her hair is down – and it hangs long, smelling like…strawberries? Your shampoo. Fuck fuck fuck. You shake your head, “can’t focus on the movie when you’re kissing me like that.” Abby smiles against your neck, and you feel it – feel it curve against your skin. “Sounds like a you problem.” “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, and she laughs.

“Just be quiet and watch the movie,” she orders, wide palm rubbing your bare thigh. “Quit whining.”

You grumble, mumbling something under your breath, but you do go quiet, and thankfully, she does slow her kissing. Resorts to nuzzling your neck instead, while her left hand continues to rub at your thigh.

It is nice, and you manage a couple of minutes of this, relaxing and watching the movie before you feel her hand sliding upwards.

You inhale sharply. Breathe in her scent. Wait for her to slow down. Wait for her to stop. Yet she never does.

Her long, thick fingers leisurely flutter over your bare skin as her hand inches to where you suddenly want it – God, do you – tantalisingly close to the boxers you’re wearing. Hers.

Your whole outfit is hers and you swear she’s going to touch you, or at least brush her fingers against you, but she pulls back. Slides her hand away, wide palm retreating to your knee.

Disappointment twangs.

You try not to think about it, but the buzz she’d sparked settles low in your belly.

The film continues with its garish colours and cheesy dialogue. Buzzes and crackles, its movie star taking up the screen for an up-close shot. You swallow down the fluttering of your heart.

She’s still kissing you.

Her lips are wet, exploring. Nose cold as it nuzzles against your ear lobe, breath warm as she breathes, and her tongue darts out, skimming over your throat before she kisses the spit away. You hum, hips pushing again, and Abby palms at your inner thigh.

“Shhh, baby. Can’t hear the movie with all your whimpering.” The breath of her whisper flutters over your neck, forcing goosebumps to rise to the surface. You roll your eyes back and try and convince yourself that it’s from annoyance rather than pleasure.

Her hand starts again, faster now, smoothing over your skin, not giving you enough time as she just brushes the tips of her fingers over your underwear, and your hand jolts out.

“Abby,” you warn, grabbing it. You intertwine your fingers with hers, stopping it in its tracks — clutching it on your lap, and Abby hums a laugh into your neck.

“Not gonna let me touch you there?” she teases, using the hand you’re holding to rub at your groin.

You’re betrayed by your own knuckles, the touch forcing your thighs to clench together, and hips to jolt up at the sensation. You hate it. Love it, really. She’s winding you up like a toy. “Abby,” you whisper, conflicted. The tv hisses its dialogue, music singing – a car crashes into a wall, and the antagonist cackles in delight. Who’s the villain again? Abby hums a pleased, “Hm?” into your ear. You don’t know. Just have to spit her name out. Get it out of you, before it’s back, brimming at your lips like an omission of truth.

She pushes her hand into yours, forcing your knuckles to rut against your crotch again, and fuck, your legs widen an inch, welcoming the feeling and silently begging for more.

She’s smiling, sickly sweet – you know it. Know her. Know she’s grinning from the gradual win.

You keep a hold of her hand as she rubs it into you, coaxing something warm and tingly to build between your thighs. Your face goes hot.

You suddenly can’t remember the plot of this movie. Try to come up with something convincing to Mel for when she asks for your review, but your temporal lobe has stopped working.

All you can think about is the sensation between your thighs, the comforting tickle on your chest from Abby’s hair, and the smell of her – familiar, all-consuming. She runs the tips of her teeth over the flesh of your throat, and “Abs,” you gasp, free hand grabbing onto her forearm.

Her tongue comes out, soothing the scratch from her teeth and you shift, shocked, hips bucking back against her, legs falling open, and she takes advantage – drops your hand and flattens her palm between your thighs, cupping your clothed pussy.

“Shit,” you gasp, clutching her strong forearm with both hands in surprise.

You can’t believe you’ve let her win.

She’s not even moving, just holding you, but the pressure is enough to force your thighs together, pussy clenching around nothing.

“Um’ gonna break up with you,” you quickly rush, eyes clenching closed. Abby cackles. Says, “Yeah?” “Mm,” you hum, nodding, fidgeting, trying to get her to fucking move. “Okay –“she breathes, stuffing her fingers low, thick of them pressing against you. Your mind goes fizzy. She talks. “--After I make you come though, right?” Your face clenches together, your mouth falling open. “You’re the worst,” you brandish, lying through your teeth. Meaning it wholeheartedly.

She hushes you, “Shhh, I know,” and watches your facial expressions change – watches you try to self-soothe.

“The worst,” you repeat, voice cracking. Somehow, Abby’s lips get closer to your ear.

“I know baby, but I’ll make it good, promise.”

Her admission forces your eyes open, and you look down at where she’s got you – thick fingers barely pushing against your clothed slit, and God, you have to – have to grind your cunt against her. One slight roll of your hips, up and up, then down, and you huff, curse under your breath because Jesus Christ.

“Or you’ll do it for me.” “Shut up.” “No – do it again.”

You do. With your hands holding the forearm she’s got buckled against your collarbones, you hitch your hips up, and she keeps her hand tense, making it good for you. Makes sure the ball of her palm pushes into your clit, and you sigh. A tremor shoots through your belly.

“Keep doing that,” she mutters, mouth close enough that her words echo through your brain. “I wanna see.” She grabs a fistful of your shirt and drags it up. The cool air hits the soft skin of your belly, but Abby warms you as her arm flattens against it, hefty and comforting.

You watch her strong arm transfixed. Watch the muscles tick as her hand flexes, the scars on her skin white and shiny in the dull buzz of the TV screen.

Her fingers rub at your pussy, and your hips move, back arches, grinding against her palm, your breathing hitching and catching.

She’s barely touching your clit, just brushing it, and the sensation slowly builds, pushing, making you reach down and fumble for her hand, pushing it deeper into you.

“Abs,” you choke, and she groans. Nods against your neck and admits, “wanted to fuck you all day.”

Heat rushes over you, forces you to clench together and pathetically whimper. “Been obsessed with me all day,” you breathe.

In your cloudy vision, you catch sight of the TV screen, the movie playing out to two people who couldn’t care less. Yet you try and focus, but it’s hard to multitask with her hand between your thighs.

The antagonist is being arrested, and you have no fucking clue as to why. Probably something to do with the car explosion – or was it a truck? Abby carries on kissing you, sucking at the soft skin, bruising you with her sweet lips and tongue, “m’ always obsessed with you,” she purrs, the hand she’s got strapped across your collarbones soothing the skin of your shoulder. “Mm, yeah – but something --” she rubs the ball of her palm over your clit, pushes it, this time, and your sentence catches. “Shit —” you hiss, eyes rolling back. A shiver runs down your spine as your brain short circuits. Desperately, you try to keep a hold of reality, try not to fall into the dizziness of it all.

Sometimes that happened with Abby. You didn’t mind, but you wanted to hold on to your consciousness for a little while longer. You huff, shake your head – try to remember your next sentence. “Something different about today.”

“Had a dream that I fucked you last night.”

Oh, you think, that’ll do it. You can’t help but grin -- delighted that you’ve managed to weave your way into her subconscious.

“Things were different, normal,” she explains, still taunting you with her hand. She’s pushing up, grinding up and down your clothed slit with an intrinsic kind of determination, using just enough pressure to make you delirious.

As she pushes her fingers low, your clit throbs. Your pussy clenches, tight and sore. You were never good at this bit. Never good at waiting. You clutch her hand, tense and fidgety, gut tightening as her fingers slowly push you to some metaphorical edge.

“Don’t laugh,” she adds, and you do, but not at her, more so at the situation. Your big, controlling Abby, asking you not to laugh at her. “M’ not gonna laugh at you Abs,” you pant, grinding slowly, breathing deep, trying to calm yourself down for this admission she’s so ashamed of.

She leans in close, mouth against your ear as if the TV can hear. All it does is add to the pressure, her voice so close, it’s like it’s in your own head.

“I dreamt that you were my housewife,” she whispers, and fuck, that’s not what you expected. That’s not what you expected at all. “That I came home,” she continues, sliding her fingers up and down, up, and down, and you’re wet against her. Soaked through the cotton, her fingers damp with your slick. Jesus Christ, she’s only been playing.

Hadn’t felt like she’d been trying all that hard, really, and here you are, making her hand all wet. You both watch her play with you – draw it out, fingers dragging, your hips trying to match her rhythm. “’n’ you were making me dinner, dressed up all pretty – heals on, nothing underneath.” “Y-Yeah?” you breathe, quick and short, the only sound you can make besides the quiet moans you’re mumbling. “And you waltzed up to me, said, honey, you’re home. N’ undid my tie.”

You’re wet enough that she can see the outline of your pussy through her boxers. Gently, she relaxes her palm and slides her middle finger through your slit, your legs widening, watching her, knowing what she’s doing before she does it.

“That’s it,” she mutters, finger pushing against your clit. “So fucking wet, s’so fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear, teeth on your earlobe and fuck, you nearly come.

Nearly burst, white-hot heat jolting through you, eyes clenching together, pussy clenching – want her inside of you, feels like you’ve never wanted her more than you do now.

She carries on, languidly rolling your clit around, tenderly pushing at the nerve.

“Then you dropped to your knees,” she coos into your ear, and fuck, in your haze you didn’t see her move. Didn’t feel her slide her hand over your throat, holding you still. You swallow against her palm.

“and unlaced my boots. Took them off for me, so good. So helpful.”

She keeps the pace steady. Hits the nerve at such an angle that you can’t run from pressure. Your pussy gushes, and words fail you.

Abby kisses your cheek, “You okay baby? Gone quiet on me.”

“I think um gonna come,” you quickly admit, voice cracking. You’re clenched so tight that it hurts. Just begging for something, anything, to fill the need she’s building. Your thighs twitch and you feel her smile on your cheek, curved cheekily. She ignores you. Carries on.

“Dinner on the table for me, my favourite. Dessert in the fridge, beer on ice. Your pretty little face so excited that I was back.”

Your small voice shatters through her spiel -- “Did you fuck me against the table?” you whimper, imagining it. “With my dress and heels still on?”

Abby groans. Her fingers break their rhythm for a second, go sloppy – get distracted. You think about her bending you over the kitchen table, your hair in her fist and her strap in her hand.

She gets her rhythm back and picks up speed. Rubs your clit in tight, controlled circles, and you feel yourself get closer. There’s a familiar ache at the bottom of your belly.

“Yeah baby, I did,” she breathes. “Treated you like a lady. Made you come on my cock so quick that my dinner was still warm.”

“Abby,” you burst, cutting her off. Fuck, you hear it – hear how desperate you are. “You don’t wanna watch your movie?” she teases, using the hand on your throat to push your chin to her. She looks at you pitifully, blue eyes blown wide. “No,” you whine, teeth chewing at your bottom lip, making it swollen. You manage to shake your head, and she pulls your lip from your teeth, using her thumb to slide your spit over your chin. “Don’t wanna see how it ends?” she further taunts. “N-No,” you sob, nearly crying. Actually, no, you are crying. Yeah, your cheeks are definitely damp with something.

You sniff, and Abby goes soft. For a fleeting second, she switches -- kisses away your tears, and says, “shh, okay. I know sweetheart, I know.”

She pushes her forehead against yours, and you’re lulled into a false sense of security before she pulls her fingers away.

You shatter, gasp “No!”, and Abby kisses you, shuts you up, hands tugging your boxers down, quickly pulling them over your knees and discarding them onto the floor somewhere.

She tugs your thighs open, too, fully exposing you, and the cool air hits your damp pussy just as she stuffs her fingers back, sliding her thick middle finger through your slick before pushing it into your swollen, aching hole.

The world tips on its axis. For a brief, cataclysmic moment, you go somewhere else. Mouth open, eyes clenched close. The obscene pressure is overwhelming, and you clench around her finger, so tight that she groans into your mouth.

“Jesus,” she curses, “ease up baby, lemme make you feel good.”

It takes all of your willpower to loosen up, to relax. When you do, she slides out, then in, gently, slowly fingering you, warming you up, before she adds another finger, wet enough for the stretch, and you go blank.

You don’t say anything – can’t, no words, only sounds, loud and against her mouth. Cursing her out, moaning her name – garbled and sloppy, hands clutching her forearm, nails digging into her skin -- all sensation.

You can hear how wet you are, hear your pussy squelching around her fingers.

“'m gonna come,” you gasp, and Abby nods, kisses you, tastes your spit and coaches you through it, “That’s it, baby, just let it all out.”

Seconds later, it rushes over you.

Sucks you under and spits you out, your hips bucking against Abby’s quick-moving fingers as you come, wet and hot, spilling over and soaking the sheets. “m’ my god, my god,” you whine, the white-hot feeling never-ending.

Legs shaking, and Abby watches, praises you, says, “oh fuck, look at that,” and you can’t, it’d be too much. Instead, you whine against her cheek, back arching, body shuddering, her name spilling from your lips like spit.

“Abby,” you babble, “Abby, feels so fuckin’ good, you make it so good,” you drool, words sloppy, pussy clenching tight.

The sensation continues. You breathe her name again, Abby Abby Abby – a prayer on your swollen lips. Please, you whisper — please what?

Abby won’t let you come down. Your sensitivity spirals, but Abby doesn’t stop. Drags her thick fingers through your clenched walls, and you gasp, hands grasping out to grab hers.

You clutch her wet hand in your limp grip, whimpering, please, against her mouth.

“Okay,” she breathes, barely there. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

She pulls her fingers out of you slowly, kissing your forehead as you make a soft humming sound. You’re still so sensitive.

The heat has cooled, but the feeling still lingers, and Abby kisses your forehead again, quieting the dull ache that’s washing over you. Gently, she pulls her hand away from yours, bringing her slick fingers up to her lips.

You watch through half-lidded lids as she runs her mouth over them, humming in contentment. Pink tongue darting over the digits – you flush, your own tongue licking at your bottom lip as you study her.

You curl your legs together, thighs wet, feeling the pressure that’s still there. Abby sees you wince. She studies your features -- notes that your eyes haven’t lost their glaze, and now they’re edged with something wild, as if you’ve gotten a taste, but not enough to scratch the itch.

There’s a familiar softness to you, too. Almost lethargic, as you run your nail over her forearm, eyes flicking over her strong jaw and flushed cheeks.

“You were messing with me all day.”

It’s a whisper, words tentative. Abby licks her lips, noting how your glassy eyes follow the movement. “Messing?” she repeats, inching forward, and pressing her forehead against yours. You close your eyes, a small, contented smile on your lips, then lick them, teeth coming out to chew. “Hm.” “You like when I mess with you?” she teases, and you hum again. The smile you’re donning builds, bubbling into a nod.

She can’t help but reach out, and gently run her thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth. You sigh, body leaning into her touch. “You’re very distracting…” She slides her wide palm over your cheek, dragging it to the back of your neck, then holds you there, inching her head to the left and brushing her mouth over yours – a small hint of you on her lips. “…S ’almost dangerous.” “’ m sorry,” you quickly breathe, come drunk. Drunk on Abby fucking Anderson. In your hazy and small headspace, you suddenly feel bad. She must know because she shakes her head, “don’t be.”

Her breath flutters over your lips, hand flexes at the back of your neck. That pressure that she’d subsided, is back. Feels suddenly critical.

“s’my fault for thinking I have any self-control.”

You want to kiss her. The desire sweeps over you, crashing like a wave. You go to move, but she whispers, “wanted to fuck you in that abandoned warehouse,” and all you can do is ask, “Why didn’t you?” A laugh rattles through her.

“nearly did.”

You think about the blood on her hands, think about the smear of it as she pulled your hips against hers, mouth hot and desperate. She’d sucked a quick bruise under your earlobe, and you’d melted.

Electric had shot through your belly, warming between your thighs.

Abby, you’d moaned, and she’d just about growled. Teeth had nipped at your tender skin, just this side of mean, and your brain had short-circuited.

You forgot about the impending danger around the corner — all you could think about was Abby, with her wandering hands and soft lips. The way she licked away the scratch and kissed you again, said, we gotta get this thing over with so I can take you to bed.

“Would have, too, if I wasn’t so damn responsible.”

She tuts at herself, annoyed at her regiment. She licks the spit off of her lip and you pout, I wanted to do that, you think.

“I like the responsible Abby,” you manage to mutter, bumping your mouth against hers, “She keeps me safe.”

Abby hums. Her eyes close as if she’s bathing in your omission. Abby does keep you safe. She’s strong, capable — a brilliant teammate and when she needs to be, a leader. She quiets the anxious thumping of your heart, and when she’s got you like this — floaty and soft — quiets it completely.

“Please kiss me,” you suddenly breathe, overwhelmed with the desire to have your mouth on her. “I’ve been waiting patiently.”

At the back of your neck, you feel her hand flex. She brushes her mouth against yours again, gently teasing, “You have, haven’t you?” her brows raise – followed by a sickly sweet smirk.

There’s something about this space you’re in that makes even the smallest of mockeries big and meaningful.

“I have,” you just about plead, and Abby’s smirk twists, a flash of longing bleating over her features, before she catches your lips, kissing you deep and long -- your resulting moan cracking through the bedroom.

Her tongue comes in, wet and warm, forcing you closer — forcing you to just about clamber into her lap, damp inner thighs sliding against her sweatpants.

Abby pulls away, eyes dark and cloudy as she whispers, “Want me to get the strap?” and the only answer you find is, yes.

You watch as Abby drags the leather straps up her thighs, then crawls onto the bed, buckling up one side as she moves. Immediately, with an instinct she’s drilled into you, you get onto your knees to do the other, hands fumbling around the leather.

You’ve done this countless times before. Know what notch she likes it on. Knows she likes it tight, likes when the leather stretches over her thighs, marring them red. She lubes it up as you buckle her up tightly.

“So helpful – such a good girl, you know that, huh?”

She moves to kiss you, and you giggle into her mouth, catching the back of her head as she pushes you into the bed. Her strap brushes over you, and you sigh, humming at the sudden wet sensation.

She tastes like you. Tastes like musk and mint and Abby. You tongue your way into her mouth, suddenly wanting more. Wanting her, carnally. Spent all day with her -- you spend most days with her, but it’ll never be enough.

You break away from her, slowly blinking, watching a trail of spit connect the two of you. She’s propped up on one elbow, watching you.

Her eyes are navy blue under the shadow of the light, the freckles on her nose hidden, but you know they’re there. Know how they sprinkle out evenly as if they were painted there before she was handed off to her mother.

“I like being helpful,” you admit. Something flashes in her eyes. Her features shift, once playful, now soft, and her hand comes out, brushing your hair away from your forehead.

Instinctively, you move into her palm. It’s warm – calloused, familiar. You move to nuzzle your nose into it.

“I like that you let me come along on patrols,” you whisper.

You don’t see it, but Abby’s face twitches, “I don’t let you do anything – I want you there.”

There’s a beat before you respond, too busy running your nose over her palm. When you turn to her, you flash her a cheeky smile, “So you can mess around with me.”

Abby sniffs a laugh, but she shakes her head, “So you can save my ass when I eventually fuck up.”

“s ’never happened. I don’t remember.”

“Selective memory.”

Her fingers move, forefinger resting under your chin and thumb coming up to slip over your bottom lip. Abby swears she sees your eyes glaze over again. She loves this. Loves when you get like this. It lets her know that you trust her, trust her to do what’s best.

“You with me?” she just about purrs. You hum. She watches as your body goes limp like she’s pressed a hidden button. You shift, your legs open wide, and your breasts bounce with the movement. If you were watching, you’d see eyes shift over your body – hungry and desperate.

You breathe in a sigh, and it rattles in your chest. “Yeah—” you whisper, “---think so. You make me feel so dizzy, Abby.”

Your eyes flutter closed, tongue coming out to catch her thumb. Your teeth go over it, and the hood of her nail drags over your gums, your bottom teeth pushing at the soft flesh. The sensation goes directly between Abby’s thighs. Still, she shows her usual concern. She cocks her head to the side.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, yeah?” “Yeah Abby,” you whisper around her finger, “s’never too much though. You know me.” “Promise?” she asks, ignoring you. “Promise,” you repeat, then, “I can still taste myself on you.”

Your tongue closes around her finger, wetting it – warm and soft. Abby briefly thinks: this is what she feels like inside. She goes red at the thought. An ache builds – she suddenly wants to be nestled deep, watching you come undone again.

You suck her finger further, eyes still closed, lost in the motion. The intoxication makes you grab a hold of her wrist, keeping her steady as spit pools under your lips, dripping towards your chin.

“Is this what I did in your dream?” you suddenly ask, blinking up at her. You catch her dark eyes, and she notes the spit that’s drooling over your tits.

“When I was on my hands and knees for you?”

All of the willpower Abby had left snaps in two. She suddenly shifts, moving you by shoving her big, strong hands under your thighs and spreading you open.

“Lemme fuck you,” she babbles, hitching your hips up. You watch her try to gather her nerve, but she talks and talks as she shuffles you around – “I gotta fuck you baby. Gotta – gotta make it good, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding, seeing her lose her cool. “I gotta.” “Okay,” you whisper again. You reach over with your hand, smoothing it over her cheek, begging her to look at you, but she just takes the hand and tries to get you situated. Moves the pillow, and makes sure your hips are pushed wide enough. “Yeah – I just, fuck. Yeah, fuck. Lemme – please?” she suddenly stops, like she’s caught herself before she falls off the ledge completely. The soft skin of your thumb smoothes over her cheek, and you nod, flexing your hips up, “fuck me, Abby.”

The roles shift and ripple. When Abby gets so turned on, she gets desperate — pleads and begs instead of tells.

But when she’s got the strap stuffed against your wet hole, the roles snap back.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, suddenly overwhelmed. You’re still a little sensitive, and now lightheaded and dizzy with delirium, all you can do is pout against her pretty mouth, eyes glazed and wide. “Shhh, baby. Shh shh shh,” she punctuates. She looks down at where you connect, and slides the strap across your sopping folds, listening for your reaction. You huff, whispering her name – then jolt up when she brushes it against your clit, hands coming for the back of her head again.

“Abs,” you gasp, scuffed knees pressing on her hips.

“Um gonna make it good, okay?” she soothes, “don’t I always make it good for you?”

She does. Abby knows you like the back of her palm. Knows all your buttons, knows when to push them – how. Knows when it’s too much, or when it’s not enough. Her eyes flash open, blue and alive, and she kisses you as she stuffs the head against your hole, slowly sinking in, burying deep.

“Oh my fucking God,” you sob against her mouth, clenching, so fucking full that you have to arch your back. Your breath hitches, letting Abby know that you’re filled up tight.

“Abby,” you whine, hands reaching for your tits. You squeeze them, fidgeting, going a little frantic at the sensation. Abby watches – sees.

“Shhh, shhh, shh,” she hushes, brushing her lips against yours, kissing you sweetly. The tenderness makes you sob, the taste of her tongue intoxicating. It lulls you, quiets you, and she pulls away, ordering, “Hands in my hair, baby, know you like em’ there.”

You do as she says, sniffling, trying to calm yourself down. She’s dragged this out slowly, though. You hadn’t realised how much you wanted her until she stopped.

She reaches over you, grabs a pillow, ordering, “Hips up, high, sweetheart – that’s it,” before she stuffs it under you, the movement jostling her cock, but when you relax back, legs high on her back, Abby stuffs you again, the new position forcing the strap to hit something devastating.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck – “you curse, eyes flashing white. “‘um gonna come so fast, Abs.” “S’okay baby,” she soothes, slowly pulling out of you. She brushes her mouth against yours as she whispers, “I’ll just fuck you until you can’t anymore.”

God, it must take minutes.

Must be minutes – maybe even seconds – of her slowly fucking up into you, splitting you open on her cock, before you’re feeling the familiar swell flood your pussy.

You’ve got your fingers laced in her long, blonde strands, and you’re pretty sure you’re scraping your nails against her scalp, but Abby’s too busy murmuring how pretty you are to notice.

In your almost drunken haze, you notice how pink her lips are – all swollen from her teeth and wet with spit – and you can’t keep your eyes off of them. They spill compliments all over you.

Bathe you, before pressing them to your mouth, swallowing your desperate cries.

Abby’s got one hand at the nape of your neck, and the other is clutched around your left knee, keeping it locked up against her upper back. The position means you can’t run from her.

She’s an all-consuming presence, and it’s almost too much. She moves her hand, but you don’t dare move your knee. It’s locked there, and the position she’s put you in makes you delirious. Then she doubles the pressure with her thick fingers against her clit.

“Jesus – fuck, Abby,” you curse, eyes rolling back, the world going dark. You’re so wet that she can’t catch a grip, and her fingers swirl sloppily over your clit as her face clenches together, as if she’s doing it to herself.

“So fuckin’ wet,” she grunts against your lips, her face a snarl. You don’t see it, but she shakes her head. Shakes her head and then speeds up, fueled by the desire to make you wetter. Make it worse better for you.

The change in speed forces your eyes open. You grab onto her shoulder, hiccuping a sob, wet, hot heat pulsating between your legs.

Your eyes roll back again, mouth comes open, fingers clench tight and Abby sees it. Knows you’re about to come so hard that she’ll feel it. “Abby,” you gasp, and she nods. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips and soothes you with, “I know.” “S’gonna be – b-big, fuck. M’ clenching so fuckin’ tight.”

Abby feels your back arch into her, your tits pushing against her chest. She keeps at her steady rhythm – tilts your pelvis and bucks her hips with an unrelenting tempo, catching the sight of the strap, white from you.

Your orgasm blindsides you.

You’re silent as you come. Mouth open against hers, clenching so tense and tight around her cock that it almost hurts. Then, Abby sees you release, gushing over her cock as your hips stutter and legs shake, your orgasm washing over you, knocking you for a loop.

She groans at her sight, then hears you sob, strangled, followed by, oh my god Abby, oh my fuckin’ – then it’s all whimpers, your pussy still pulsating around her strap.

Abby slows her pace.

She ignores the pressure between her own thighs, and instead, kisses the drool off of your lips, shakingly saying, never seen you come so hard like that twice, s’gotta be a record, and you’re so fucked out that you don’t even laugh.

Your eyes are glazed over, sweat pooling at your hairline, and your mouth is still hanging open as if you’re trying to find something to say. Abby kisses it shut. Tries, again, to ignore the throbbing of her clit. Tries to ignore the desire to fuck you into the mattress and make herself come.

You’re still shaking for fucks sake, but Abby can’t stop. She’s already pushing it by slowing, humming against your mouth, the sounds almost a whimper.

Her face is snarled together, jaw clenched, and she sees your brow furrow. Feels you clench your fists to her chest, wondering why she’s still fucking you. When she drops her head into your neck, you understand.

“I’m sorry—” she sobs, wide palms dragging under your shoulders and latching onto them. “I’m – fuck – feels so good.”

You snap out of your delirium. Or it twists at least. You spread your legs, ignoring the pressure behind your clit – the sensitivity that never had a chance to subside. Now, you’re here for Abby.

“S’okay baby,” you drawl, voice trembling, but fuck, your girlfriend is desperate. You hitch your hips up and press against her tight, so she has to grind against you to fuck you, and Abby loses it.

The added pressure against her clit forces her to moan, the sound muffled by your throat.

“Use me, okay?” you whisper against the shell of her ear, hands in her hair, clutching her to you. “use me to come.”

“S-shit, okay,” she whimpers. “Okay okay okay—” lost to her pleasure, Abby sloppily rocks into you. She picks up the speed, sinking into your wet and swollen hole, splitting you open and moaning your name so loud that it rattles through you.

“I’m gonna come,” she whimpers, then, “holy fuck, um gonna come.”

Heat rushes over you, overwhelming. All consuming. You’re suddenly filled with the urge to kiss her.

Taste her on your tongue, and just this side of mean, you use her hair to move her, dragging your mouth against hers, letting you see her red, sweaty face and fucked out eyes.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper, nodding, meeting her thrusts as she fucks you. “You gonna come inside of me?” you whisper, pouting, “You gonna fill me up?”

Realistically, you know she can’t. So does she, but that doesn’t stop her from nodding, hips rocking against yours. Going, “Jesus – fuck. Fuckin’ dirty.”

She hides her red face in your shoulder again, as if she’s almost embarrassed by how desperate she is.

“My fuckin’ dirty girl,” and grunts, and she punctuates it with a snap of her hips, knocking the sensitivity up tenfold.

It feels so good, and if she carries on this way, you’re likely to come again, but by the clutch of her fingers and drag of her breathing, you know she’s not going to last long enough.

Know that it’s not about you, though. Know that she’ll likely catch her breath for a second and begin all over again. Abby was like that. One was never enough.

Her high-pitched, shaky breathing brings you back. It’s there – even if you can’t see her face, you know it.

“Gonna come for me Abby?” you whisper. Then, with your wet mouth against her ear, you whimper, please baby, please come for me.

She does. You feel her body clench against you, a strangled gasp muffled against your neck, and then she’s shaking, orgasm washing over her and taking her under.

You soothe her through it. Rub her muscular back, drag your nails over her spine, and kiss the side of her head. When the aftershocks cool off, she laughs. The sound rumbles against your neck, shocked and alive.

“Holy shit,” she curses, giving your neck a sloppy kiss. Your skin is still electric, but it slowly sparks out, bottoming to a dull delicious numbness. A slow, lazy smile pulls at your lips.

Your head is still a little fuzzy.

Abby hands slide out from under your shoulders, and she presses them besides you, pushing herself up, long blonde hair falling around your head like a curtain. Her cheeks are blushed red, eyes wiry and alive.

You feel yourself staring at her. Abby stares back. She shifts idly, cocking her head to the side and leaning to kiss you. With her tongue in your mouth, she whispers, “’m gonna move.”

Gently, she slips out of you, kissing away the scrunch of your brows and pout to your lips. She quickly unbuckles the strap, pushing it to the side before leaning down again, wide palms pushing your thighs apart to try and distill the pressure there.

“Okay?” she breathes, putting all of her weight onto her elbows.

“Mm,” you hum dreamily, leaning up to give her a messy kiss, “That was really hot.” Abby kisses back, humming in agreement, “Feel like I just found out the meaning of life.” “What?” you laugh, scrunching your face at her.

You raise your brows, laughing, “the meaning of life is coming while fucking me?” “Yep,” she grins, bumping her nose to yours. She turns to the TV, the credits rolling.

“Should we start the movie again?” she asks sincerely, but you shake your head, fingers tightening in her hair.

Lazily, you slip your tongue into her mouth, wrapping your legs around her lower back and using your feet to push her ass into you. She groans, trying to catch up, but you pull away just when she matches your rhythm.

You lick your lips and lean back, your mouth curling into a delicious grin. Abby watches you reach out, your thumb running over her bottom lip, and she catches it in her mouth just as you say, “Still wanna taste you.”

more abby smut

#abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us hbo #abby anderson the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson fan fic #tlou2 abby anderson

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honeybeedrabble · 6 months

Text

Working Weekends: CEO!Kakashi x AFABreader

AN: a while ago someone requested a CEO!Kakashi fic but my dumbass read it as a question about the mafia boss!Kakashi and posted about that instead. anyways, to whoever you are this one’s for you lol

CW: CEO!Kakashi x AFAB secretary!reader, dubcon / quid pro quo / coercion, unprotected piv (don’t be stupid), accidental creampie (don’t be stupid), biting, hickeys, spit play (if you squint), cum eating, spanking, sex tape filming / photos, praise, breast play, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, lmk if i missed anything !!

18+ MDNI !!!

You never liked working weekends, so much so that yesterday you tried leaving early just so you could avoid running into your boss and having him pressure you into working on your hard earned saturday off. This obviously couldn’t be the case, that would be too easy. Some sick part of you knew this would happen one way or another, and now you’re bent over his desk taking it like a champ.

“Shit baby, you can really take it balls deep…” Kakashi grunted, his hands were bunching your pencil skirt above your ass, your panties at your ankles. You shuddered as his thick cock plunged deeper into you, his heavy balls resting against your ass each time he bottomed out inside of you.

Your face was smooshed against the desk, papers scattered everywhere from all the work he had put in prior to your arrival. One if his hands let go of your skirt and moved down to between your legs, his middle finger teased your clit and you let out a loud gasp, clutching the desk for dear life as your legs threatened to give out.

“Poor girl… gonna cum already?” he teased, withdrawing his cock before slamming it in until he was rutting away inside your desperate cunt. You yelped, Kakashi grabbed your hair and pulled it back, your back now arched and your face away from the papers. You set your arms on the table to hold you up, sweat beading down your temples. With both hands now, Kakashi unbuttoned your white blouse, licking his lips when your tits came spilling out.

“No bra this time? What a good little secretary,” He cooed, a massive hand of his groping a soft breast eliciting a whine from you. You couldn’t help the way your hips tilted into his, whimpering for the cock of the man who treated you like his own personal wage slave. Kakashi chuckled smugly, grinding his girthy member into your tight walls to make you suffer even more.

“I’m tired of standing,” Kakashi smacked your ass then pulled out. You whined at the sudden loss of his cock stretching you out, but watched as he walked over to the other side of the desk, his hard cock peeking out of his black dress pants and against his expensive, white buttoned shirt.

He sat down on his black leather chair, sinking into it deeply. He began to remove his suit jacket and tossed it on the desk infront of him. He opened a drawer in his desk and began to rummage through it, all while you were eyeing his dick, mouth watering at the sight of his dribbling precum. His eyes darted up at you,

“like what you see?” he asked knowingly.

You felt your face heat up in shame, nodding softly.

“I know you do,” he laughed, a hand stroking up and down his glistening shaft. His other hand was still searching in his drawer and he smiled when he discovered what he was looking for. He pulled out a small digital camera and turned it on.

Kakashi looked up at you and pointed the lense at you. Quickly, you covered yourself and turned away from the camera. Kakashi huffed angrily, you turned your face toward him to be met with his furrowed brows and stern frown.

“I thought you wanted that big holiday bonus?” He asked with an angry tone. The color from your face drained, feeling completely hopeless.

“I-I do, sir. But I… I cant.” You stammered. Kakashi tisked, slowly shaking his head.

“Well I guess you don’t need the money that badly.”

“No! I mean I do, I just…”

“No no no, if you really can’t do it, then by all means walk away from me and all that money you’d be missing out on.” You watched as that evil man’s lips formed into a smirk, the camera was placed ontop of his desk and his fingers were interlaced, palms resting on his abdomen.

You took a deep breath then let it go, as you walked over to his side of the desk and handed him the silver camera. He smiled wide, dimples adorning his cheeks as he took it from you.

“My obedient little secretary, I knew you’d come around.” You knelt down and got underneath his desk, your head between his knees. “Don’t worry, precious. These will be for me and me alone,” he cooed, his hand holding your chin and his thumb caressed your cheek tenderly. “Or for the whole office to see if you ever plan on snitching to HR about all this.” He grinned.

Terrified, you shook your head no and he laughed. “Atta girl, now get to sucking.” His legs spread and his cock stood up straight, you wrapped your hand around the base and held his leaking tip against your flattened tongue.

“Hold that pose for a second…” Kakashi hummed, a flash of light from the camera flickered and you softly squinted. Kakashi examined the picture and showed it to you. You blushed as you saw the lewd photo, and blushed even more when you saw the hungry twinkle in your eyes.

“Now this one is perfect but i’m wondering if I should keep flash on or off…” he trailed off. You felt so embarrassed, hearing him talk so casually about the riské photos.

To shut him up you wrapped your lips around his cock, letting him slide down your throat while fighting back the urge to gag. Your tongue caressed the underside of his tip when you bobbed back up, your throat now properly slickened by the profuse amount of precum he was secreting.

“Ohhh,” Kakashi moaned, fumbling with the camera to take a quick picture of you. When he did you felt him twitch in your mouth as he looked at the new photo. “Dear god, look at you. You look real good baby…” he trailed off as you bobbed up and down his length from under his desk.

You felt your arousal pool between your thighs, cunt cold against the slick that was gathered by your skirt. You wanted to touch yourself, but you didn’t want to let him know this was turning you on so much, the embarrassment would’ve been too much to handle. While lost in thought, you played with his balls, massaging their heavy weight as he snapped pictures whenever there was a good angle.

“Fuck being my secretary, maybe I should make you my model, huh?” He said, thrusting up into your throat. You gagged softly and at that same moment he snapped another shot. “I mean… shit, look at yourself.” He flipped the camera over and you watched in horror how desperate you looked to stuff him down your throat after gagging on it so suddenly.

“We’re getting some good shots over here, I can email them to you if you want.”

“Please no…” You whimpered, pulling off of his length. He laughed, caressing your bottom lip that was all pink and swollen from sucking his cock.

“Fair enough. Why don’t we cut to the good part already and have you ride this dick, hmm?” His head tilted as he searched your teary eyes.

“O-okay…” You crawled out from under the desk and shakily got you your feet. Kakashi sat up, his hands at the sides of your legs and bunching your skirt up to your ass again. You stepped out of your panties and wrapped your leg around him to sit on his lap. You looked down at his cock, his hand wrapped around it to steady it for you.

*snap* another picture.

“Ohhhh hell yeah, that’s a good one,” he hummed in delight, looking back at you with his shit eating grin. “Get to work.” he instructed. You raised your hips and both of you let out soft moans when the tip of his cock met the leaky mess that was gushing out your pussy.

Kakashi grabbed his cock and dipped his tip inside of you, gathering as much of your arousal as he could before running the sticky wetness along your sensitive folds. Your mouth fell open and you moaned his name, ignoring him taking another photo of you coming undone in his lap.

“Good girl,” he purred, running the tip up and down your folds, watching the way you twitched when he rubbed against your clit just right.

He finally lined himself up with your hole, looking at you in a way to signal it was time for you to lower yourself down on him. As you took the head of his cock in, you threw your head back, clenching around his fat tip. He moaned in retaliation, latching onto your exposed neck with his sharp teeth and hot tongue. You sunk down further, thighs tightening around his hips. His large hands guided your hips down on him, grabbing the soft plush of your ass for leverage.

“No different from the last time, baby. Get to it,” he hummed in your neck, flipping the camera around and snapping a selfie of him attacking your throat.

You sighed, going limp in his lap, your clit finally reaching his pubic bone and softly grinding against it, electricity shooting through your veins at the connection. He lightly laughed, angling the camera between the two of you and snapping a picture where the two of your sexes met.

“Maybe I should record a little video, a few second of you just riding me, huh?” He asked, not necessarily looking for permission as he switched it to its recording feature.

Nervously, you rested your hand on the camera and pushed it against his chest with a frown on your face, shaking your head ‘no.’ He gave you the same grimace from before.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t in need of the extra money. In fact, why don’t we call it a day while we’re ahead?” he raised his voice, attempting to get up.

“N-no wait!” you pushed his chest down with your hand, attempting to keep him seated.

“Are you gonna let me do what I need to do?” he asked, brow raised. You bit your lip, nodding slightly. He smiled, then grabbed both sides of your face in his hands, placing a grateful kiss on your lips. You kissed back for some reason, craving the sudden intimacy.

“Gooood girl…” he praised, placing more kisses on your lips, humming each time you kissed back. “Now fucking ride already.”

You began to grind your hips in his lap, soft whimpers escaping your soft lips, Kakashi hummed pleasently, letting his own moans fill the room as he started recording the scene in front of him. He tilted the camera down to where you two met, outlining the dick imprint in your stomach with his slender fingers.

“You feel it in there?” he whispered in a low, sultry voice.

“Y-yeah…” you muttered, your arousal starting to stain a damp patch on the crotch of his pants.

“I can tell, you’re really choking my cock right now.” you sighed, hearing his vulgar language. Kakashi focused the camera, almost drooling at the video recording you leaking all over him.

You placed your hands on each of his shoulders steadying yourself in his lap before bobbing up and down on his shaft with all the intensity you could muster. Each time you slammed down into his hips he had brushed against that sweet spot, right in the back that was so deep you weren’t sure any other man could reach it. You moaned loud, uncaring if anyone outside were to walk by his office and hear you mewling for his permission to cum on his lap.

While riding, Kakashi was kneading your ass, stopping occasionally to stop the recording and take a few pictures or spank you suddenly, leaving red handprints behind.

“Ngh- god I love it when you find your groove,” he sighed, your wet pussy continuing to drip down his cock and into his expensive pants. He could care less about the pants when it was you who was staining them, your thighs at his hips trembling as your orgasm approached.

“Sloppy pussy, neat desk. What more could I ask for in a secretary?” he whispered in your ear, hands running up the small of your back while he buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent and feeling your feverish skin.

“S-Sir…”

“I told you the first time, call me Kakashi,” he grunted, feeling his own orgasm approaching.

“Kakashi… m’ gonna… ngh- no…” you whimpered, terrified to admit defeat yet again as the luxury seat underneath you two creaked and squeaked as you rode him, stroking him from the inside with your overstuffed cunt.

“Oh yes…” he smirked, teasing you while he took in the sweet sight of you coming undone for him yet again, messy for his cock as opposed to the pristine way you carried yourself throughout the office. “Yes you are hmm?”

“Hngh- I shouldn’t,” your drooled down your chin, all the way to your exposed collarbones. Kakashi dragged his hot tongue along your spit and up to your jaw, sucking a soft hickey that’d prove impossible to hide.

“I beg to differ. I think you… we should.” His breaths were labored, tired regardless to the fact he put little to no work into this encounter. “I know I will, so just do us both a favor and let that pretty pussy cum all over my cock, mkay?” he asked rhetorically. “We both know she belongs to me.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was the way his dick slid in just right, the slight curve pressing against the most heavenly spot in your abused hole that made you shake in his lap, juicing all over him as if you were a fresh orange being squeezed. You covered your mouth with your palm, biting into the flesh softly to stifle your moans. It was futile when Kakashi roughly grabbed both your wrists in his large hand, staring intently as your mouth fell open and you cried his name as if it were a prayer.

“Fuck, just like that….” He muttered, sweat dripping down his forehead. He held your hips up slightly with the other hand, thrusting into your cunt before withdrawing an inch only to plummet back inside without any precision or kindness in his strokes.

“Haaaah- good girl…” he grunted, filling you up with hot cum before pulling out and jerking himself off, cumming on your clit as he watched his seed slowly drip out of your hole.

“Ahhh, ahhh…” Kakashi threw his head back, letting go of your wrists to pick up his camera again and take a few pictures of the crime scene, some including photos of your fucked out face.

When he slowly came too he noticed how you were still moaning, as if the ghost of his cock was still gently prying into you and eliciting these whimpers. He switched his camera to the video recording feature and recorded him scooping up his cum with his middle and ring finger, spreading the two fingers and watching as the hot spend stretched as he spread them.

“You gotta clean up your mess, hmm?” He held the two fingers close together and plunged them deep down your throat, the camera rolling on your aroused face as you sucked the didgets clean, grinding on his lap while you did so.

“Such a slutty thing…” he muttered softly, watching as your eyes blew wide with lust at the taste of his liquid arousal on your tongue. You knew if he showed you this later you’d be fucked, there was no way you couldn’t call your expression anything but horny in this very moment.

“As soon as you’re done get back to work,” Kakashi hummed, watching as you got off his lap and under his desk again to lap up his cum. “I’d say you’ve earned your bonus.”

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narumi-gens · 11 months

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Cupid's Arrow - The Set Up

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: There’s no such thing as Cupid’s arrow. But fortunately for you and Osamu, you both have Atsumu. (OR: how Atsumu decided to play matchmaker for you and Osamu.)

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, pure fluff, bad dating stories, best friend!tsumu, reader is really going through it — what a champ, reader is really just trying their best, but it's ok bc you and osamu are destined for happiness and marital bliss, atsumu for best wingman 2023 (but like a sneaky little wingman who uses underhanded tricks)

notes: wanted to start a little drabble series about platonic!reader and osamu's relationship but told from atsumu's POV so here we are. this can definitely be read on its own though.

words: 1.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Atsumu would find your misfortune in dating funny if there wasn’t so much of it. Actually, that’s not true. He still finds it funny. How could he not?

“Atsumu! That guy I went on a date with? He sneezed in my face and didn’t even apologize!”

“You know that guy I just started seeing? It turns out he has a wife and a girlfriend! They found out about each other and confronted him while we were on a date. Didn’t you see the video I posted on TikTok? It's going viral!”

“So I thought it was a date, but actually he was trying to recruit me to his pyramid scheme.”

“Oh my god. This guy was so annoying. He wouldn’t stop fooling around with the ball at mini-golf and I ended up getting hit. Anyway, long story short the doctor said I have a scratch on my cornea and have to use these eye drops for the next few days.”

While the stories never get old, he does feel bad for you. You’re his best friend after all. These scrubs that you’ve been going out with don’t even deserve a second glance from you, let alone an entire date.

And so finally, after hearing about your latest misadventure in single life (“Oh, can you cover dinner? That guy I went out for drinks with yesterday stole my wallet.”), Atsumu decides it’s not just his duty to step in as your closest friend, but his duty as a decent person.

“Samu, when’s the last time ya went out on a date?” he asks his brother the next time that he sees him, only to receive the most uninterested look in response.

“Don’t get involved in my love life,” he firmly warns the setter with narrowed eyes and Atsumu scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

“What love life? Yer married to onigiri!” he cries as he points an accusatory finger directly at said onigiri in Osamu’s hand.

He’s honestly surprised that Osamu doesn’t throw it in his face with how annoyed he now looks, but he also knows the chef would never waste Kita’s rice like that.

“I could get a date if I wanted. I don’t need yer help,” he insists.

“Duh, you have my face even if yer missin’ my amazing hair and personality.” When his cocky grin is met with a flat look, Atsumu realizes he might need to go for a different approach — the caring, earnest, brotherly approach. “Look, I know someone I think ya’d really like.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?” The question is asked with mocking disbelief, as if there’s no universe where Atsumu could successfully play matchmaker for his brother.

He’s only too happy to prove him wrong, so when says your name, it’s with smug pride. He prepares himself for the bounty of gratitude that Osamu is about to shower him with.

Only, that doesn’t happen. His brother scoffs and turns his attention fully back to his onigiri, dismissing the idea of going on a date with you entirely. Atsumu can’t help but feel a prickle of offense on your behalf (and his own).

“Hey! She’s a real catch, y’know!” he cries out. And it’s true.

You’re smart, you’re successful, you’re funny, and you both always have the best time when you hang out together. And while he’s reluctant to admit it because he never likes to think of you in that way, you’re also attractive. He knows his brother isn’t blind to it either.

The two of you have only met a few times in passing since he’s known you, but Atsumu’s eyes are too sharp from years of volleyball to have missed how Osamu’s gaze tends to linger on your ass just a bit longer than is polite. He knows pointing that out would not go well.

“She’s the one doin’ me the favor by agreein’ to go out with a scrub like you,” he continues to argue. But, it’s that part that isn’t entirely true.

You actually have no idea that Atsumu is trying to meddle in your dating life. However, that’s something he can easily deal with once he’s convinced Osamu to take you out. While he would never call you desperate, at least not to your face, at this point you’ll go out on a date with anyone. It’s his brother that’s the real hurdle in this scheme.

“Ya want me to date yer best friend?” Osamu asks slowly.

“Yeah, what’s so crazy about that?” he frowns.

“First, I’d never get ya out of my life if that happened,” he says blandly and continues over Atsumu’s squawk of protest. “Besides, there’s gotta be somethin’ wrong with her if she willingly chooses to spend so much time with ya.”

“Look, would it kill ya to go on just one date?” He doesn’t mention that if things go according to plan, it won’t be just one date. It’ll be a lifetime of happiness for the two most important people in his life. But that’s something that he doesn’t think Osamu would find as compelling as he does.

“The restaurant ain’t gonna burn down or anything just cause ya spend a couple of hours outside of it. All yer rice’ll still be here when ya get back.”

Osamu gives him the dirtiest look, but then, after a long moment, he sighs heavily and Atsumu knows that he’s cleared the first hurdle. All he has to do is clear the next one. Thankfully it’s much lower.

“Hey, I got someone I wanna set ya up with.”

“Who?” Just as he expected, you immediately sound interested and willing.

“Samu.”

There’s a long pause and he begins to worry that the low hurdle that he needs to clear is actually higher than he anticipated.

“Your brother?” you finally ask, your expression wrinkling with confusion.

“Yeah. Why? What’s the big deal?” Now he’s the one confused as he watches your small frown begin to grow a little deeper.

“I don’t know. Isn’t it kind of…weird?” Your hesitancy towards going out with Osamu is a least a lot more gentle than Osamu’s was towards you. “You guys are identical twins. You have the same face and everything. Wouldn’t it be like dating you?”

There’s a hint of disgust in your tone and he would be offended if he didn’t feel the same way about the notion of dating you.

“You could only be so lucky,” he says with a snort before deciding that he’ll have to pull out the caring, earnest, brotherly approach once again. “Please? I’m worried if he doesn’t go out with someone soon then he’s just gonna spend the rest of his life alone with his onigiri.”

This is yet another half-truth that he has to tell in this scheme. Because while he does sometimes think that Osamu’s on the path to becoming a hermit, he’s way more concerned about you. With the way things are going for you, one day he’s going to get a call about how some scumbag that you’re in love with emptied your bank account and ran off in the middle of the night.

But the half-truth seems to work because pity momentarily flashes across your face. He just needs to push a little bit more.

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but he asked if he thought he had a shot with ya,” he sighs, trying to sound reluctant, like he’s had no choice but to reveal this made-up secret. And what can it hurt? It’s just another white lie.

“He did?” You sound baffled rather than flattered and he hopes you can’t see the spike of panic that he feels. “What brought that on? I haven’t even seen him in forever.”

“He saw yer thirst trap on Instagram,” he blurts out to distract you and he breathes a sigh of relief when you gasp at the accusation.

“I told you! It wasn’t a thirst trap! I genuinely wanted to know if that outfit was appropriate for a work event!” you whine pathetically.

“Okay, yeah. Sure,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Nothing says business like a shirt unbuttoned so low that your hot-pink bra peeks out.”

You open your mouth to protest your innocence but Atsumu cuts you off before the argument can really get started. The mission here is to ensure yours and Osamu’s eternal happiness and he intends to see success.

“Look, you deserve someone who treats ya right,” he offers, sincerity shining through in his words and expression. “Samu’s a good guy. I trust him with ya.”

“I don’t know…” you trail off, sounding much less firm in your reservations than only a few minutes before.

“Remind me what happened on yer last date?”

You look away from him with a petulant frown.

“…he ordered his food to go and then left me at the restaurant,” you mutter under your breath.

He raises an eyebrow as if that says it all — which it does. You just roll your eyes with a huff.

“Fine!” you relent, throwing your hands up in the air before pointing a firm finger in his direction. “But if it gets weird then I’m blaming you.”

He just grins triumphantly and pulls out his phone so that he can send your number to Osamu. But then he sees you suddenly pout and groans at your dramatics.

“What’s wrong now?” he asks impatiently and your pout grows deeper.

“Y’know he could at least have liked my thirst trap,” you mumble and Atsumu’s eyes light up.

“So you admit it! It was a thirst trap!” he crows, even as he hopes that it doesn’t come out until you guys are married that Osamu only ever uses Instagram to post on Onigiri Miya’s business account.

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu fluff #miya osamu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #mel writes #cupid's arrow #meet the miyas

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bokettochild · 4 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 5 - Rope Burn

Well this took forever! I actualy finished last ight but then I wasn't sure if I hated it or not, so I had to sleep on it. If you see any typos, no you do not.

Wordcount: 9,300

Rating: Teen

Summary: After Twilight reveals some information about his past, Four tries to use it as a learning opportunity for all of them. It does not go as expected.

“There is no way a military leader was that incompetent.”

Wild pauses in his story, much to Wind’s frustration, because he really did want to hear the end of it, which he’s about to say, only the vet’s voice raises, a smirk touching the other’s face as he settles down at the fire with the rest of them after coming back from doing rounds. “Sounds about right to me.”

“Too competent,” Warriors challenges, dropping his head to thoroughly tousle his hair, “half my men couldn’t do that.” That’s fair, Wind decides, he remembers the captain’s men as all being somewhat... stupid.

The champion stares at them, openly astounded. “How,” he begins, glancing between the vet and captain “are your kingdoms still standing? If the leaders of your defenses are less capable than Master I-killed-myself-on-accident-with-my-own-power Kohga?”

“Spoilers!” That’s how the story ends? Wild had only just begun to get to the part where he fought Kohga, but now the ending has been well and truly ruined! Although, it seems they’re getting derailed, so it’s quite likely he won’t even get to hear said ending, considering the champion is too busy looking between captain and veteran for answers.

The vet just snorts, unknowing of what he’s missed, and of Wind’s ire, and simply crossing his legs and focusing on the fire. “Where do you think I got the title of veteran? I don’t just sit on my fanny all day, champ.”

When the champion’s eyes turn to Warriors, the captain just shakes his head. “I have no clue.” It‘s more sigh than anything, as though the captain’s long since given up hopes for competency among his people. “I’d say Impa, but even she can’t hold the country together by herself, so I’m assuming it’s pure dumb luck.”

Across camp, Sky, who’d been the first one to say anything after the champion’s insane story, stares. “You’re saying I brought down the knights of Skyloft just so they could devolve into idiotic half-competent protectors of the country and leave kids to be the ones to save the world?” It’s harsh, but it’s fair as well, although not everyone seems to think so. Wind can’t say anything on the matter though because the closest to military groups they have in his world are pirates, and pirates don’t exactly serve the people.

The group as a whole gives each other considering looks, although Legend and Warriors are too busy talking with their eyes- Legend raising a brow and Warriors sighing, rolling his own eyes and earning a smirk in answer- to really care about what everyone else thinks. He thinks Legend asked a question, but how either of them can read each other that well, considering how rarely they even interact, he’s not sure.

“The knights in my era are half-competent,” Four assures, “easily manipulated by magic, but they’re just people, so I can’t really blame them. They’re good at their work though.”

“Lucky,” Legend scoffs.

Time also seems confident in the soldiers of his era, but Twilight adds that his own are cowards and pathetic, so it seems they’re split. Wind, Wild, and Hyrule can’t add anything, due to the lack of military forces in their eras, the soldier is in agreement with their farm boys on the idiocy of his own people, and only their first two and the old man seem to have any faith whatsoever in those set to guard their era. He wonders if maybe there was a decline, after one of them, that led to the army of Hyrule falling, but he doesn’t ask, since it’s unlikely they can say for sure anyway.

“How often do you interact with knights though?” Sky challenges, glancing between them. Most haven’t been around them often, but those who’ve got only ill to say all scoff, almost simultaneously, which startles them as much as it does the rest of the group.

“I live with them,” the captain starts slowly, glancing between Twilight and Legend with a curious half-smile as though he’s actively trying to figure out what on earth could tie them to the people whom they so frequently scorn. “Spent the last five or six years in the army.”

The vet’s a bit more hesitant with his answer, staring between them warily, guarded. “My sister is a knight commander, and our family has ties with the army, so I end up around them a lot more than I’d like, even when they aren’t actively hunting me down.” And Wind wants to stop the conversation there and ask about the fact that Legend apparently has a family and also a reason for the army to be up his ass about something, but he doesn’t get a chance because once more, someone else speaks first.

“I grew up on a military base,” Twilight snorts, “trust me, soldiers are as dumb as rocks.”

And well, Legend having a family isn’t that crazy in comparison to that.

Warriors starts, staring at the rancher, blinking slowly as though still trying to process the words of the other. “I’m sorry- you what?”

“I thought you grew up in Ordon?” Wild questions, turning to his mentor, confusion on clear display.

Yeah, Wind has a feeling that Wild’s story is well and truly over now, but he supposes it’s worth it. Learning something about their rancher is, he supposes, better than hearing the rest of the story the cook had already spoiled the ending too, especially as the limit of their knowledge about the rancher at this point is that he’s from Ordon, used to work as a ranch hand, and is descended from Time and Malon somehow. The fact that he’s a hero goes without saying, but the ranch hand nearly never shares anything about himself, even though he seems to love talking about his hometown and all the people in it, to the point where some of them feel they know the village and its residents already, despite still not having been there yet.

Yet, the rancher is grinning as he leans back, the sprig of hylian rice between his teeth bouncing some as he flashes a wolfish grin at them. “Well, yeah, sort of.”

“Sort of?” Time nudges his pup, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Their leader isn’t keen on them being cryptic with him, even though he frequently does so himself. The hypocrite. “Explain.”

The rancher chuckles, a nervous little thing, but obediently pulls himself up, resting his weight over his knees as he looks around the fire at all of them, eyes glinting slightly. “Well, y’see, I a’tually grew up in a citadel on the edge of Hyrule.”

Warriors jaw drops so fast. “Holy Hylia you’re a military brat.”

He can’t help it; he bursts into laughter. Yes, objectively, it’s funny to see Warriors so shocked, but from an outsider's perspective it is so, so much funnier because he’s met Warriors parents and sisters, and he’s seen for himself the proof that the captain is anything but the sissy city boy Twilight likes to accuse him of being. No, the captain was born in Hebra, so far out from cities that he thought Kakariko was huge. Meanwhile, it turns out their “country boy” actually grew up in a military base? Not the country? It turns out Twilight is the military brat and Warriors was the hill-billy? How the turn tables have turned!

The rest of the heroes stare at him, confused, but the captain just rolls blue eyes, pinching the tip of his ear to make him shut up. “Ignore him.”

Twilight’s dark gaze flicks between them, but apparently, he determines to listen to the captain for once. “Right, so, my dad was a’tually a knight from some family o’ knights or summat, an’ my mom comes from desert folk, so I grew up on the border studyin’ with other knights’ kids to take on our fathers’ duties ’n protect Hyrule one day.”

The stares are very, very evident by now, although Legend’s in particular is strangely intense, studying the other with his mouth half open like he’s got a question about the rancher’s words.

Broad shoulders shrug, a bit awkward as the rancher grins at them. “My friends growin’ up were dumber’n rocks, an’ every knight I’ve met since is the same, so yeah. Knights ‘re stupid.”

“Just a question,” and it seems the vet decided to actually ask whatever’s in his head, “but your knight family, they Hyrulian Knights?”

“Yeah?”

The vet nods, slowly, lips pursed like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Oh.”

“Why?”

A shake of pink hair, eyes turning back to the fire. “Same hat is all.”

“You too?”

“Born and raised, but never followed. Your folks drag you to Snowpeak every winter too?”

The rancher shakes his head. “Naw, yeti’s took the place over some time ago. I’d heard it used to be ours though, never thought much of it though. You’ve been?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold up,” Watrriors interrupts the, frankly unexpected, moment between their rancher and vet to stare between both of them “You’re both military brats, you both hate soldiers, and you both neglected to say anything until freaking now? Also, Hyrulian Knights? You’re talking about the fabled family that sealed back Ganon here, right? Produced the Savior of Labrynna, may or may not be the family of the Hero of Time?” That has their old man looking up, startled, for a moment. It’s only a moment though, because that one wide eye promptly shoots down to Twilight and then, as though on second thought, Legend too, Time’s stare growing ever more startled and shaken, ears twitching like they used too when he was particularly confused or trying to work something out in his head.

Legend snorts. “Yes.”

“Heads up,” Hyrule chuckles, “Legend is the Hero of Labrynna, so keep your hero worship at a minimum there, Wars.”

He thinks that the captain’s face flickers through all five stages of grief for a moment there before the man gets up and simply...walks away, leaving Hyrule rocking in his seat from laughter and Sky looking thoroughly befuddled. “Is he okay?”

“Big hero worship,” Wind says, like the snitch he is. He’s no traitor in most senses, but if he can give Warriors a little grief, tease him a bit, he will. He’s fine with sharing some of the things he’d learned under the care of the other. “Apparently he views that guy like I did with Time, wanted to be like him and everything.”

Rather than flush or falter, Legend’s lemon-sucking face gets even more pronounced. “Why?”

“Because apparently the stories all say you were such an inspiring leader to Labrynna’s army that soldiers and generals emulated both your tactics and speeches for decades after Ganon’s defeat.” It’s amazing to watch the vet’s entire world-view shatter at the words, the man apparently not sure if he should look off towards their captain who’s flopped on his bedroll to contemplate his whole life all over again or down at the ground to contemplate his own. Like the problem child he usually chooses not to be, Wind decides to make it worse. “His Hyrule considers you the greatest knight that ever lived.”

Ringed hands bury in pink hair, violet eyes blowing wide as the other hunches over, mind clearly blown. Beside the vet, Twilight gently (and by gently, Wind means very cautiously) claps his brother’s back, his own face a bit tense.

Wind is loving watching this. This is better than listening to Wild explain his exploits against the Yiga! Although, he’s also curious. “Did you really grow up in a citadel, Twi?”

“Yeah,” a brief nod, dark eyes lingering on their malfunctioning veteran, “I only traveled up Ordon way around your age, when the citadel fell.”

Okay, not touching that bomb. “What was it like?”

His question earns a grin. “What you’d expect, I s’pose. We were monsters as kids, an’ I s’pose growin’ up military gave us a twisted view of the world. Or, rather, of what was normal any’ays.”

“Like how?” Sky, who grew up in a knight’s academy and seems entirely normal by what standards Wind has, asks.

“Our main games usually centered around pretendin’ to be knights an’ capturin’ each other or doin’ what we saw our dads doin’ most of the time.”

“Like?” Time prods again.

Twilight grins, and then falters, looking suddenly alarmed as he glances over the rest of them. “Okay, in hindsight, it was messed up.”

Now he really wants to know. “What did you do?”

The others all stare; those who aren’t, like Warriors and Legend, currently questioning their existence. Their concern is steadily growing the more Twilight falters and flushes, and Wind is now very much dying to know what sort of shenanigans the rancher used to get up to as a kid. Whatever it was, it can’t be worse than what Time used to put him through during the war, although the idea of their sweet and warm rancher being related to the gremlin he remembers from back then is now not so insane a concept anymore.

“Alright,” The (apparently not from Ordon) Ordonian starts at last, and Wind’s not sure if the rancher is aware that he’s moved his hand up to be toying with the vet’s hair now, a nervous sort of stroking, but the vet hasn’t snapped at him for it yet, although maybe that’s because he’s just too lost in his own head to notice, “don’t judge.”

“I will reserve my judgement,” Four answers, slowly, “but no promises.”

“I grew up on the edge of the desert, an’ most of what our folks did was hunt Gerudo thieves an’ protect traders in an’ outta the desert.” Which makes sense, but he feels like Twilight’s getting at something less than what his parents did for a living. “Nowadays, my hairs a fair bit darker, but it was purdy red back then an’ the other kids kind of figured it meant that when we played, I had to be the evil Gerudo thief, since, y’know, red hair.”

Ah, racism in children, now Wind sees it. Not what he was hoping for but he’s not sure what he was expecting.

“So,” Twilight clears his throat awkwardly, “when we played, I’d be the bad guy an’ they’d chase me down and ‘capture’ me. In hindsight, it probably was less play an’ more bullyin’ since I wasn’t too well liked at first an’ they weren’t very nice about it.”

“But?” Sky asks, maybe too hopefully.

“But,” the rancher accepts, because apparently there's something good in this after all, or at least something that makes the man smile, “part of the ‘game’ involved them tryin’ to tie me up. Unfortunately for them, I got mighty good at escapin’ bein’ tied up. I think I must’ve impressed ‘em, because they started makin’ a game of if I could escape various crazy things, an’ sometimes would ask me to help ‘em tie each other up so they could try a hand at it too.” Sharp teeth glint in a fond smile. “Got a reputation for bein’ slippery as a snake and sly as a fox, an’ t’others all started treatin’ me like some sorta genius. We became friends awful fast after.”

An awkward silence settles over camp after that, the rancher’s words sinking in and the rest of them processing what was said. Surprisingly, it’s Legend who breaks it, lifting his head from his own hands, apparently having decided to shelf whatever feelings he’s having, but also apparently missing the hand still tangled in his hair. “So, in other words, you earned the respect of your bullies and made their bullying into what sounds like a perfectly normal childhood game.”

“What sort of a childhood did you have again?” Sky deadpans. “Didn’t you start adventuring at like, eight?”

“And?” The vet returns, looking actually, genuinely confused as to what that has to do with anything.

Their chosen hero sighs, shaking his head, apparently already giving up on trying to explain the flaw in the vet’s logic. Honestly, Wind can’t see it, whatever it is, but he’s getting the impression that kids on Skyloft and kids in Hyrule have very, very different experiences.

It’s about a week later that someone brings it up again, and surprisingly, it’s Four.

They’re sitting around the main room of the smithy’s house, keeping warm after spending the last day out in the middle of a strange mix of fog and rain while hunting monsters. The smithy’s parents have been very welcoming towards their guests, and all of them are savoring the chance to fully relax for the first time in a good while. Well, most of them, Legend and Hyrule don’t seem particularly capable of fully relaxing, so Four’s mother has roped them into helping her in the little garden out back, which seems to be quite to the vet’s tastes and, while foreign to Hyrule, a new experience the traveler doesn't seem keen on passing up.

That leaves the rest of them free in the otherwise empty house, left to their own devices while the smithy’s father attends to his work at the castle. Twilight is trying (and failing) to teach Warriors how to play chess, and Wind and Wild are busy playing with Four’s cat, Tongs, when the smithy suddenly walks into the room again after coming downstairs and addresses the rancher. “Do you think you could still escape being tied up?”

Time, who was sitting on the couch, looking halfway towards dozing off, suddenly starts awake again and stares, as do the rest of them.

“Pardon?” The rancher asks, sighing in defeat as Warriors knocks all the pieces off the chess board with an agitated scowl, signifying his disinterest in continuing to try and learn the “stupid” game.

“The game you mentioned,” Four reminds them, crossing the room to perch on the couch arm closest to the rancher, although why he doesn’t just sit on the couch, Wind’s not sure. “You said your friends were really impressed by your ability to escape all the time. Do you think you could still do that?”

Twilight shrugs, scooping up the fallen chess pieces to put back in their box, all while Warriors glares at one of the rooks like it’s personally offended him. Wind wasn’t watching close enough to know if it had or not. “I mean, I might, haven’t tried in a while. Why?”

The smithy kicks his feet, well off the floor, and frowns, a thoughtful frown like he’s slowly piecing his words together. “I was curious. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing, and I wanted to know if you’d be willing to show us so I could get better.”

“And why do you need to get better at escaping being tied up?” The captain interjects, tossing the white rook into the box with a twitch of a frown.

“So sure you want to ask that?” Sky snorts, moseying in from the kitchen where Four’s mother had given them free access to make tea and grab food. The face the captain makes at him is scandalized but their chosen hero just slurps his tea, staring over the rim of his cup with raised brows.

Wind doesn’t get the joke. He’s not sure if he wants to.

Four huffs, slightly red in the cheeks, but presses on. “During my adventure, I made...some mistakes. It resulted in my capture, and I couldn’t exactly escape. I don’t want that to happen again.” It’s a simple enough answer, glazing over anything and everything other than the smithy getting captured, but it still raises questions, although not the ones the smithy was likely trying to avoid.

“I thought you were a knight?” Warriors picks up the queen piece, not dropping it yet but not staring at it either, instead focusing his narrowed eyes on their smithy. “All soldiers are trained on what to do in the case of capture, torture, and questioning. Did you not recieve that training?”

It’s Twilight’s turn to shift about to stare at the captain. “How would they train that sort of thing?”

The captain’s face screws up, “Am I the only one who was taught this? Sky,” the man drops the queen and it goes rolling across the table, “did you or did you not receive-”

“No,” the chosen hero doesn’t even wait for the other to finish. “Who on earth would even interrogate us? Skyloftian knights fight monsters, not men.” A long sip follows the words before Sky frowns and turns to look down at the seated soldier. “Do they seriously teach you about torture?”

“Yes?” Warriors glances around, but all of them look back at him with confusion. “All common soldiers learn this? You have to in order to progress through the ranks?”

“Not ringing a bell,” Time deadpans, staring at the captain with both eyes.

Warriors blinks, like the idea that his experience with knighthood not being universal is, in fact, a surprise to him. Wind can’t blame him though, considering based off of what he knows about the other, Warriors had gone through most of his experiences beside dozens of other young men, including his own childhood friends, in order to reach the rank he was at before the war started and he’d been suddenly promoted to captain.

“Well,” Four shifts, crossing his legs, “that’s a can of worms to be addressed later, but back to my question: Twilight, can you teach me escape tricks?”

“Correction,” Time sits up and turns around, eyes lingering on the captain a moment more before turning on his pup, “Twilight, Warriors, would both of you two be willing to help the rest of us learn escape methods and-” a vague hand motion is made at the soldier, “-whatever sort of training you received that all the rest of the knights here haven’t.”

The request seems to make the captain extremely uncomfortable and Wind doesn't miss the way royal blue eyes dart to him, hesitant. “Not the torture part.”

“What does that entail?” Sky asks, stare sharp and heavy in ways the man usually never is.

“Doesn’t matter,” Warriors is already moving to stand, leaving Twilight to clean up the rest of their game by himself. “I’m not teaching that to kids.”

“I am not a child!” It feels like the thousandth time he’s said that, but the look in the captain’s eyes.... yeah, he’ll let the man have this one. He's not sure he wants to see what it is that Warriors is trying to protect them from, especially after he saw everything that happened to the man during the war.

They have to recruit Legend and Hyrule from the garden, which Four does, and in the meantime Wind produces a length of rope for them to use for the exercise. The captain and Twilight are speaking in hushed whispers in the corner when Four returns with the others, and Legend shoots them a curious look as he heads over to where Wind is uncoiling all the rope he had in his bag.

“What’s going on?”

“Training exercise.” He answers, handing off the rope to the vet, who starts slightly at the contact but then helps him in re-coiling the loose chord.

“Why is the captain so tense?”

Those words make him look up, staring for a moment. Twilight seems perfectly at ease, but their soldier’s shoulders are tense, jaw set in a way he usually only has during a battle or shortly after one. Even the captain’s hands are still; devoid of their typical tremor, and if that’s not a sign to make him worry, he’s not sure what is. That said, he’s a bit surprised Legend had picked up on that. “I think he’s got bad memories of doing this before, he was pretty firm with Time about what he was and wasn’t willing to teach us.”

“Which is?”

“What to do if you’re captured or otherwise held against your will,” Time seems to materialize out of nowhere to answer the question, making Legend start slightly and scowl at the man. “Apparently most knights are trained to handle it, and I think you boys could benefit from having that knowledge too.”

“Yeah,” Legend snips, “because the shadow is totally gonna tie us to a chair and demand to know all our secrets.”

The conversation in the corner breaks off, Warriors running both hands through his hair in an agitated way while Twilight moves over to join the rest of them. “Maybe not, but the shadow ain’t the only threat out there, vet. You know that.”

The point is conceded, and the rest of them move in close, following their rancher’s example and watching as the man settles down into a kitchen chair Four had provided for their use. Twilight is not the one to start though, instead \turning his own attention, and thus the others do as well, towards the captain, who’s looking a little less like his normal self. It takes a moment, but Wind finally decides it’s the mess the man’s hair is in, that and the way all his emotions seem to have been wiped away cleanly as he stalks towards where the rancher is sitting.

“Twilight has agreed to show you all how to handle this, meanwhile, as I have the training, I will be instructing.” His breathing is off. “In some cases- most actually, the likelihood of being captured and watched by a large group is rare. Most of you don’t look like a major threat and few of you have a rank worth exploiting by your enemies, so your chances of being captured and tortured are low. The chances of questioning is also low, although possible, but considering how well you all keep your own secrets, I don’t think I have to teach you how to keep your mouths shut.” There’s the slightest quirk of a smile at that, and a few smile back.

Wind doesn’t. Wind is too busy watching the way too-steady hands reach out to take the rope Legend is still holding.

“I don’t need to teach you all how to watch the enemy, or how to be cautious, sneaky, how to move about without being seen- you know these things already.” The rope snaps in what he knows is a purposeful motion by the soldier to unsettle them, and that, if anything, is assurance that Warriors is still in there, and not entirely overwhelmed. Come to think of it, he may even be purposefully throwing them off with his behavior and appearance in order to better convey what it’s like to be held captive by a stranger. The thought actually makes him start and stare, watching closely. The hand thing can’t be faked, so maybe there’s some truth to the terrifying mask the captain is pulling; cold, harsh, calculating and seeking a reaction, but he genuinely hopes most of it really is just put on. “But how do you escape binds of different kinds? How do you quickly turn the tables to take yourself from prisoner to captor?” A twist of the hands and Warriors has made knot dangerously close to a noose. “Let’s try that, shall we?”

At his side, Legend tenses, eyes fixed on the captain as the man wraps the noose quickly around one of Twilight’s wrists, the rancher allowing himself to be manipulated as needed for the time being while Warriors twists and pulls and ties the rope this way and that. It's genuinely impressive, the kinds of knots and the effort put into them, far more than most enemies are likely to bother using, but the man still uses them, calling their attention to the different kinds and showing how some give way with a tug and others tighten, informing them that feeling the sort of knot used can be a huge step in escaping it, as it provides clues on how to manipulate your bindings to your own will.

Once the captain is finished, Twilight’s wrists and ankles are both quite effectively restrained, the rancher sitting quietly as he allows the rest of them to look over the bonds and Warriors to explain further about why certain knots are used and which ones to be on the lookout for. They are allowed to touch, encouraged even, to see how the rope feels, because- as the captain instructs them, clipped and cold- the likelihood of being granted sight is very low indeed when held captive.

“Everyone got all that?” At their nods, Warriors turns to Twilight. “Go nuts.”

Watching Twilight escape is very nearly as interesting as watching him get tied up. The rancher doesn’t explain nearly anything at all, focusing instead on getting out, but Warriors fills the blanks, pointing out that shifting, tugging and rolling your limbs can help loosen most bonds, even if it does tend to tighten the knots. “You don’t want to untie each knot, just get out of them. Most escapes need to be quick so as to actually be able to get out, but some circumstances give you time enough to pick over the knots later if you need the rope for something else. Getting a read on your situation at all times is crucial, but you have to rely on your own judgement much of the time in order to know what skills to employ and what to set aside.”

By the time the man is done speaking, Twilight is springing up out of the chair and making a grab at the captain. Almost without breathing, Warriors catches the other in a headlock. It's like watching a snake strike, one moment it looks like Twilight has him, and the next, the rancher is doubled over with their captain’s arms around his neck.

“Good try.”

Twi grins. “Woudla had’ja if I’d had time to slip my feet free.”

“Or if I’d been paying less attention,” the captain smiles, but it’s cold, thin, and very much not like their brother. The man’s hands let loose the other, leaving Twilight free to tug loose his feet while he turns back to the rest of them. “A key point is to watch for opening at all times. If your enemy turns their back or drops their guard, they give you a chance to over-power, injure, or kill them.” It’s said too coldly, too clinically, as though Warriors isn’t even talking about a life at all. He's beginning to see why the man spoke about this sort of training like he did; Warriors will be dumbing it down for them, making it something they can process, but with soldiers, commanders who didn’t give a shit about the innocence of their students, he can only imagine how this sort of thing would have been, especially paired with the knowledge that Warriors had also withstood training for torture and interrogation, so the mental strain would have been far worse then.

Honestly, maybe it’s not an act. Maybe Warriors is just used to shutting his emotions off when it comes to issues like this.

“Any questions?”

“Yeah,” it’s a new voice, one he doesn't know yet, which speaks, and it has all the heroes turning about abruptly at the sound of it, except the captain, who seems unsurprised, unlike them, to see Four’s father standing in the doorway “What on earth is going on here?”

As though of one mind, they all turn on the smithy.

“Training?”

“What kind?” The man leans in the door, one brow raised. He doesn’t look upset, maybe bemused, but Wind still feels Legend draw up stiff beside him.

“Escape training, sir,” Warriors clips, stepping forwards to address the man, “your son tells me he hasn't had a chance to undergo such training previously.”

“No.” It’s a very loaded word, “he hasn’t.” Guarded, wary, maybe even pained. Wind’s not sure, but he supposes maybe Four’s father doesn’t like the idea of his son undergoing whatever this training entails.

The captain doesn’t let the other knight’s tone bother him though. “All due respect sir, he requested that the Hero of Twilight and I instruct him, and the rest, in order that he might have some knowledge of what to do in the case of capture, sir.” Oh, Warriors is falling into soldier mode for real now. Shit.

Sir Smith notices too, apparently, face softening some as he looks at the younger soldier. “As ease, captain.”

Warriors does not relax in the slightest.

“Well,” their smithy’s father turns to look over them and the room in general, “I suppose it’s good knowledge to have, and about time you had it. Is there anything I can do to assist?”

The offer is accepted eagerly by their smithy, and while Warriors still looks somewhat tense, Wind’s quite sure it’s the nature of the training and not the man offering to help with it. No, the captain and this world’s army commander had got on like a housefire last night, and he knows Warriors likes the man. It’s fine, his brother is just uncomfortable and thus falling into familiar patterns and behaviors in order to not betray that. Given time after, and Warriors will slowly drop those and return to his normal self once he’s ready. He’ll be okay.

“Escapin’ is like pretty boy said,” Twilight tells them, standing up again now that he’s free, “it’s a matter of gettin’ the ropes loose enough t’slip out. Amateurs tend to go too loose, an’ they keep it quick an’ easy. ‘pparently soldiers cover all the bases though.” The last part is added with a snort and a light nudge at their captain.

Time nods, slowly. “Four minutes and seventeen seconds. Quite impressive, pup.”

The words have the rancher beaming.

“Right,” Warriors plows ahead, ignoring the moment and looking over each of them. “Legend, you said you’d been trained, how about you show the rest how a smaller individual can handle this?”

The vet glares at the implications but doesn’t say anything. It’s fact that most of them aren’t nearly as big as Twilight and, considering few of them possess his brute strength either, having a few examples will probably give them more to work off of in the long run. Still, there’s something wary about the way the vet approaches the chair, hands already fisted as he stands in front of it, rather than deliberately sitting as the rancher had done.

“Commander,” Warriors turns over to Four’s father (he’s introduced himself as Leon, right?) and motions to the vet. “I believe you have more experience than I.”

The elder soldier nods, in one motion both conveying respect and also submitting himself to the command of the younger soldier for the time being, which Wind thinks is very grand of him considering it’s the older man’s own house they’re in, and his son they’re teaching. Then again though, Four had said that his dad is the sort of person who isn’t afraid to let a younger person take the lead if they know what they’re doing.

He wonders how Four knows that to be able to say it so confidently. What on earth does he get up to on his own?

A question for later, he guesses. Right now, it’s time to pay attention, because even if he hopes to grow as big as Twilight, Legend and he are pretty close in size now, so this will be more useful for him than watching the rancher.

Unlike Twilight, Legend doesn’t go easily, making Leon actually have to fight against him in order to continue. That, apparently, it is good though, as Warriors makes it a teaching point, “Generally speaking,” one large hand catches the vet’s dominant one, “you don’t want to let the enemy tie you down in the first place. Honor is all well and good, but when it comes to surviving, no one’s blaming you for fighting dirty.” Something Legend is notorious for. “Watch how the vet handles this, then we’ll discuss after. Sir Leon-” that is the right name then, great! “-will probably approach it differently than I do as well, so be aware that all captors are not the same.”

And the smithy’s father definitely doesn’t handle things the way Warriors did, nor does Legend. Where Twilight had let Warriors shift and move him as needed, Legend fights, and where Warriors had given little vocal cues to his “prisoner” and guided his motions carefully, well aware that a wrong move from the rancher at close proximity could do damage, Leon isn’t nearly as careful, instead grabbing, holding, and forcing the vet’s arms behind his back before slinging a rope around them with all the speed of a sailor in a storm. Also, unlike Warriors, Leon doesn’t use a variety of knots, rather keeping it quick and tight.

“He’s got thin wrists, so a tighter bind is needed. Some tie it tight enough to harm, but that’s not the goal here. Know it happens though.” The elder soldier tells them, yanking back on the vet who makes to push away. He doesn’t try to force the vet into the chair, instead catching the younger by the collar while his free hand works, hissing, “stay still, you wriggly thing!”

Wind’s not sure what exactly about the situation is wrong, but he swears he hears the vet’s breath catch, stutter, and then with a truly terrific show of strength, Legend rips himself free of the man’s hold, kicking back against the knight and propelling himself forwards hard enough that his collar slips free from the man’s hands and the vet can stumble very quickly away. Rather than stage an “attack” though, the hero just spins about, and the whole room freezes.

Legend’s stance is too tightly wound, breath too sharp, too harsh, but most obvious is the utter and complete terror shining in blown out violet eyes.

“Shit,” Warriors is moving before any of them have a clue what to do, and all aggression, put on though it was, immediately disappears from Leon’s own stance as both knights recognize what Wind himself has as well. He doesn't know how, and he doesn’t know why, but something about the situation has acted as enough to trigger the vet into some sort of panic, and what to them is a training exercise, has become, to his mind, very, very real.

“Lad-” Leon’s motion towards the vet earns a start back, one that is made even worse when Four jumps up from where he’d been watching. Wind can’t imagine why the sight of Four, of all of the people in the room, would make Legend stumble so far back that he falls flat on his ass, but it happens. It happens and none of them, especially the smithy, miss it.

“Vet?” They’re all worried, and several of them step forwards, reaching out, ready to help, wanting to help, only for both Hyrule and Wild to grab those closest to them and pull them back, something Wind does himself, catching ahold of the smithy. The last thing the vet needs is people crowding in and leaving him no space to breathe. Being surrounded when you’re vulnerable is bad, very bad, and if watching out for Mask and watching the captain taught him anything, it’s that letting an experienced adult handle it and keeping everyone else away is the best course of action.

“Is he-” again, Leon’s voice is cut off, this time though by a strangled sound from the vet.

“Leon,” and it’s the first time that the soldier’s voice has dropped titles to use anything else, “leave.”

“Excuse me?” Four hisses, but that also seems to have a very negative effect, one that has the captain turning, slowly, voice low and soft but cold enough to freeze.

“You too, smithy.”

Whatever is about to be said in return is cut off by Leon hefting his son over his shoulder and quickly leaving the room, although both he and Four look after the others even as they exit the door. If the situation were any different, Wind thinks he might have laughed at Four’s easy acceptance of being carried like a potato sack by his father, but right now dealing with the vet takes precedence. Luckily for all at hand, even if Warriors isn’t the most qualified to run a training simulation, there’s no one better at handing panic attacks.

Despite being downed, Legend’s still managed to shift enough that the ropes Leon was working to be decently tight have been mostly ripped off, although they’ve left a nasty burn across the hero’s skin, one that’s bleeding slightly in the worst areas along the inside of his wrists. No one stops him freeing himself though, and while the performance is definitely over, there’s also a part of all of them that notes how quickly Legend pulls himself free, the sailor even hears Time whisper a soft “two minutes, fourteen seconds” to himself, slightly awed.

“Hey,” Warriors’ voice has lost every amount of edge, ice, or stiffness as he settles down in front of their felled brother, now as full of warmth as if he’s back on the field, talking Mask out of his own head after the younger hero’s namesake was put away again. “You with me?”

Ragged breathing would indicate that no, Legend is not. He’s very much not, just staring after the door where Four and his father had disappeared, eyes still wide and breath too shallow.

The captain reaches out; slow, deliberate motions, easy to track as he reaches for the other hero. “You’re okay, alright? You’re safe. We were training, but it’s over. There is no threat here.”

The vet flinches away from the hand, inches from his arm, back slamming against a cabinet and making whatever’s inside clatter loudly, which just sees to further unsettled the shaken hero, who jumps at the sound, whipping his head around to look back, only to flick unseeing eyes back towards the captain.

Warriors doesn’t so much as falter, using his lifted hand to slowly push shaggy hair out of where it’d been over his eyes for the last while, messy and just slightly wavy at the ends, like he’s not had time to straighten it in a while. “Hey, it’s me. It’s Warriors, you in there, Link?”

Violet eyes flicker across the older man’s face, and this time, when Warriors reaches out, Legend doesn’t start away again, although he watches the hand reaching for him like it’ll produce a knife at any second. Luckily for all, the captain’s not capable of that sort of a trick, and all his hand does is catch one of Legend’s own, not by the wrist as Leon had done, but gently catching fingers in his own and guiding them towards himself, pulling the vet’s hand to settle over his chest, eyes locking with the other’s as he breathes a long, purposeful, breath.

Just like Mask used to, Legend mimics the action, although his own breath catches some. It doesn’t stop the captain from trying again though, and slowly, steadily, Legend’s breathing evens out again, clarity returning to his eyes like stars coming out at dusk.

“There you are,” their brother breathes, soft and warm and gentle and everything that eases tension and doesn’t spark it further, “keep breathing, you’re okay.”

Just because he says it though, doesn't mean it works, because the next breath that escapes their brother sounds more like a strangled sob.

Warriors doesn’t so much as falter. “You’re okay. It’s alright,” the hand that lifts is flinched back from, so the captain drops it again, resting it only over the hand still pressed to his own chest. “Keep breathing- there we go. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

The dart of dark eyes to the door betrays that Legend doesn’t believe him for a moment, but the vet shudders only a bit, focusing on Warriors again as he pulls away from the cabinets, although not so much to be closer to the captain as to not longer be shrinking away. It’s a sign of some recognition though, which is far better than nothing, and apparently a cue for the soldier to find out what is going on.

“That escalated a bit quick, wanna tell me what went wrong?”

Legend opens his mouth to answer, but a hitching breath is all that comes out, face twisting and screwing up again enough to warn that a repeat is very much in the cards.

Warriors counters quickly. “Was it the ropes? Too tight? Too many people?” He keeps the questions far enough apart to give time for a signal one way or another, but Legend doesn't do much more than force shaking breathes out as his hands reach to tangle in his wild hair. His hat fell off in the scuffle, and currently lies at Time’s feet. “Was Leon too-”

The strangled sound at the man’s name cuts Warriors off, and recognition shines in blue eyes.

“Leon.” Warriors repeats.

Legend’s eyes squeeze closed; face pinched up and shattered.

The soldier sighs. “Can I touch you?”

“No.” The fact that it’s verbalized is a huge step, and Wind sighs a breath of relief.

Warriors, likewise, accepts the boundary, shifting back a bit to grant their vet more space, but not so much as to seem like he’s leaving. “Okay, this is related to Leon. Was it how he handled you?”

Nothing.

“Was it something one of us said?”

A hitch in the vet’s breath, the captain opens his mouth to try again, to press, but Legend answers aloud again this time, voice a wreck. “I- he-” a desperate gasp for air as ringed fingers tug at messy hair, “he’s sounds-”

No doubt recognizing Mask’s same struggle with words in the other, Warriors offers his own, soft and quiet, but not yet a whisper. “Did he sound like someone you know?”

A nod. A fervent, desperate, nod as violet eyes squeeze shut again. “Sorry...”

Hearing the vet apologize has never sounded like such an awful thing. He hates it.

The captain clearly does too, but he says nothing to that effect, although the brief flick of his ears and flash of his eyes says it for him. “It’s not your fault. It happens to the best of us.”

A scoff. Yeah, Legend’s still in there.

Warriors presses on. “No really, it does. It sucks, but it happens.”

Dark eyes peek open, fixing on the captain.

“Yes, even with me.” The smile there is pained, strained, but real, despite all, and the flick down of the vet’s eyes to still outheld hands prompts the captain to reach out once more. “Would you like me to touch now?”

There’s a pause, nothing said, and nothing done, just a stillness as Legend considers the offer. He’s wary about touch even on good days, but usually only when it’s expressly offered or pointed out. When no one says anything, it’s usually met with acceptance as long as it’s not demeaning in any way.

As though catching onto a similar train of thought, Warriors changes his offer. “I could lend you my scarf?”

A glare. Okay, rude, it’s not that demeaning! Wind likes the scarf! Mask adored the scarf! Enough to throw fits when it wasn't his turn with it! Legend doesn’t have to want it, but there’s no need to make faces like that! It earns a laugh from their captain though, eyes creasing the way they rarely do, and only when he really means it, hand falling to rest gently on the foot of the other. Legend doesn’t shake him off, just stares, then lifts his gaze back up to search the captain’s face again.

Warriors meets it, smile fading back to the sad one again.

The vet’s gaze drops, arms falling to wrap around himself rather than digging his fingers into his scalp. “He looks-” a breath, harsh and strained, angry as it whishes between clenched teeth, brows drawing low with inward turned frustration, “the- our-”

“He looks like someone you know?” At yet another, hesitant, nod, Warriors presses further. “Someone who hurt you? Maybe someone you used to trust?”

A sigh. A slow nod before the vet’s head drops to rest against his raised knees. He's still shaking.

It’s clear as day that Warriors wants nothing more than to wrap an arm around their brother, pull hm close and assure, but he doesn’t. No, the captain respects the established boundary and doesn’t move any closer, hand just resting on one ankle as he crouches in front of their brother. “I get that.” his voice is softer now, bittersweet, “it sucks, I know. There's someone you trust and then you can’t trust them anymore, and it’s hard, especially when you meet someone who reminds you of them.”

Shit. Wind knows he shouldn’t, knows both he and Time know better, but neither can help it as they turn their focus on the captain, wary and watching. That is never a good subject to talk about, but the fact that Warriors is the one broaching it for the first time in forever is frankly shocking.

“You too?” Legend’s trying to pass off a tired smile of his own, but it just looks like he’s trying not to cry.

The captain nods, lifting his hand (definitely noticing how Legend’s breath catches at the loss of contact) and instead turning to lean his own back against the china cabinet, settling in beside their shaken brother, eyes falling closed in what’s both an open sign of trust, but also an obvious bid to ignore the sharp stares of both his boys on him. “Yeah, me too. It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds just like him,” Legend says, the first full sentence since he’d gone down, and Wind doesn't miss the way the other hero leans a bit closer into the captain’s space, although he doesn't touch him. “Looks like ‘im too.”

Blue eyes open again, turning past all their curious and worried ones to watch the vet, warm and gentle, that same look that he’d turn on Mask, and Wind doesn't doubt it was turned on him too, when Warriors thought they weren't looking.

The vet shudders, steeling himself up again, walls visibly reconstructing before their eyes. “He used to visit, when I was small. I saw him like a grandfather-” and they crumble again, the vet blinking violently, voice small. “He has granddaughters my age.”

“What happened?” Wind doesn’t mean to let the words slip, but they do.

Legend’s head hits the cabinet doors. “Corrupted.”

The captain nods. He knows. Wind knows that he knows. “I’m sorry.”

“He sounded just like him.”

“I know,” it’s a hysterical sort of laughter that escapes the older hero this time, “trust me, I get it. Every time I hear an Ordon accent, any time someone suggests playing chess,” the captain’s eyes roll upwards, and Wind’s kind of shocked when he realizes there’s tears there. “It sucks. Gods it sucks, but you live with it. I wish I could say it gets better, but I’m not there yet.”

Pink hair drops, settling against faintly shaking shoulders. “You were close?”

Suddenly the moment before them feels too private to witness anymore. Suddenly, being there feels wrong, hearing Legend ask things that everyone at home in Warriors’ world knows better than to speak of. He doesn't know why Warriors answers, maybe out of guilt for pulling the vet into the exercise, maybe out of a need to set an example or assure, maybe out of his own sort of desperation, but an answer is given.

“Yeah. Grew up together. He teased me for my accent, I teased him for his. We ran our mothers to worry and our commanders to madness. I hauled his ass out of prison, he watched mine on the field. Heck,” a smile, bittersweet as the captain settles a cheek in rosy hair, “we went through our trailing- kinda like what I was trying to show the others- we did that together too.” A soft scoff, not a sob, but close, “I think he’s the only reason I made it through training t’all. Would’ve gone mad wit’out ‘im.”

“What happened?” Twilight dares speak up, and Wind doesn’t miss the way the man’s thick accent is held in check, nearly gone altogether. So, Twi did hear the comment about Ordon.

The captain sighs, lifting his head and staring out at the rest of them, eyes fixing on the rancher last of all. “Ganon. As with most things.”

Twilight winces.

Warriors chuckles. “Some days it’s like he never left though. He’s still on my ass, still callin’ me ‘pretty boy and tryin’ to get a rise outta me.” Wind doesn’t miss how Twilight’s face crumbles when he realizes blue eyes are still fixed on his. The captain doesn’t either, smile twitching alive again. “It’s nice, sometimes, like seeing what he’d be like if nothing happened. Other days, it’s difficult, and it makes it hard to get through the day.”

“How do you handle us?” Legend breathes, half scoff and half awe, eyes trying for a smile again and doing much better. It’s not happy, but it’s kind.

The captain doesn’t miss it. “Hylia only knows,” he teases, knocking his shoulder against the one still pressed against it, and then, more serious, “I draw back if I need. Sure, Twilight reminds me of him a lot, some days, but then he does something Gassun would never, or does something so stupid only a hero would do it, and then I remember again and I’m fine.”

“Really?” The Stare of Disappointment was definitely something Time learned from the captain, so Wind can’t fathom why the man tries to use it on their brother, but here he is, doing just that. “You expect us to believe that?”

“Have faith in me,” Warriors snorts, “I don’t wander around in my own head all day. If I did, you’d’ve burned the world down already!”

It sort of ends like that. Warriors redirecting their attention and Legend rolling his eyes at their antics, slowly uncurling again until Four’s mother comes back inside and requests access to her kitchen again. They scatter after, Warriors throwing an arm around the vet and guiding him upstairs so they can have a talk, Time going off in search of the smithy and his father, Wild joining in dinner preparations, and the rest of them cleaning up their mess before leaving.

Hyrule still has questions for Twilight about escaping, but Sky heads upstairs after the others, worry creasing his brow in ways it rarely does, but Wind stays behind, scooping up Tongs to keep him company in the wake of his brothers all leaving. Even so, he makes a note to ask the others how they are later.

Of course, later, Twilight also asks about what Warriors said, and the captain, to the shock of both his charges, explains himself. Thinking back, it’s no wonder Warriors sees a resemblance; Twilight may have spent his last few years in Ordon, but the military haircut is still very present, a mirror of the captain's own and quite similar to said captain's old friend. Granted, Twilight is darker, hair redder and eyes bright blue, but the accent is the same, rough manner so similar, and the nicknames definitely finish the picture. He doesn’t like the implications of that, not for either of the two, but Twilight walks out of the conversation only looking someone thoughtful, rather than upset, and Warriors seems normal enough, although still quiet for the rest of their time in the smithy’s Hyrule.

Collectively, they agree to abandon the escape training. If they want tips, they’ll go to Twilight, but the emotional toll taken on both the vet and the captain isn’t worth it to any of them. Not a second time. Not when they all regret the first one.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #lu wind #lu legend #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu wild #lu four #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu time #four's dad #good golly it went on forever!#the boys are't letting me keep ANYTHING brief this month #vengeance for not finishing previous months I guess

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toournextadventure · 1 year

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Can I request a fic (Wednesday x fem or gender neutral reader) where reader is dared to get a septum piercing and buys a random kit and has Wednesday do it. Wednesday has reader sit in her lap as she does it. Afterwards, she insists on caring for her. I have been thinking about this all day, and I really love your writing and wanted to request it. Have a great day. Thank you for reading my request. :]

Bestie, I know this took forever, but this was fun. I changed it just a tiny bit because Wednesday is so tiny, I couldn't picture someone sitting on her lap without laughing

reckless

“What do you have?”

The instant guilt that took over your face was all Wednesday needed to confirm that you were, in fact, doing something you shouldn’t have been. She had no clue what you had with you, but it looked sharp and potentially dangerous. There was no way she was trusting you with something sharp or dangerous.

“Ajax said I would look ugly with a septum ring,” you said with a huff. “So I’m gonna prove him wrong.”

Ah. Actually, that made a lot more sense. You and Ajax were often found together, and that was the root of most of your problems. The both of you egged each other on, dared the other to do stupid things, and you were both just dumb enough to do it. There had even been one time Ajax had dared you to step in front of a bus, and if someone hadn’t been there to stop you, you would have done it.

So Wednesday found she was not the least bit surprised that what was actually in your hands, sitting on your desk, was a piercing kit. Was it of a decent quality? Probably not, if she knew anything about you (which she did). But she knew you were going to do it whether you had help or not, and she couldn’t just sit by and let you do something stupid all on your own.

“Let me have it,” Wednesday said as she held out her hand.

“No,” you shrunk back into your chair, “you’re gonna stop me.”

“Stop being drastic.” Wednesday rolled her eyes. “I’m going to do it for you.”

“You’re- you’re going to help?” The absolute look of astonishment on your face was almost laughable. Cute, even. “Does that make me a bad influence?”

“It makes you an imbecile,” Wednesday said, but you handed everything over to her anyway.

Without a moment’s hesitation, no time for you to reconsider, Wednesday turned your chair so she could climb into your lap and face you. Her legs rested on either side of your hips and for probably the first time since she had known you, she felt you freeze up. Your hands instantly rested on her hips, but you quickly removed them to grip the arm rests.

It was almost chivalrous.

“You’re in my lap,” you mumbled. Even without her hands touching you, she could practically hear your heartbeat through the otherwise silent dorm room.

“Hush.”

Wednesday felt grateful that you were too focused on everything but her when she saw the slight shake in her fingers. The closeness to you, the feel of your face under her fingers, your reaction to her sitting on your lap, it all left her with a mix of excitement and disgust. She had to take one deep breath in to steady her fingers as she finished positioning everything.

“Don’t move,” Wednesday ordered, and you finally locked eyes with her for a moment.

“Yes ma’am,” you whispered right before she slid the needle through. “Shit.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and Wednesday saw a tear fall from your eye, but you took it like a champ. She would be lying to herself if she said the scrunch of your face, the tear, the slightest display of pain wasn’t exciting. And to know that you had wanted her to do it? Icing on the cake.

Stop it, she thought to herself as she grabbed the piercing. With a single movement she slid it into place, ignoring the way her heart sped up at your little gasp. She gently grabbed your face with both hands and turned your head slightly, checking to make sure the piercing was proper before giving you the chance to open your eyes. Thankfully you were blissfully unaware that the shake of her fingers was still present.

“How does it look?” You asked. “As ugly as Ajax predicted?”

“You look like a bull,” Wednesday said.

“But, like, a pretty bull, right?” You asked with a smile that was still marred by the stray tear.

“Yes,” Wednesday said with a soft sigh. “A pretty bull.”

“I knew it.” Your smile grew and you got a twinkle in your eye.

“You’re still an imbecile,” Wednesday argued.

“But I’m your imbecile.” She felt your hands finally rest on her hips, holding her closer.

“Shut up,” Wednesday mumbled as she let her hands fall to your neck.

You both knew that was her funny way of saying “I love you.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #requests

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riddles-n-games · 5 months

Text

You know what we’ve been really missing out on? A dance headcanon. It may have crossed your mind at some point or you have never thought of it, but trust me you actually have, so here you go and you’re welcome.

We’ve certainly gotten sprinkles (read: karaoke scene, I mean, we were about to get FED and bam Grayson pity party) of such things throughout the series but not in any outright way as is the case with many of the things that could give us more background on the Hawthorne brothers. (Why you holding out on us JLB??? Huh?!) Anyways, here. Read.

Nash-He does line dancing, I mean, you should have seen that one coming. He's basically the country star of his family and he owns it to the fullest; he's literally one of Taylor Swift's back up dancers for goodness' sake. Nash's favorite version of line dance is square dancing and being the sweetheart he is, he will go to retirement homes on dance nights and be one of the choreographers or partners to help the old folks who want to dance. Of course, when there's a festival, that's when he really gets down. But, this might surprise you; he's also had a stint with hip hop and he's pretty darn good at it. He can do the dougie for sure. In fact, he got so good at hip hop that he also started adding his own style to it and gave it his country flare at freestyle competitions (Jamie and Xander's minds were blown, at first, before the big brother cool wore off that is but they were still impressed🤭).

Grayson-All of them learned how to do ballroom dancing (mainly waltz) but someone had to be the best of them, too. Enter Grayson Hawthorne. He is certainly the go-to brother for these types of dances but he excels at tango and waltz which also give him his greatest enjoyment. Certainly, at school events, he was always sought after during the slow songs and was always leading man for the school's ballroom team. It was the one chance the ladies were allowed to swoon without a certain redhead ruining everything. Though he competed nationally and worldwide, he preferred the simple entry level competitions for the sake of the peace. It was also more fun. He also challenged himself by learning flamenco and he was enamored by it, loving the fast steps and quick changes from one thing to another. However, his grandfather wanted him to push it further since he was already pursuing the dance so he wanted him to do competitions and as much as he put his heart and soul into it, Gray hated doing competitions when he wanted to do this for fun. After his grandfather died, he quit comps and stopped dancing flamenco for a while but his brothers (read: Xander) have been encouraging him to take it up again as a fun hobby. He's been warming up to the idea.

Jameson-Should it really come as a surprise that this boy can tap dance? Because, yes, he can and he is damn proud of it. It’s a favorite party trick of his to pull on the dance floor or in the middle of the club and he’s always tearing it up. He also loves Irish stepdance and after watching the famous Riverdance live, Jameson was obsessed. That was how he and Xander ended up being trained by the very Riverdance company itself and they trained for two years until Xan no longer expressed interest but Jamie got good enough that he even went on tour with them. Also, he's been expanding his repertoire with street dancing, mambo, and most recently disco due to a certain someone's obsession with the 70s.

Xander-Despite Gray being the undisputed king of ballroom in the family, his youngest brother still takes to the swing better than anyone. He has been the most enthusiastic about it and loves the energy which matches him well in every aspect of the dance. Unlike his brother, competing never really bothered him and this is actually one of the things that he gets him into a perfectionist complex. He was a junior world champ on two occasions and now is teaching Max how to do it. On the more casual side of casual side of things, he also knows how to shag which is one of his favorite things to do on little dates with Maxine when they aren't going anywhere. And, of course, being the most sporadic of his brothers, Xander always shocks people when he tells them he also has done ballet. He never got to become a principal dancer as a junior dancer but he did get to do a few pas de deux and was a soloist when he was with the Texas Ballet Theater. His favorite ballets are The Nutcracker and Don Quixote; he appreciates Swan Lake but hates the unhappy versions.

#nash westbrook hawthorne #nash hawthorne #grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #xander blackwood hawthorne #xander hawthorne #hawthorne brothers #hawthorne shenanigans #hawthorne headcanons #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #tig #thl #tfg

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xariarte · 16 days

Note

Hi! Big fan of your existing work 😊 If you’re still taking NBA RPF prompt submissions, I’d love to see a combo of #26 & 27 and/or #74 & 75 for Brunson x Hart x DiVincenzo!

Aw thanks! I hope you enjoy the Brunson x Hart x DiVincenzo (huddling for warmth + bed sharing) fic!! 💖

You can also read it on ao3 here!

DiVincenzo wasn’t sure if this night could get any worse.

They’d just played Jokic and got beaten by the defending champs, then had tried to get on their flight — only to find out that the team plane engine had needed emergency repairs. Then they’d ended up at a nearby motel in cold Denver for the night, only to find out that there weren’t enough rooms for all of them, so the staff and the team had to split themselves up into pairs.

“Nah, not Hartenstein,” DiVincenzo whined, when Brunson tried to pair up with Hart alone. “Let me come with y’all.”

“You gonna be stuck with Hartenstein snoring all night,” Hart snickered.

“I’m going with OG,” Hartenstein said, brushing aside DiVincenzo. “Y’all gonna have to be a trio.”

“Trio?” Hart said, making a face. “We ain’t gonna fit!”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” DiVincenzo said, making Brunson shake his head with a sigh. “I’m coming with y’all anyway. It’ll be like Nova days when Hart stayed overnight.”

“We never shared a bed though,” Hart complained. “I bet y’all still snore though.”

“Shut up,” Brunson said, then checked all three of them into one room, despite Hart’s protests that DiVincenzo would fall out of the bed.

In the end, it was probably for the best.

Brunson eventually learned from Hartenstein that the motel heater had broken.

“Heater’s broken,” Brunson said, looking up from his phone. “They’re trying to fix it but it might take some time.”

Hart groaned in frustration. He’d been in the middle of pulling on an extra warm hoodie, while DiVincenzo had been perched on the side of the bed, feeling cold in his hoodie.

“Man, I thought the cold was just Denver being Denver,” Hart said, then came over and prodded at DiVincenzo. “Move.”

“Who’s gonna be in the middle?” DiVincenzo asked, standing up instead while Hart crawled under the covers. “Brunson’s head is too big so it’s gonna have to be one of us.”

Brunson glared at him, and DiVincenzo let out a snicker while Hart guffawed.

“I’m gonna shove one of y’all over in the middle of the night,” Brunson threatened.

“Hey, I’ll take one for the team,” Hart said, shuffling into the middle of the bed and patting the two empty spaces at his sides. “DiVincenzo on my left, and Brunson, my right hand dawg.”

DiVincenzo pulled the covers aside, then crawled in. He was grateful for the warmth radiating out of Hart’s side, and pressed himself closer. Brunson put off the lights and got into the other end of the bed. The bed suddenly felt small. DiVincenzo wondered if maybe he should have shared with Hartenstein after all, then remembered how loud the dude snored.

“We barely fit,” Brunson grunted on the other end, in the darkness. “Hart, move over.”

“DiVincenzo, move,” Hart said, pushing his hip into his.

“I can’t! I’m gonna fall over!” he protested, a laugh bubbling out of him. “You move.”

“Me? You’re squashin’ me—”

“It ain’t my fault your ass is so big. You should have let me be in the middle.”

“Guys!” Brunson grumbled, rustling on the other end. “Maybe if we all turned onto our sides, we’d fit better. Come on.”

It took a few tries, but after some grumbling, bickering, some shoving, and a couple of backhanded remarks from Hart, they finally fell into a position that seemed to work. DiVincenzo huddled against Hart’s back, trying his best not to fall off, while Hart curved himself against Brunson’s back. It was cold as hell now, but at least he was beside his boys underneath a thick duvet cover, and not beside a loudly snoring Hartenstein.

“Are you guys cold?” he whispered loudly.

“I’m sweating,” Hart grumbled, adjusting himself between him and Brunson. “You guys are hot as fuck.”

DiVincenzo let out a sudden giggle. “…pause, bro.”

“Oh…my god,” Brunson said, his voice quivering with laughter.

“Brunson, you cold, bro? You good?” he asked, reaching over Hart to prod at Brunson’s back.

“I’m going to sleep now,” Hart announced, after Brunson confirmed that he was good. “Y’all better shut up now.”

“Don’t snore,” DiVincenzo told them.

“I ain’t the one who snores.”

“Goodnight,” Brunson said firmly, ending their conversation. “Y’all speak some more and I’ll shove you out of the bed for real.”

Hart grumbled some more, but DiVincenzo ignored him, closing his eyes. He fell asleep despite the chilly air, comforted both by Hart’s body heat and Brunson’s presence until morning.

#meant to wait until June to release the submissions but the Knicks went down sad 😭#so I'm releasing this one early!#thanks for the submission! :3 #sports rpf #i'll upload these onto ao3 too and add a link later lol #ask

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armoricaroyalty · 7 months

Text

Previous | Chapter Start | Beginning | Next

author's note: @nexility-sims and I have been discussing this museum exhibit for nearly a year and working on the lot for weeks...so good to finally see it realized!

Transcript under the cut!

Crown Museum of Uspana // Armorican State Visit - Day 2

THEO | [offscreen] Your Highess. FREDDY | [in a tone of slight horror] ...is this a joke? You’re the one the Royal Foundation picked for this tour? THEO | The one your sister picked, actually. She insisted. FREDDY | [sighs] Let's get this over with, then. This is called a "painting." THEO | Wait. Before we start, can I apologize? THEO | I know this is awkward, but...I'd rather not have it hanging over our heads. I'm really sorry about how I ended things. I was a coward, and you deserved better than getting dumped via text. FREDDY | Geez, Theo…that was a long time ago. Ancient history. THEO | I know. But still... FREDDY | [pause] I appreciate it, Theo. THEO | Well, should we get started, then? Lots to see, lots to do... FREDDY | Sure. You’ve seen this portrait, right? THEO | I think every Armorican has. It’s the first official portrait your family’s released in a decade. It was huge news. FREDDY | Well, did you know that Everard II bought those pearls in 1896 for Queen Augusta? My mom hasn't worn them since my father's coronation. THEO | Really? If I owned pearls like that, I'd wear 'em every day. FREDDY | Yeah, that's not really Her Majesty's style. THEO | The whole thing painting isn't her style! I'd expect to see her outside, dressed more casually...did Roz commission this or something? FREDDY | Nah, Mom had full control. Just wanted to be queenly, I guess... THEO | Fair. It's a good likeness, at any rate...

FREDDY | So…what's new with you. THEO | Uh. Not much. Been busy, I guess? FREDDY | [laughs] Theo Adams? Busy? Say it ain't so! FREDDY | For real, though...how have you been? THEO | [sighs] I dunno. I might break up with my boyfriend. FREDDY | In person, I hope. THEO | [laughs] Oh, you asshole— FREDDY | Sorry, I couldn't resist. THEO | Don't be, I walked right into that one. THEO | Anyway, I'd ask about your life, but I already know all about it. FREDDY | Oh? [smugly] Didn't you once say that you didn't read about me at all? THEO | Oh, you wish! No, Josie tells me everything I need to know. FREDDY | Josie? Oh no...she only says good things, I hope. THEO | Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. THEO | ...she says you're going to propose any day now. FREDDY | Wait, wait, wait...Josie's sating that I'm about to propose? Wet hell, is that where that stupid rumor's coming from? THEO | So it is just a rumor? FREDDY | Yes. I care about Em, but...we're just not there yet. THEO | It's good to know where you stand. You don't want to rush into anything. FREDDY | Thank you, that’s what I've been saying! You should tell her that. THEO | [laughs] Uh, no. Talk to her yourself, champ. I've got too much going on in my relationship to even think about getting involved with yours. FREDDY | Yeah, yeah, I'm just kidding...but d'you wanna know something? THEO | What? FREDDY | I missed you. As a friend. THEO | Yeah...we were good friends, weren’t we? FREDDY | Better friends than lovers, at any rate. THEO | Maybe we could try again? Y'know, since we'll be working together. FREDDY | I'd like that. THEO | Me too...and I missed you, too. As a friend. FREDDY | 🙂 THEO | 🙂 THEO | We're supposed to be talking about art, right? Tell me about this one. FREDDY | This? It's called a "statue." THEO | [laughs] You're lucky you're cute, you know that?

#armorica story #chapter 3 #behind the scenes #character: frederick st. fleur #character: theodosia adams #armorica collabs #nexility sims

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 years

Text

Death Nut Challenge: Truth or Dare Edition

AN: white boy with a lil habanero lmaooo

Synopsis: You and your boyfriend play truth or dare with a little twist

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Requested by my cutie pie @wittyjasontodd 😘

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

"Baby, come on! It'll be fun!"

"Babe, there is a picture of a skull on fire on the outside of the package. Your definition of fun and mine are apparently completely different. Can we just have sex instead?"

"Will you stop being a big baby? And later."

"But I'm your big baby."

"Jackkkk."

"Okay, fine. But you better have 911 on speed dial."

"You are so dramatic. But I forgot you Anglo-Saxon and shit and think pepper is spicy."

"If you put too much it is!"

"Shut your peanut butter chicken making ass up!"

"See now you being rude. That's an Anglo-Saxon delicacy."

"You love me anyway and you're lying. Now let’s start."

"So how does this work?"

"Okay so there are five different levels of hotness. Either you answer my question or you have to eat one."

"Seems easy enough."

You had bought two packages, one for you and one for Jack.

You simply slid them out of the package and Jack immediately made a face.

"They even smell hot."

"Where's Urban? I'm going to need him to film this."

Urban agreed to filming the two of you without a second thought knowing that his best friend couldn't handle anything spicy.

"Okay, Urb. Are we ready?"

He simply nodded as you started the video.

"Welcome to the death nut challenge featuring me Y/N and my Anglo-Saxon boyfriend...."

"Hey!"

"Yall know him as Jack Harlow though. And he cannot handle spicy food."

"I need a bottle of ranch right now."

You immediately rolled your eyes.

Him and his ranch obsession.

"Why are you so dramatic. It won't be that bad."

"Speak for yourself! I barely survived going on Hot Ones!"

"But you made it though. Maybe I should have asked Urban to do this."

"No! Come on, I'm ready."

You rolled your eyes and looked at the questions that people had sent into your YouTube channel.

"First question is for my big baby."

It was now Jack's turn to roll his eyes at you but then waited for you to continue.

"What’s the first thing you would do if you woke up one day as the opposite sex?"

"That's easy. Make sure the homies get some."

You rolled your eyes as you heard Urban laugh before passing the list of questions to Jack to read you the next one.

"Urb! Don't encourage him!"

"Okay miss mamas, what is the most illegal thing you’ve ever done?" Jack asked with a smirk because he knew what the answer was.

"Whaaa.... I gave you an easy one!"

"Answer the question mamas or eat one. I know the good girl persona is a front."

"Go ahead and answer, Y/N, now you got me curious." Urban replied from behind the camera.

"Curiosity killed the cat!"

"And satisfaction brought it back, baby."

"Hand me the damn package. Can't stand your ass. Are you trying to get me arrested?"

"Nahh your 'this will be fun' head ass is mad now."

You forgot how competitive your boyfriend would get and how he never hesitated to play dirty.

"Jackman all imma say is don't go to sleep tonight."

"So now you're threatening me?"

"Maggie and Brian come get your child."

"Stop stalling mamas."

"Okay, okay."

You removed the first one and simply popped it in your mouth and began to chew while Jack was looking at you with wide eyes.

"You just ate that like it was nothing."

"I mean it was spicy but not unbearable."

"Hmm.... I'm about to win this shit because I don't plan on eating any."

You were losing.

You now had only 1 left in the package and wanted to kill your boyfriend.

Your eyes were red, but you were taking it like a champ and wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you distraught.

"Baby girl, you're looking a little red over there."

"Jack I will murder you if you don't shut up."

"Are those tears in your eyes I see?"

"You can barely see on a good day anyway, so the fact that you can see that is surprising."

Urban almost choked on the water he was drinking before busting out laughing.

"Nuh uh mamas. That wasn't nice! How you gonna do your man like that?"

"I be telling yo ass to wear yo glasses, but you don't listen. Bumping into things and shit."

"I'm not even that bad!"

"Says who?"

"Me! But I can damn sure find that pussy though."

"JACKMAN!"

"What?"

"Next question is for you. If I gave you a free pass to hook up with one celebrity, who would it be and why?"

Jack's eyes suddenly went wide as he looked over at you.

"I'm waiting big baby."

"Nah, absolutely not. You about to hang it over my head if I answer this."

"Just say it. I won't get mad." You responded while smiling and pinching his side at the same time.

"Ouch! Did you just pinch me?"

"No, first you can't see and now you're delusional."

"Look I value my life so hand me the package."

Once the package was in his hand, he picked up the first one and stared at it.

"Stop stalling."

"I'm coming, don't rush me."

"Stop making excuses."

Jack first licked it before putting the entire thing into his mouth.

Only 30 seconds had passed before you thought your boyfriend would pass out.

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus. This shit is HOT!"

"It literally hasn't even been a minute yet. And why are so red all of a sudden? I guess that’s the Anglo-Saxon in you. White boy with a little habanero my ass."

"Babe, shut up! I need water."

"Urb, can you get his dramatic ass some almond milk?"

Urban came over and handed Jack the almond milk and Urban wanted to do nothing but laugh.

“Damn, she wasn’t lying. You are red as hell.”

“Both of yall get on my damn nerves.”

Jack drank half of the glass before looking at you with tears in his eyes.

“I’m not playing this game anymore. My ass is done.”

“Clearly, because that was only the first one and it wasn’t even that hot!”

“Just for that, I should put my mouth on your other set of lips. I bet you would change your mind then.”

“You not about to come anywhere near me until that shit wears off. You not about to have my shit tingling.”

“Are you really about to post this?”

“Yes, Jackman. We discussed that in the beginning. And it’s your turn to ask me a question.”

“Fine. Can we have sex now?”

“JACK!”

When Jack had finally got himself together, you went to sit on his lap and simply kissed his cheek. He gave you a glare and rolled his eyes.

"I am never doing that with you again."

"My big baby is so dramatic. But now that we aren't in front of the camera, who would you sleep with?"

"Y/N...."

"Well?"

"I'd rather eat 20 more than answer that. You about to put me on punishment if I tell you."

"Well, mine is Drake." You replied while shrugging and attempting to get up at the same time, but you were pulled back down as Jack looked at you in disbelief.

"WAIT, WHAT!?"

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#jack harlow #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow fic #jack harlow concept #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x you #jack harlow blurb

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canisonicscrewyou · 8 days

Note

Hi! I tumbled onto your post about Rory!Master and I maaay have a question or two. But first, I want to take a bit to appreciate that you included River in it because lately the stuff I've seen about the Ponds sort of erases River and I'm 🥲 because naur River's very much a part of their life and they'd spend Christmases and stuff with her. Okay I'm veering out of topic but I'm curious how Idris (the Doctor's TARDIS) having a thing for Rory fits into Rory!Master? Also, does this mean River and the Master share a teeny bit of DNA of sorts? Or not? Thank you!

hiiiii I’m an absolute champ at letting asks go unanswered for ages hiiiii

ANYWAYS Glad I can do my part because it’s a missed opportunity to do stuff with the Ponds and not include River at least a little bit. she’s everything. Even if it doesn’t quite make sense I do not care They Are A Family. The vibes.

First of all it’s been SO long since I’ve seen The Doctor’s Wife omg,,, My immediate response and feelings about Idris’s attitude towards Rory honestly falls very firmly into “The Universe just really likes Rory Williams”. He is one of the Universe’s Special Favorites. Look at him. It cannot be helped.

Beyond that I also imagine Idris didn’t see the Master past any perception filters, especially if Rory didn’t have the watch(and at that point he definitely didn’t).

If anything there was more of a draw to Rory that she couldn’t place, had no way of placing that’s just been there since the first time he stumbled inside the TARDIS and knew how she worked because of ‘reading’. Just the feeling you get when you’re inexplicably drawn to and fond of a person because of a shared background you had no way of knowing about before one of you brought it up. Or maybe it is just because he’s so pretty.

And ! I ! Have ! Never ! Decided ! That !

I do think he’d avoid The River Subject for as long as possible once the watch is open and he’s still in that face. I think that between all of the factors of River’s conception there’s like a nonzero chance her and the Master share DNA even if Rory was 100% human at the time. I’m sure it would be confusing as fuck, and I’m sure that in The Everything Else fucking Time Lord DNA wouldn’t be traced back to Rory of all people in anyone’s mind.

When it comes to what the Master says, though. That all boils down to whatever is most convenient and works the most in a given situation. The Master would probably never claim River as like, a daughter unless it somehow held the most weight in a social situation by calling himself dad just to make it sting or something.

Oh, man, though, it doesn’t really work out with the convoluted time line I’ve dropped Rory!Master into, but now my mind is starting to wander into the idea of Missy picking up Melody from Kovarian and that is… An entirely different can of worms that I don’t think I can start to get entirely into right now… Much to think about…

#i can only fathom that river had no fucking idea that Rory was fobwatched in all of their interactions #partially because imagine not running into or hearing from yr time traveler parents for a while #and the next time you see your dad he’s alone on some alien planet subjugating their major metropolitan area just to Feel Something #rory!master #rory williams #gonna be thinking about the missy offshoot au for a while though. honestly. tbh.#expectiations

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olympeline · 22 days

Text

Now I’ve watched my first Eurovision, here are some thoughts and opinions on the results:

I don’t think Nemo deserved to win. His song was good, don’t get me wrong, but there were others that were better (Croatia, France, Israel). I’d put him in the top quarter but not at #1. I’m not on social media bar this little niche account but I’ve heard people are saying he won because he’s transgender. And because Switzerland is a traditionally neutral country. I don’t believe that, personally. It’s too tinfoil hat conspiracy theory for me. I think he won because the jury thought The Code was the best song for the radio. As in it’s the candidate likely to have mass appeal and sell the most singles. That’s my theory anyway 🇨🇭

And yeah, I agree with everyone else: Croatia was robbed. I don’t understand this result at all. Why was the jury so hard on him? My only theory is it’s a case of professional critics being snobby and deciding that because the public likes something it automatically becomes low brow and less artistic? That’s the only reason I can think of. Seriously two twelves out of thirty-seven? Whyyyy. I’m 100% on team #AbolishTheJury after this 🥲 🇭🇷

I didn’t like Ireland’s entry when I first listened to it and I still think the vocals are weak but the act as a whole? Strongest visuals in the competition. Just top tier costumes and staging. Is it right to do that well in a song contest if you’re carried by visuals? Hmmm. I don’t know. Like strip away all that flash and would you put Bambie Thug that high? Hmm. Uuhh? Mmmm? Not sure. It was like the opposite of France’s entry which had minimal effects and was carried solely by his song. So yeeaahh, IDK? Don’t know how I feel about Ireland’s high ranking. I could go either way 🇮🇪

Speaking of France, OMG, what a beautiful performance! Easily the strongest vocals in the contest. The emotion as he sang gave me shivers. Croatia is my #1 but if Baby Lasagna wasn’t there I would have voted for Slimane. I’ve heard he’s already huge in France and I can see why! Mon amour 🇫🇷

Israel’s song was also just beautiful. So sad and heartfelt too. I heard Eden (sorry, forgot her surname) is only twenty? If so, wow! Was she the youngest in the whole contest? Either way that’s super young and yet she did an amazing job! I can’t imagine that much pressure at that age. She should be very proud 🇮🇱

Such a bummer that Joost got canned. I bet he kicked himself all the way home. Europapa was one of my favourite entries and I think it would have done really well if he was allowed to perform. Like I said, a real bummer but then you can’t go around punching people behind the scenes. They were right to disqualify him for that. Hopefully he apologises and his career can move on from this sad incident 🇳🇱

I’m surprised Spain scored so low. I thought Zorra would have done better. It was catchy and had a good message. Maybe it just got lost in the shuffle? Or was it because it wasn’t in English? I don’t know. Oh well. I still enjoyed it 🇪🇸

I don’t think Olly Alexander deserved zero points from the public. His song wasn’t that bad! IDK but I would have thought that for an entry to get zero, they’d have to be genuinely awful. As in nothing redeemable whatsoever. Dizzy wasn’t that. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t think Dizzy deserved anything higher than mid, but no points at all? Too harsh. At least Olly already has a career to go back to. Still must have been crushing when the points were read out. Though he took it like a champ. Poor guy 🇬🇧

Finland was so much fun! What an absolute madlad. I unironically love No Rules! and the staging was so clever too. I wish he got more points though I’m not really surprised he didn’t. Still. We all need more Windows95Man in our lives 🇫🇮

I’m surprised Portugal did so well. Sorry to all my portubros but I found her song pretty boring. I couldn’t even remember it when the results were being read out. I think I get why the jury loved Switzerland so much but their love for Portugal confuses me. I guess they saw something in the song I didn’t? Different strokes 🇵🇹

Did Norway deserve to come last? It’s another one I have trouble remembering so ehhh, mayyybeee? It’s hard because I don’t think any of the entries were outright bad. Just some were a bit dull and didn’t leave much of an impression on me. I suppose last place has to go to someone. Hopefully next year will be better for them 🇳🇴

#my posts #not hetalia #eurovision 2024 #eurovision

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cebwrites · 2 years

Note

shimmy shimmy hello o/ i've been reading your stuff lately, several of your works have been stuck in my mind on repeat. good food. i figured i could try sending something haha. soo how about some headcanons with a reader who's a sibling figure with asl- they're just hanging out and reader suddenly starts crying because hey wow they love their brothers so much damn. just a sweet lil thing because same. if you don't feel super inspired thats fine no worries <:) <3 -B☆

hi B, you didn’t specify what age they’d be so i went with younger~ i’d love to know which of my works are living rent free in your head if you don’t mind sharing 👀🤲🤲

Reader being overwhelmed with love for their brothers (ASL Trio)

gn reader word count: 0.4k

Ace immediately freaks out, we all know this boy deflects and/or ignores negative feelings like a champ so no doubt it’d be even worse when he was a kid - he’s trying his best to be at your side, but the lad’s completely out of his element here, Ace would much rather leave it to the other two and cheer you up once your tears were dry

Sabo is the most level headed out of the three stooges, immediately asking what’s wrong and trying to soothe your tears as you blubber an explanation to him - you hear Ace’s confused “Haa??” but he’s whacked with Sabo’s pipe before he can impulsively voice how dumb he thinks that reasoning is - Sabo doesn’t quite understand how this happened either, but he’s here to rub your back and let you get gross snot on his shoulder (to a degree) anyway, because that’s what brothers do

Luffy is, surprisingly or maybe even unsurprisingly, the one who’s most in tune to his emotions, so he’s immediately on you, arms wrapping several times around your little bodies and refusing to let go until “__ feels better!” or Sabo and Ace pried him off

After Sabo explains that the reason for your tears wasn’t a bad thing, Luffy’s still a little bit huffy, and Ace a smidge awkward as he tries to avoid eye contact, but you take their hands and reassure them that it’s fine, that you cried because you loved them so much and loved being their sibling

Ace recoils on instinct, getting another whack from Sabo, this time it causes the two of them to break out into a squabble that you and Luffy watch from the sidelines, laughing at their antics

Luf turns to you after a little bit and asks if you’re really alright, though, but when you smile at him and ruffle his hair, he beams bright and leaps up to join the other boys in their tussle - you take a minute to watch them roll around in the grass, wind in your hair and their shadows cast by the setting sun dancing with every movement

It’s only when you hear Ace talking shit that you throw yourself into the fray too, grinning mischievously with your weapon of choice and charging at him while Luffy and Sabo held down one of Ace’s arms respectively

The outcome of this grand battle is yet to be decided <3

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bubblessunshinehoney · 2 years

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Pretend (peter parker)

A/N: so this is a repost, since my first account got suspended, but i love this fic so much that i couldn't not post it again. This was my first time writing for Peter Parker (mcu) But you can aslo read for any of them :)

Enjoy,

Cloudy

Dont be shy, reblogs, comment or like!

Peter Parker was the new roommate at the compound. You thought he was cute, and he was your age... finally someone to talk about things of your era.

“Hey boomers” you cheer when you enter the open kitchen.

“Mornin’ Y/N” respond everyone.

“Hello Y/N” blushed Peter, but he could see something was not right with you, he could sense it.

“Hey kiddo, she won’t bite” teased Sam.

“Depends when”, you teased back making Peter blushed even more. You got a sweet spot for the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

You felt dizzy this morning, a little bit lightheaded. You pretended to be okay in front of them. But you were scared because you didn’t understand what was going with you.

See you had powers; I mean you were an avenger. Like Wanda and Pietro, you were an experiment. You could read thoughts and see the future. But you had developed another power, that you tried to understand with Bruce and Tony. Lately you would dissociate in time. Sometimes your body was moving before you did. And this morning was like the other for the past two weeks.

“Shit, she’s not here, is she?” asked Clint.

You became blurry and your voice distorted.

“Hey boomers!” you said again. Nobody responds this time, they all looked at you. You felt the tension and you looked at them. “What” your voice echoed. You turned your head and there’s a reflection of your movement.

“Shit I feel dizzy” before you fall, Peter caught you. His Spidey sense made him the only one able to catch you. Your body was visible three times in the kitchen and the other avengers were not able to take the right one. But Peter reached for the correct body before he could think of it.

“You’re, ok?” he asked you.

“Well, you caught me, so never been better”. He helped you sit down on a chair and brought you a black tea and some buttered toast.

“I think you need to it. You dissociate a lot when you’re with an empty stomach” pointed Peter.

“I hope you are writing down Bruce or Tony, he has a point”. They both nodded and Tony talk to his watch... taking notes.

“Well Queens, you sure are very observant.” Said Steve.

“I-I need to prepare for college” blurred out Peter before almost running out of the kitchen.

“Well done old man, who’s gonna bring me my toast now” you complained.

Vision appeared from the wall and took your plate with your toast.

“I am Y/N, you look very pale... you must eat before dissociating again”.

“See Vision and Peter take care of me... not like you other”.

“Oh my god, you are sure she’s not your daughter Tony,” laughed Natasha.

After breakfast, you went back to your room, it was the one next to Peter’s. You passed by, hoping he hasn’t gone without you to college. You entered your room still feeling dizzy but this time you knew it was because of the emotions bubbling up in Peter’s head. With your dissociation you felt everyone emotions, it was tiring but you delt with like a champ... well you pretend anyway.

Images entered your brain. It was you; Peter was thinking of you, and you weren’t playing scrabble.

“Shit, that’s hot” you said out lout. Peter was imagining you riding him. You were wearing on of his scientist pun shirt, hands in your hair, praising him. His hands were on your thighs and then his thumb was on your clit. The emotions, he was feeling, were so strong that you could almost feel him inside you.

“PETER STOP IT NOW” you screamed. The images in your head froze and you felt the embarrassment growing in Peter heart.

“s-sorr-sorry Y/N” he yelled back.

He was cute, but he was very frustrated since his breakup with MJ. You felt bad for him. You didn’t know the entire story, he told you it was an agreement between them to end their relationship... but you were sure she was more ok with it than him. You felt his broken heart for weeks.

You finished to get ready for school and wait for Peter in the living room. When he arrived, he was red like a tomato, and he looked at his feet.

“It’s ok, Petey. I’m not mad”.

“I-I’m sorry. Eve- ok you’re not mad. Bu-but I shoul-I should not do that either way” he stuttered.

“It was hot, very intense, I almost felt you... inside me.” His eyes went wide but you were too deep in your reflexion to see it. “Crazy right? I think I can feel more when I’m like... I don’t know connect with the person... I should tell Bruce about it”.

“That you can see and feel my... wait don’t tell him, please” he begged you.

“Relax Spidey, I am not telling him I can see and feel when you jerked off.” you laughed when he blushed even harder if that was possible.

You took his arm and went to the garage to take one of Tony’s cars. Your touch went straight to his crotch, he had a crush on you since the last two months. You were kind to him, always defending him when the other teased him too much. Always helping him, when he struggled with his project for school or when he wanted to improve his suit or his fighting skills. You made him laugh and forget about his problems. You were like his personal sunshine and when he missed May too much, he looked at you to feel a bit more home. You were his new home now, but he was too heartbroken to see it yet.

You both arrived in college in no time. Peter drove because you were not sure if you would dissociate again. When he parked the car, you were about to go but he stopped you. “You are not totally here yet” he said calmly. You watched his hand on your forearm, but you didn’t feel his grip.

“Jesus Spidey-boy, how?”

“Spidey sense, I think”.

You were the only one to not called his Spidey sense, “Peter tingle” and he liked you a lot for that among other things.

When you felt his grip, it when straight to your core... for no reason except maybe it was like a reaction to him daydreaming about you. His gaze past you and your heart broke. You turned your head and you saw MJ talking with a guy, a handsome one, and she kissed him with passion. Back to Peter, you saw him with teary eyes.

“Hey Pete, don’t... she’s not worth it.”

“I want to move on, it’s been six months.” he murmured.

“You can’t decide when you’ll be totally healed. it takes time.” You caress his cheek in attend to comfort him. He gave you his puppy eyes signature. Those fucking eyes.

“You can pretend.”

“Pretend?”

“That you moved on too. “

“How?”

“We could pretend that we’re dating.” He looked at you, then looked at MJ who was still kissing the new guy, then looked at you again. His hand on your arm holds you tighter and you hand on his cheek went to the back of his neck.

“It won’t hurt anyone, plus maybe your fantasy might come true.” you teased him. Without any warning he kissed you. it was a kick gentle one. You blinked a few times before registering that he did kiss you.

“S-sorry, I should ask you” You shook your head before lean in again and connect your lips to his. This time you took control of the kiss, you took your time to feel his lips against yours. He sighed and parted them a little, your tongue went brush his teeth. You thought he would back off but no he pushed his tongue out to meet yours. You broke the kiss first, scared to not be able to stop... he was a good kisser.

“Well, one of my fantasies is already complete” he said with a certain confidence. You smiled, you liked when he was more confident. “I feel better already, thanks”.

“Did I kissed your boo-boo away?” you joked. He rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He waited for you, then he put his hand on your back.

“It is not for pretending that we are together, you’re still sitting in the car” When he finished his sentence, you felt your soul coming back to your body. Peter holds you closer to prevent from any falling. He heard your heart tumbled in your chest and he hold you closer by putting his harms around your waist. Your head fall on his shoulder by the impact of yourself on your own body. “You, ok?”.

“I don’t know Pete”. You looked up to meet his gaze. His concern about you, you felt it. “It has never been this strong, and… what the fuck? I mean you just hold me and wait for my soul to come back to my body, like you felt it?”

He looked you up and down before putting his lower lips between his teeth. “I-I felt it yeah. Like goosebump. And you have this look in your eyes when you dissociate. Like a cloud on your pupil.”

You’re surprised. He is very observant of your condition, even more than Tony or Bruce, maybe it’s because is more with you… or maybe he likes you more than you think.

“Can you note that somewhere? I have to report this to Bruce.” He nodded and helped you reached your first class.

“Meet me at 2 in the parking lot?” he asked you. “Yeah, fine see ya Peter”. He kissed your cheek before disappearing in the crowd of students. You started blushing for sure.

Two weeks later your condition is worst than ever. You can’t go to class because you keep dissociating. You don’t even know where you are most of the time. The only way to be yourself is when Peter is around you and it makes you sick to be this dependant on someone.

“Y/N?” call Bruce.

“My room.”

The scientist comes in and analyse your state from the door. He frowns.

“Yep, I look like shit, I know. I can’t shower. I mean I can not get up from my bed. Too dizzy”

You hear him hums and scribbles on his notebook. You turn your head slightly and your vision blurs instantly. You close your eyes and groan of frustration. Then… you hear his thoughts.

Maybe the kid could help her shower. Just to see if it works.

“I am not showering with him” he chuckles before speaking out loud.

“No, of course. But maybe he could be near you? I mean when he’s in the same room as you, you seem to functionate almost normally.”

“I am not a machine, Banner.” He sits on your bed, and he pats your leg. “I know, sweety, but could you try? A shower, it’ll make you feel better.”

You sigh and nod positively. Bruce leaves your room, and you wait. A few moments later, you feel Peter coming. He’s nervous and impatient. Bruce knocks and you tell them to come in. Peter is slightly blushing, and his smile disappears when he sees you on your bed.

She looks so ill. I should have come earlier. Shit she can hear me. Think of something, think of something. Lama, dogs, cactus, not her naked, don’t picture her naked. Idiot she can see right trough you. Fuck, fuck… why am I like this. Watermelon, pineapple, no not pineapple, don’t think about what your sperm will taste if you drink or eat pineapple. Stop it, Peter.

You can contain your laughter at his thoughts. Bruce looks at you, but you quick to tell him that Peter is doing what it does best, overthink everything. “And that’s cute, he’s too concern about me. You know, I have to live without you Spidey.”

“I let you two alone now. Let me know how it goes”.

I am cute? She thinks I am cute. Fuck, she’s still reading my mind. Hi Y/N, hope you like my rumbling thoughts.

He thinks about what he did and saw during is time in college and you sigh in relief. You prefer those kinds of random thoughts, feels more like the radio and you don’t have to focus on what is saying.

“You want to try to get up?” you nod before sitting on you bed. Your head does not spin like you’re drunk anymore. You look at him, he stays right beside your bed, slightly nervous.

“Give me your hand Parker… please”. He holds is hand out for you to reach. You take it and push yourself of your bed. You sigh and grip his forearm with your other hand.

“You good?” you nod too weak to form word. He leads you to the bathroom. You both enter and then you stare at each other.

“H-how do you w-want to- to proceed?” he asks you.

“Maybe you can just turn your back and stay in. And no peaking with the mirror behind you.”

He nods and turns; you’re facing his back. He hears you strip from your clothes and enter the bathtub.

“How was your day?” he scoffs but you continue “it’s nicer for me to hear you with your actual voice and not just your thoughts Pete”. He laughs and then start to tell you everything that happened to him. You interact a bit with him, but you quickly become quiet. He continues to ramble and stop instantly. Something is wrong, he can feel it.

“Y/N, still there?”

“I don’t know” your voice echoes. He doesn’t know what to do, you told him to not look at you while you shower. But he feels that you need help, that you are dissociating.

“Peter?” he hears it three time and he closes his before turning and going to the shower. He trusts his Spidey sense to reach you. When he feels your arm, he grips it.

“Peter” you ask this time able to realise that he is with you under the water. His sweat and his socks are soaking wet, but his eyes are closed.

“You there with me again” he breaths out.

“I am, thanks”. He smiles at you shyly. “Peter?”, he hums. “I can see what you’re thinking” he blushes.

“Sorry?”.

“Why am I always wearing one of your t-shirts?” a strangle laugh lives his lips.

“Because I never saw your naked chest and I don’t want to imagine it. So, you in my t-shirt are good enough.”.

“Oh my god, you such a dork!” he takes his hand of your arm, and you feel like you’re falling. Before you know it, Peter catches you in his arms. Now your naked form is pushed against him. His eyes are still closed, but his breathing becomes erratic.

The water is running down on him. You follow a drop along his jawline, and you feel a wetness between your legs.

“Peter, open your eyes” he shakes is head. Your hands snake along his chest to his cheeks, before tugging in the back of his hair. “That’s why I told Bruce I was not showering with you”.

“Wh-what?” his expression is priceless. He arches his eyebrows, and you can almost see the surprise behind eyelids. Your only response is to connect your lips with his. He quickly kisses you back and push you against the wall.

“you’re soaking wet, Pete”. You whisper when he breaks the kiss.

“So are you”. This time he opens his eyes shocked by his own words. He meets your big grin, and he blushes.

“You’re a specimen Parker, how can you tell me that and then blush like a twelve years old”, because he is right, you are wet… he is making you wet.

Flashes of you riding him in his shirt comes to your head and you laugh. Peter closes his eyes again to stop his thoughts. “I might just do that if you help me finish showering.” His face and ears are crazy red, and he chuckles.

He helps you and puts you in bed. When you head hits the pillow, you fell asleep. Peter stays a while and watches you. Bruce sneaks in and asks what happened. Peter reports the essential and skip the kissing part. You twitch in your sleep and your hand reach for Peter’s. you interlace your fingers with his and you hum.

“Good, I let you take care of her.” Bruce goes out and Peter does not know what to do. He sits awkwardly on the mattress, a butt cheek hanging out of it.

You can lay with me.

He looks at you. Did you just to talk to him in his head.

Need to note that, Pete. But still, you can lay with me if you want. I like to be the little spoon.

He takes a deep breath and positions himself behind you. You scoot over him and take his arm to put it around your waist.

“Thanks Pete.” You murmur.

He kisses your temple and watches you drift in a deep sleep again.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #mcu peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker smut #college!peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x female reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #avenger! reader #enhanced!reader #enhanced!character #powerful!reader #college au #friends to lovers #mutual pining #repost #signal boost

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

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Million Dollar Man | Chapter One - Moral of the Story

series summary: Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.

pairing(s): jack daniels x fem!reader, past frankie morales x fem!reader, eventual (+endgame pairing) jack daniels x fem!reader x frankie morales

chapter summary: You and Jack fly out to San Francisco to investigate a man that might have something to do with the disappearance of Agent Malibu. During all of this the two of you run in to Frankie, the one that got away, or rather, the one you had to let go of.

word count: 8.6k (whoops)

a/n: alright this was originally requested for drabble week by @lovesthunder buut inspiration struck me and it ended up being a whole ass series-- sorry if this wasn't quite what you wanted but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

chapter warnings: airplane s.ex, dirty talking, mild exhibitionism, mirror kink, choking, overstimulation, oral (giving), cumming in mouth, lots of nicknames being used by Jack (buttercup, baby girl, sugar etc.), jack being an asshole, swearing, statesmen agent!reader, canon typical violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of past breakup with jack, mentions of human trafficking, fake relationship trope, mentions of reader using alcohol and weed, reader being shorter than Jack, age gap, reader wears a dress

special thanks to @inklore who always encourages me to write and beta-read this for me xx

some parts of the smut scene was inspired by @ezrasbirdie's fic Rare please check it out because it's amazing and I love it so much <;33

masterlist | series masterlist | playlist | series inspo board | AO3

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It’s official, you hate your life.

You hate your job, the city you live in, your boss and most of all, you hate the man sitting next to you, a smug grin spread across his annoyingly handsome face. You hate it. You want to punch him in his perfect teeth.

“Just bare with it,” Champ had said the week before with a knowing, yet playful gaze. “It’ll be over before you know it, you’re a Statesman, you can handle him,”

That day you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs. No you couldn’t handle him. No one could handle the nuisance that was Agent Whiskey. Jack. Fucking hell. How the two of you ended up dating was beyond you– Actually no it wasn’t. He’s ridiculously charming and humored the essence of a broken man, just your type, you love to fix things, living breathing people included. One of the main reasons you became a Statesman in the first place. You foolishly believe you can fix everything and everyone.

With the corner of your eyes you stare at him. Before you even boarded the plane he’d called shotgun, even though this wasn’t a god damn car, and said he would be sitting at the window aisle. He’s a literal child. But, to be fair, you couldn’t care less about where you’re seated. And now, with a smug smile– you’re starting to suspect it’s the only expression he can pull off while he’s with you– he stares out of the window watching the other passengers board. You’re surprised he’s still wearing his pinch front cowboy hat, you imagine it would be uncomfortable when you’re that close to the window.

Your eyes linger further down, with much frustration you notice his clavicles peeking from under his basic white tee. Jack already had shedded himself out of his leather jacket, the one you bought him while the two of you were dating, so fake leather. You instinctively roll your eyes when you remember how much he had thrown a hissy fit over it.

Then again, it’s been two years since the break up, there’s something heartwarming about him still wearing it.

You jump when his left knee brushes against your own and you immediately click your tongue with annoyance, among the many infuriating habits this man possesses he’s also a manspreader. Just great. This flight lasts about four hours, what on earth are you supposed to do?

Sleep probably, when you think about it.

Just as you’re about to pull your gaze away, you notice that he’s staring at you. His brown eyes remind you of molten amber, darkness with gold specks winking at you when the light just hits right. He squints, the look he’s giving you swallows you whole. It makes your heart race and heat spur between your legs. Just a look and he reduces you to a teenage mess, it’s embarrassing. The most unnerving part is that you never know if he’s aware of what he’s doing or just winging it. According to Ginger Ale, he has no idea. You remember the look she gave you when you said Jack was the best you ever had, a soft yet firm lover, apparently that wasn’t the image he was giving.

Not that it matters anymore, him and his lovemaking is gone from your life. Forever.

“Whatcha thinking there pretty thing?”

He rolls his tongue just the way you like it, a slight purr deep in his voice summoning you like a demonic chant. Your nostrils flare as you breathe and you forcefully rip your gaze away from him, staring at the plastic back of the seat in front of you. Jack spreads his legs further, knee pressing into yours, it’s deliberate this time. You pull away your leg.

“Come on now birdie, don’t be like that,”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” he gestures towards you, “You look madder than a wet hen and this time I know I ain’t done nothing wrong yet. We just boarded the plane for christ’s sake,”

“Well maybe you don’t have to do anything to get on my nerves. Your mere presence is enough,”

“Ouch.”

“Just leave me alone Jack, go look out your window you so desperately wanted,”

“I thought we were using code names, Agent Greyhound,” then his eyes lit up with a sudden burst of epiphany. The corner of his lips curl all the way up and he leans closer to you, breath ghosting across your skin as he speaks. “So you’re mad that I called shotgun first? Is that what’s got your panties in a twist?”

Your face heats up at the allegation, he’s insufferable. You’re going to kill him. You’re literally going to kill him and no one on this fine earth is going to stop you. You aggressively fish out your headphones from the bag and attempt to cover your ears in hopes to blast some music to forget all about him. However, before you can, he grabs them and tilts his head, his gaze mocking, as if he’s apprehending something from a child.

“Nuh-huh,” he tuts. “We’re about to fly soon and you know you can’t use electronics while the plain lifts sweetheart,”

“Fine,” you cross your arms against your chest and stick your bottom lip out. Now you actually feel like a kid. “I called you Jack because we’re out and about, our names are on the tickets anyway– Also, I’m not angry about the seating arrangement but you can’t call shotgun on a plane. This isn’t a car.”

“Ah, so you are angry about something,”

“For the love of god just let. It. Go.”

“Well where’s the fun in that doll,” he winks. He god damn winks at you and your heart skips a beat. “Here’s how this is gonna go, either you tell me or I keep on guessin’,”

“Fine, fine!” you raise your hands, voice high pitched. “You’re my ex Jack! Obviously I didn’t want to go on this mission with you, are you happy now cowboy? Was that so hard to understand?”

Your heart sinks when he grins– he fucking grins– and it’s accompinied by the most devilish gaze you’ve ever seen him pull off. He wanted you to break. Wanted to see you snap and show him that you still care about what happened two years ago. The man played you like a fiddle and you were dumb enough to fall for his tactics. Statesmen, you think, shaking violently, They’re all too smart for their own damn good.

“Very much so sugar, yes,” he leans back into the comfort of his seat, throwing the headphones into your lap. “Enjoy your music and shitty youtube videos,”

Ah yes, another reminder why the two of you broke up. He’s probably the most manipulative person you’ve ever met and he was actually good at it. Again, the curse of being involved with a Statesman.

With a huff you aggressively put on your headphones but don’t play any music, you eye him as he rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, dark eyelashes kissing his upper cheeks. The crease between your brows deepens, so he gets to relax while you’re simmering with anger and annoyance, what kind of fairness was that?

You still aren’t quite sure why he wanted you to spill your guts. Maybe he just enjoyed stirring you up? Or maybe he just wanted to be an asshole, whatever it was, it made your brain hurt. Your mind wanders to the past, the events leading up to your breakup and the aftermath. The main issue was, of course, his massive ego and his lack of control. He got so angry at any inconvenience that his negative behavior managed to seep in through your own hardened exterior. Jack also wasn’t the most honest with you, you were aware that something bothered him deep down– Maybe it was PTSD from the constant missions but whatever it was he refused to open up to you which in return made you wonder why be in a relationship with someone who clearly didn’t trust you.

The breakup hadn’t been as messy as it could’ve. Jack actually understood where you were coming from and left without leaving a trace of evidence that the two of you were ever together. It was the same at work. To be honest if it wasn’t for Ginger and Tequila talking to you about it you probably would’ve thought this was all some kind of big hallucination your mind made up to cope with the loneliness.

But it wasn’t.

The first time you caught a whiff of him being with someone else, a casual hookup, it hurt like hell. It felt like someone had burned you from the inside out, taking your heart along with it. You wanted to hurl yourself out of the nearest window. You didn’t want to think about the same hands that touched you, cared for you, touching and caring for someone else. Jack had that effect. The man lingered even after he left. His touch, his lips, the tickle of his finely groomed mustache. Still to this day you feel him against your skin, it was like a disease that you couldn’t heal from, no matter what you did.

And man did you try to get rid of that disease. So much so you even begged Ginger to make you a potion or something, a heartbreak cure. Unfortunately science hadn’t gone that far yet.

You did come close, however, when you met someone else. Someone new. He was kind, nice, and didn’t seem to mind the fact that you were essentially using him as a stepping stone to heal. He was a pilot and worked with the army. He was everything that Jack wasn’t, he made you feel good, feel happy.

That relationship lasted for about two months.

One of the worst parts of being a Statesman, the part that no one seemed to talk about, was the fact that you had to keep it a secret from your loved ones.

Your excuses for the multiple cuts and bruises you came home with quickly ran out, and one day, when it was evident that you were stabbed– A wound so big that you couldn’t simply say you cut yourself in the kitchen– you broke up with him. He got too worried, fearing it was the result of self-harm. Sadly you had to let him go, which made you fall into another dark spiral.

At the time you weren’t sure what hurt you the most: The fact that Jack had moved on so easily, basically being a manwhore, or the fact that you had to break up with a man that cared for you and knew how to show it. Maybe it was impossible for you to date anyone else other than Jack, he was the one who knew your job, understood the heavy weight that came with it. Thankfully you had Ginger, your best friend who pulled your ass out of the self pity pit and actually helped you heal, the wounds still linger but at least you weren’t burying your pain in alcohol and endless amounts of blunts– Which was something Jack would be furious about, the man did not like drugs, not even weed. You still had no idea why, you assumed it was connected with the whole ‘bottled up secrets’ thing.

And after a year, you were properly better. At least you thought you were until Champ had given you this god forsaken mission.

Blinking heavily you noticed that the plane had finally taken off, everyone was seated, chattering and much to your surprise you’re holding Jack’s forearm, fingers digging into his bare skin.

“You alright there buttercup?”

Shit.

You quickly yank your hand away and furiously place it upon your lap. You can hear the hostess approaching but for some reason you can’t look up at her either. Your pulse is quick, you feel your entire body heating up. This is why immersing yourself in flashbacks is bad. And it isn’t like you’re scared of flying or anything which makes you even more confused as to why your body decided to hold his arm. You can feel his eyes against your skin, gaze scorching. It makes your stomach do somersaults. He asks again, this time a hint of command in his tone. He’s technically above you in the food chain so it’s a tone you’re accustomed to.

“I asked if you’re alright, buttercup, yes or no,”

“Yes,” you hiss between clenched teeth. “I’m fine, just…thinking about stuff– Don’t worry about it,”

You meet his gaze, he looks almost angry, dark brows furrowed and lips slightly parted and curled down. You feel yourself instinctively becoming smaller, hunching and bending your neck. He’s not angry. He’s worried. It was hard to distinguish since he makes the same face, so to read Jack, you also need context, or you’ll never be able to tell. His gaze lingers a second longer before meeting the hostess’s soft blue eyes, his lips form a smile, eyes sparkling.

“Why howdy there,” he slurs his words. “Aren’t you a pretty lookin' thing, they make you carry that whole cart all by your lonesome self?” Jack shakes his head with disapproval, clicking his tongue at the same time. “Shame on them,”

You roll your eyes and whisper silently enough so it’s only him that hears your words.

“It’s her job dickwad,” then you smile at the hostess but she’s not looking at you, she’s looking back at Jack, a soft blush darkening her cheeks. Oh brother. “Can I have milk coffee and biscoff cookies, please?”

The hostess doesn’t tear her gaze away from Jack, her lips curling up into a flirty smile. Shifting your gaze back to Jack you notice that he’s practically eye fucking her– You roll your eyes again, this time they go all the way back, only the whites of your eyes showing.

“Of course ma’am,”

She hands you what you want, eyes still glued to Jack’s, and an intense feeling of jealousy flares deep within your chest. Despite that, you nonchalantly open the package of cookies and begin to nibble on one as you try your best not to squeeze the paper cup filled with hot coffee.

“And for you, sir?”

She’s purring like a goddamn cat, your nostrils flare and this time you take a sip of your coffee. Jack licks his lips, his eyes shifting momentarily to you before turning back to the hostess.

“A glass of whiskey would be just fine darling– Oh and some pretzels if you can spare ‘em,”

A sudden groan rips from your throat and two pairs of eyes turn to you, one looking amused and the other embarrassed. Your own eyes going wide, you cough with expertise, hoping that’ll be enough to make them think you’re choking on your hot beverage, which you actually hope will happen at this point to be honest.

“You alright there?” he asks, smiling. “Got something caught in your throat?”

You cough once more for good measure and turn to him with the most fake smile you can muster.

“I’m fine, it just went down the wrong pipe,”

The hostess, who probably feels the tension rising, quickly hands Jack his whiskey and pretzels, then she walks away to serve the other passengers.

“It went down the wrong pipe, huh?” Jack mused, twirling the glass. “Sounds to me like you got a tad bit jealous there, sugar,”

Your eyes follow the way he twirls his glass, his fingers thick around the smooth surface, wet with the aftermath of melting ice. Such a simple gesture yet you find yourself swallowing and licking your lips. You can imagine those same fingers squeezing around your throat with ease, his lips pressed against your ear as he whispers the most filthiest of things–

You furiously shake your head, this time taking a large bite out of your cookie.

“Well you heard wrong then,” you say as you chew, your voice sounding hesitant even to you. “I wouldn’t care even if you fucked her brains out in the toilet– My mind is occupied with much more important things, like our mission,”

He laughs, chest rumbling as he places his free hand on top of his stomach. Your heart, sadly, flutters at the sound.

“Maybe I’ll do just that then,” he mutters, eyes turning away from you and gazing out the window. “Since you care so little,”

He takes a sip out of his drink, which gives you the perfect opportunity to stare at his neck, you consume the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down– Shit, you really should’ve got laid before this mission. This amount of horniness isn’t normal.

Your gaze slides back to his face, he’s still staring out the window, a solemn expression decorating his countenance. You shrug and finally look away, since the plane was now in the air you were free to listen to your music now.

“Do whatever, I don’t care.”

But you did care.

Which was how you ended up bent over the sink inside of the small airplane bathroom with Jack’s fingers digging into your hips as he rocks into you.

Everything had happened in a blur. You fell asleep for about an hour, woke up with your head draped over Jack’s broad shoulder with his fingers lazily drawing circles against your thigh. Still deep in your sleepy haze the worst happened, a soft moan made its way out of your lips. And that was a clear invitation for Jack to lean into your ear and whisper.

“Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,”

As soon as your boot passed the threshold of small space, Jack grabbed your wrist and pulled you in, claiming your lips in a hungry, bruising kiss. You gave in immediately, much to your embarrassment.

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes for me now will ya’ ”

You gasp.

“No,”

You can’t. You can’t bare to have the image of Jack fucking you like one of his conquests engraved in your brain. Especially since you already have a decent enough image in your mind of how the two of you look like. You; lips parted with ecstasy and eyes glistening with tears of pleasure. Him; eyes dark with lust, veins popping across his neck with an almost deranged look.

His cock feels the same, if not better, hips angled in a way he knew you liked, hitting that special spot deep inside you again and again. Your eyes might be closed but they do roll back, teeth clenched painfully as you bite back every noise that threatens to claw its way out of your throat. To that, he answers by pulling almost all the way out, only the tip remaining inside, and slams his hips with such a force that your ass ripples. He grunts as he stays buried inside, breathing heavily against your neck. Jack darts his tongue out and licks the salt from your skin. You tremble, slick dripping down your thighs and legs.

“You know what I want,” he groans. “Fuck, I’ve missed the feeling of this pussy so bad, doll,”

“Shut up,” you rasp. “Just shut up,”

He ignores you completely, hands skimming up your figure and gripping your breasts. You whimper.

“How was it now– The way you used to say my name– Come on girl say it like you always do,” he grinds his hips, facial hair tickling the shell of your ear. “Jaaaaack,”

Your eyes snap wide open, lips parting with a sudden whine.

He’s fucking moaning in your ear. He’s moaning his own god damn name. You’re going to cry. Your heart beats in your throat, ears ringing and skin positively burning. Shit, he’s making it really hard to keep your cool.

“Jaaack,” he moans again, tongue grazing against your ear as he rolls his hips. “Jack, Jack, Jaack–”

“I’m not,” your breath hitches. “I’m not going to say your name,”

“Jaack,” this time he bites into your shoulder and shallowly begins to thrust his hips. “Come on now, say it, or else I stop,”

Teeth nibbling your skin, his one hand slides down your body, fingers brushing upon your aching clit. You jump at the feeling, brows furrowing as you moan.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Good girl, now do that again but while saying my name, pretty,”

You’re sweating– actually sweating– as he twirls the sensitive nub between his fingers. The way he rolls his hips makes your head spin, it’s slow yet he makes you feel every inch. Your eyes finally shift to the mirror, you’re radiating with pleasure, forehead coated with a thick layer of perspiration while a bit of spit dribbles down the corner of your parted lips. Jack is still nestled behind your shoulder, his eyes meeting yours through the reflection. A sharp breath fills your lungs and your cunt squeezes around his cock, you can see the corner of his lips rising from behind your damp shoulder.

“You see it too don’t you,” he purrs. “How pleased you look, how fulfilled you seem with my cock parting you nice and wide– You’ve missed this buttercup, admit it,”

His fingers speed up and your head falls back, you bite back your moans, neck bursting with the veins that lurk under your skin as you try not to give him the satisfaction of proving him right. But he is. God dammit you know he is. You feel so good. Almost sedated with the way your mind finally falls silent. You need to feel his strength, more of it, your nails drag against the porcelain surface of the sink. Your mind is flashing you multiple signs, screaming ‘you’ll regret this’ but you can’t help it, you were already in too deep, literally and figuratively.

“Neck,” you grit out. “Put your hand on my neck,”

Jack’s eyes sparkles with intrigue, pupils hiding all the color of his eyes. You shudder when he places a tender kiss against the back of your shoulder, the gesture soothes your very being, convincing you that this is the way it was always meant. He slides his hand that was kneading your breast to your neck and squeezes.

Your eyes roll back, a moan falling freely from your lips. It feels so good. So fucking good. Your eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed as you begin to move your hips in time with his thrusts. A sense of fulfillment washes over you, so warm, so familiar.

“Jack,”

His hips speed up, lewd noises of skin slapping against skin filling the tiny bathroom.

“Jack,” you moan again, his fingers tightens around your throat, squeezing your windpipe. “Jack, Jack, Jack– Fuck,”

“That’s right baby, just say my name, it sounds so right on your tongue,”

“I’m gonna cum,” you words slur, your one hand now clawing the arm that holds your neck. “I’m gonna cum, make me cum– Jack please!”

“Shit– Okay baby girl, okay– I’ll make you cum since you asked so nicely,”

He quickly brings you to the edge. Cock sliding in and out as his fingers play with your clit, drawing quick, short circles. Your skin tingles, pussy twitching and drooling as the coil tightens and tightens, until it finally snaps–

White flashes before your eyes as you lunge forward, face only an inch away from the mirror as his grip on your neck dissipates and falls to your hip. Your legs shake, slick dripping to the floor and coating his cock. Jack groans, eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. The aftermath of your orgasm still sends waves of pleasure up your body, your heart clenches, everything feels so intense, too much. You breathe heavily.

“Just a bit more sugar, just a bit more,”

Before you can reply he pulls out, pushing you down to your knees. By pure instinct you open your mouth and allow him to shove his cock deep in your throat. He never cums inside, some part of your mind reminds you, you might be on the pill, or using a condom, it doesn’t matter. He never finishes when he’s buried deep no matter how many times you asked him to while you were lingering on the fine line of consciousness and subspace. Another thing you have no idea why he does.

You’re viciously pulled away from your thoughts when your chin strains at the thickness of his length. Your nostrils flare as you moan at the taste of yourself along with the taste of him coating your tongue. He uses your mouth, thrusting freely with his hands holding each side of your face, this time he moans out not his own but your name. It makes you swallow around him and he finally spills down your throat. Jack’s far gone as he continues to shallowly rock his hips between your lips, his cum heavy against your tongue. He chases after the euphoric taste of his orgasm, broken moans falling one after another.

Tears flood your eyes, blurring your vision as you try to swallow everything he gives. He holds your head in place and when everything finally becomes too much you slap his thigh, and in return he looks down at you bleary. Jack slowly pulls out, traces of spit and cum smearing across your lips. He tucks himself in and helps you up, surprisingly he kisses you, tongue moving across your own as he moans at the residue of himself lingering in your mouth.

When he breaks the kiss your lips are left swollen, eyes still unable to see clearly.

“That was nice now, wasn’t it buttercup,” he mutters. “You good?”

You nod, he looks you up and down but doesn’t pry.

“Do you wanna go first or should I?”

“You can go first,” your voice cracks.

“Alright, see you at the aisle sugar,”

With that he leaves, the door closing shut behind you.

Your eyes shift to the mirror, you look absolutely ruined. There’s no way you can go out looking like this. With a sudden rush of embarrassment and rage, you open the faucet and furiously splash your face with cold water. You can’t believe that happened. And you certainly can’t believe you allowed it.

He fucked you in the airplane bathroom.

And you went along with it.

You enjoyed it.

Shit.

When you’re convinced your face is cleaned of sweat, cum and spit, you rip out a couple of paper towels and dry yourself. You fix your hair, wipe off your smudged lipstick and adjust your clothes. You hate to admit it, but you do feel refreshed. After all these years Jack still knows how to push your buttons. Your insides clench around nothing, you already miss feeling him deep inside.

Taking in a deep breath, you leave the bathroom.

You’re in no way the type of person to be ashamed of having sex. It felt good, it was what people were meant to do, there was no shame in it.

But man you’ll be lying if you don’t say that the walk back feels like the most horrifyingly awkward experience ever.

You’re positive that everyone on this plane just heard you getting your insides rearranged by Jack, there was no way they didn’t hear you, right? Everytime you meet someone’s unwarranted glance you want to hide, you’re not sure what those glances imply, not that you wanted to know. You just want to take your seat and sleep, this flight has gone on long enough.

Jack’s grinning at you when you sit down, his hand immediately finding your thigh and gently squeezing the sore muscle. You glare at him and slap his annoying limb away.

“Don’t say a word,” you snarl. “Don’t touch me, look at me or even breathe in my direction,”

This only makes his stupid grin even wider, eyes gleaming with misconduct. You never should’ve let him fuck you. Big mistake on your part. Huge.

“That wasn’t what you were saying five minutes ago, darling,” he lowers his voice into a whisper, sounding like honey on buttered bread. “Jack, Jaack,”

Heat rushing across your body, you jolt, your hand shoots out and you grab his cheeks between your fingers.

“I’ll kill you,” you reply, voice an octave lower to emit murderous intent. “I swear to god I’ll kill you and everyone else will thank me for it,”

“Now you’re just breaking my heart baby girl,” he doesn’t mean it, he sounds incredibly smug. “And after I’ve treated you so well? It’s true what they say, you really can’t win no matter what you do,”

“Stop playing the victim,”

“Stop being so angry with me,”

His cheeks are still squished between your fingers, he physically can’t smile but you see it in his eyes. Finally letting out a languid breath you let go and stare at your unfinished coffee and biscuits. When you do, he rubs his chin and taps his fingers against the side.

“Was it really that bad?”

“It wasn’t,” you murmur, taking a biscuit. “That’s the problem,”

He doesn’t say a word, only stares at you before leaning down and fishing out his book from his carry on. You see the title: The Magic Mountain.

You want to ask him what it's about but decide against it. Silence with Jack is always better.

San Francisco. The Golden City. A place you’ve never been to before.

You take in a deep breath, it smells different, more airy, if that makes any sense. Kentucky, the state where the Statesmen base was located, was hot, humid. Most of the time it made you want to peel your skin off. But here, you can already tell that the air was lighter around you, a bit more cooler. It made you smile. It was already dark out, the lights of the streetlamps and cars bright.

Finally the two of you were out of the plane and out of the airport, luggages by your side as you both put on the classic Statesmen glasses on.

“Ginger you there?” you speak as you look to your right and left, when it seems safe you cross the road, Jack following your trail.

“I’m here,” she replies, soft voice modulated. “How was the flight?”

“It was…fine…”

“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” she muses. “Let me guess, you fell for his antics–”

“Ginger!” you gasp, side-eyeing Jack. “He’s in the call with us,”

“Oh, I know,”

“Will you two shut your damn pie holes and get to work,” he sighs, nostrils flaring as he drags his suitcase behind him. “Give us another brief of the mission Ginger Ale, why we’re here, where we need to go–”

“Sure thing Agent Whiskey,” you hear the soothing clicks of a keyboard and her modulated voice follows. “So, as the two of you already know, women have been being kidnapped from all over the country, we suspect it’s trafficking. The Statesmen are involved both because the police can’t seem to solve the case and because Agent Malibu is among one of the women who got napped,”

Even if she can’t see you, you nod and your heart clenches in your chest a bit. You’ve seen Agent Malibu a couple of times, she was a kindhearted soul with curly brown hair, brown skin and deep brown eyes. You didn’t really have the pleasure of working with her but she was family, all of the Statesmen were your family by extension.

“Your mission is to rescue the women and find Agent Malibu,” a couple of more clicks and she continues. “The person you’re looking for is a man by the name Albert Dunn. Caucasian, male around his thirties. We suspect he might be the second in command. He’s a regular at the Everest Nightclub, which the two of you should be heading in an hour, as a couple–”

You groan.

“Why do we have to go as a couple?”

“It’ll be easier to blend in. You, Agent Greyhound will be Hana Sanders and Agent Whiskey you’ll be Bruce Powell. I got your ID’s sorted,”

“I don’t think Whiskey’s going to need an ID,” you turn to him with a wide grin. “He’s basically a fossil at this point,”

“Hardy har-har,” he replies, unamused. “Don’t act smug with me girl. Especially when you’re the one dying to get screwed by one of them fossils,”

Your eyes widen and your smile disappears, you want to smack him. You really do, even if you were the one to initiate the back and forth.

Ginger coughs, diverting both your attentions back to her.

“Anyway… You two should be in the club in about an hour. I would suggest taking a hot shower– separately if you can– and head out. Good luck agents,”

Great, another needless jab from Ginger. Wasn’t she supposed to be your friend?

You shake your head, right now you need to focus, you have a job to do. Play time is officially over, agent Malibu was in danger and needed your full attention.

Luckily the hotel isn’t far away so it takes about twenty minutes to reach it. Jack grumbles a bit about needing a drink but acts kindly towards the hotel staff, the lobby boy carries your luggages– unbeknownst to him filled with guns and weaponry– Jack then tips him generously. You thank the young lobby boy and he scatters off, leaving you and Jack with the card key to your shared room.

It doesn’t surprise you that there’s one bed.

Of course it doesn’t. It shouldn’t. You were supposed to be a couple. But still, the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him after all these years makes you feel uneasy. You step in first, observing the hotel with a quick scan of your eyes, it’s nice, quite luxurious actually. Right across from you is a wall of windows, it shows you the magnificent view of the Golden City, lights of the buildings mimicking the shinty stars above. Other than that there’s a lot of white. White curtains, white couch, white bed with small chocolates left on the pillows. Luckily the walls are beige, it makes the room seem less boring.

With a huff Jack pushes the door and it closes with a click. He joins you with his hands on his hips and observes the room in an over exaggerated turn of his head.

“For a five star hotel they sure lack imagination, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” your eyes linger on the bed. “I do like the chocolates though,”

“I don’t much care for that brand, you can eat mine too if you want,”

“Thanks,”

With that you head to the bed and let your body fall, peeling the aluminum foil, you pop the chocolate between your lips and move it around as if it's fine wine. You’re not sure if it’s because of the steamy airplane sex but there’s something odd lingering within the air between you two. You don’t quite understand why that is since Jack was never the ‘maybe this was a mistake’ type of guy. It suddenly dawns at you that the man might actually have layers, like Shrek, he’s an onion.

He carries his luggage to the couch and hoists it on top, opening it, he begins to rummage through his clothes and weaponry. You take this time of scarce silence as an opportunity to observe him while popping the second chocolate between your lips. Jack shrugs off his jacket and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, showing more of his tanned skin. Your eyes follow the curves of his neck, the intoxicating dip his clavicles provide, you so desperately want to graze your lips into the empty pools, maybe fill them with a bit of tequila beforehand–

Involuntarily you press your thighs together, the heat between your legs quickly proving to be unbearable. You drag your chocolate coated tongue across your lips and swallow. You need a distraction. Maybe a cold shower? In hopes to divert your attention you reach out to your phone, but just as the tips of your fingers touch the smooth surface of the device, Jack starts to undress.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, an odd choked out sound ripping from your chest.

Jack shoots you a half concerned half playful look, his one eyebrow raised as he strips himself of his shirt completely.

“You alright there buttercup?”

You ignore his question and ask one of your own.

“Why are you getting undressed here?” you ask between coughs. “Go to the bathroom,”

“Baby girl, you saw me naked an hour ago, I don’t need to get dressed in the toilet like some kid that came to their friends house for a sleepover,”

“Why do you have to be so difficult all the time?”

“You’re the one making up weird rules, how am I the difficult one?” When you glare at him he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine fine, have it your way, sugar. I’ll use the shower too while I’m at it,”

You groan, “I was going to use the shower…”

“Too late for that now,” he looks up momentarily from his luggage and winks at you. “If you want it so badly feel free to join me, I do get lonely in there,”

“You’re an ass,”

“You wound me,” he rolls his tongue with a nauseatingly smug grin. “See you in a bit, try not to foam at the mouth while I’m gone,”

Annoyed and frustrated, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. Your uncertainty eats at your heart, confusion lingering within you like a thick fog. You’re so tired of being the angry girl. The woman with the short temper. You didn’t get like this when you were with Ginger, or Tequila, it was only with him.

In conclusion it’s all Jack’s fault. The thought is enough to relax your agitated nerves.

With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the bed and head towards your suitcase. You already know what you’re going to wear, which is mainly due to you only packing one dress, but when it comes to weapons you’re not sure what to bring. Your fingers brush over the multiple knives and guns, stopping when it grazes upon the familiar texture of a lasso. You stare at it longingly, your heart swelling and stilling at the same time. It’s the lasso Jack gifted you on your birthday, you never use it but you still couldn’t keep yourself from packing it with you.

Your eyes sting when you blink, the sound of a shower running faintly echoing throughout the room as you move your hand to one of the guns instead. Breath hitching you desperately try not to think about the time Jack taught you how to use it.

When the two of you finally leave the lasso is left in your suitcase, hidden under the remainder of your clothes.

Red walls. Red couches. Red lights.

Loud, aggressive music.

The scent of smoke and booze mixes in the air, it sticks to your skin like mud. Heavy, unpleasant. You’re only a couple of steps in and you already hate the atmosphere. Jack is right behind you, his hand snug upon the small of your back as he pushes another couple out of the way. You feel like you’re in a jungle, Jack being the machete you wield and the people being the suffocating vegetation you’re chopping away.

Jack leads you further inside as if he’s been here before, the crowd thickens, the smell of sweat filling your nostrils. Being a Statesman agent means that you’re supposed to adapt to your surroundings, no matter where that might be. But the atmosphere proves to be a reminder of your own horrible mindset during the breakup, or rather the way you dealt with it. With every step you’re reminded of another aspect of those times. Empty bottles thrown haphazardly on top of your rug, the snuffed out blunts overflowing your ashtray at home, sweat sticking to your skin due to not showering in weeks– It all flashes in your mind and makes your stomach curl.

It doesn’t help that Jack presses his chest against yours, his fingers twitching as he succeeds to shield you from a rather large man drunkenly stomping towards you. Murmuring a thanks, you look up to him.

Your heart stops.

The red light makes him look demonic, it’s mesmerizing. Some part of your brain vaguely recalls someone telling you about Lucifer being god’s most beautiful angel. This must be what they were talking about. Shadows dance across his countenance, the red glow illuminating and giving an almost menacing look to his normally soothing eyes. His jawline looks sharper, every curve of his face more prominent thanks to the red light. As you stare, his gaze meets yours and you can’t help but flinch, goosebumps bursting across your skin.

He grins down at you, he looks something out of your nightmares, the crowd sucking out the air from your lungs as Jack consumes your very being. His presence menacing, yet dazzling enough to pull you towards him. A moth to a flame. That’s what you are. A moth.

“How about we sit over there,”

Jack shouts over the music and you blink. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, your sight a little bit clearer. You suck in a sharp breath, your eyes following where Jack gestured towards moments ago. It’s a corner booth, a mirror and a painting facing each other and tricking anyone into thinking there’s two of the same painting. You recognize the piece: the Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. A bit of an odd coincidence but you shrug it off and take a seat. Jack nestles right next to you, wrapping an arm around waist. He tugs you closer and for a moment you think he’s about to pull you on top of his lap. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. He’s really biting into the whole ‘boyfriend’ role.

There’s a half melted candle in the middle of the table, around the flame you can actually see colors other than red.

“So have you seen anyone resembling our target?” he asks, fingers playfully squeezing your hip.

“Yeah, like half of the club.” you sigh. “We don’t really have much to go on,”

“I guess we’ll have to go with a less subtle approach then,” Jack eyes one of the waitresses. “His name was Albert Dunn right?”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that tip him off?”

“At least we’ll get a good look at him when he’s scurrying about,”

It’s not the stupidest idea so you let him be, leaning into the comfort of the red velvet booth. While Jack talks to the waitress you zone out, examining the crowd and searching for anyone who might be the target. While your eyes go over the many drunk people of the club, you see a familiar face– Someone with a ball cap that does not go with the atmosphere, like not at all.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins.

The ground underneath you slips, the crowd becoming a tornado of blurry images as Frankie stands in the middle crystal clear.

You feel as if you can’t breathe. Chest going up and down in quick motions while you breathe in sharp, patchy breaths.

The waitress leaves and you’re absolutely clueless about what the two just talked about. Your sole focus is glued to the man looking uncomfortable within the crowd, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Jack murmurs something into your ear but you can’t hear him over your own loud heart beat. Even the delicate touch of his lips against your skin isn’t enough to snap you out of it. His eyes travel across the club, just as he sees the other man, your eyes lock with Frankie’s.

Now, there’s a ringing in your ears you can’t seem to get rid of.

Frankie’s eyes lit up upon seeing you, his uncomfortable stance shifting into a more confident one as a wide smile spreads across his face. He immediately heads to your direction and your heart sinks into your chest. Panic bubbles inside, you actually feel the fear surging through your veins.

“Who’s that, doll?”

You can barely register what Jack’s asking. You swallow.

“My…my ex from after we broke up, his name’s Frankie,”

“Frankie you say,” he repeats, his eyes scanning the other man’s figure with a devilish smile. “Well, you certainly have a type now, don’t you?”

Your eyes move away from Frankie and turn to Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You–You don’t see the resemblance?”

“No,” you sound almost offended. “He’s nothing like you, he’s actually a decent human being,”

“I meant appearance-wise, sugar,” he grunts, you quickly realize you must’ve struck a nerve. “Anyway, he seems eager to see you,”

You would be eager to see him too if you weren’t on a mission with Jack of all people.

Your relationship with Frankie was much less complicated compared to your relationship with Jack. If the situation back then had been different, if you hadn’t been struggling to keep the broken pieces of your heart together after Jack, everything might’ve been different with him. Frankie had witnessed the ugliness that lurked within your very being. He witnessed your heartbreak. He witnessed you drowning your sorrows in alcohol and weed. He tried to glue you back together, he really did. The memories of him picking you up from the floor and cooking just so you would have something warm to eat still lives vivid in your mind. When you started to work again Frankie questioned you about every bruise and cut, you couldn’t blame him– But you also couldn’t tell him the truth.

After Jack you thought nothing else could hurt so much, you felt invincible. But if the break up with Jack brought you to the verge of death, breaking up with Frankie nearly tipped you over.

To escape the turmoil and despair that caged your heart you buried yourself into your work, not having a care in the world of what might happen to you.

“Hey,”

You look up, a forced smile slowly spreading across your face as you fight back the urge to bawl your eyes out.

“Hey,” you answer, a slight tremble in your voice. “How are you Frankie?”

“I’m good, you?”

“Doing better,” this time when you smile it’s a sincere one. “What are you doing here? This place doesn’t exactly scream ‘this is a hangout place for Frankie Morales’,”

He chuckles as he scratches the back of his head, your lips curl upward at the familiarity of the sound. You’ve missed him–

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, buttercup?”

Both you and Frankie turn to Jack, Frankie’s eyes scan the other man with a hint of curiosity. You notice those same eyes traveling down to Jack’s arm that’s still tightly wrapped around your waist. Your face heats up as you attempt a proper introduction.

“Frankie this is Ja– Bruce. This is Bruce,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “He’s my–”

Jack cuts in, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Boyfriend,” he leans forward with an extended hand. With a kind yet emotionless smile Frankie squeezes the aforementioned limb. “Nice to meet you Frankie,”

“Nice to meet you too,”

The air is thick with tension. You move uncomfortably in your seat, the two men have their eyes locked against one another, both of them silently discerning and drawing conclusions. You’re not quite sure what to do, for a brief moment you part your lips to make a joke but quickly swallow it down. The skin surrounding Frankie’s jaw is taut, the veins on his neck meandering down and dipping under his flannel shirt. His pupils are dilated, lips parted as he continues to watch. When you look back at Jack you see that the man is smiling, his hand on your waist gradually sliding up your body while answering Frankie’s gaze.

You’re mortified when the same hand cups your breast and begins to knead it.

“Jack!” you hiss. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t fret, I’m just giving our friend a little show,”

Your eyes snap to meet Frankie’s but he’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the hand lazily squeezing your breast. Jack nuzzles the dip of your jawline, lips gently grazing the line of your neck, he breathes you in. Frankie swallows, his fingers twitching against the denim of his pants. Your breath hitches at the way his eyes darken, he wets his lips, the red light giving him a glow of intimidation. Jack’s other hand travels down to the wetness that’s gradually growing between your legs. Frankie’s eyes follow and your eyes roll back when Jack sneaks a hand under your dress, fingers brushing the seam of your underwear.

“Do you enjoy being watched, dear?” Jack purrs into your skin, his voice low and mocking. Then he looks up to Frankie who’s frozen still. “Look at you, staring at her like a deer in headlights. Don’t you wanna come over here and feel how wet she is?”

You notice Frankie’s body slightly leaning forward, more than ready to take that extra step, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes. Your skin tingles, all you want to do is to ask Frankie to come and do what Jack’s asking of him. Instead of using your words, however, you bat your eyelashes at him like a cartoon. Frankie furrows his brows and takes a step closer, your heart skips a beat.

“Are you sure?”

You’re about to nod– No, not about to, you’re in the midst of nodding, but the movement is cut short when you see the same waitress talking to a blond, conventionally attractive man. The blond looks at you, horror in his eyes and dashes through the door.

“Shit,”

Completely forgetting about the situation you’re in, you grab Jack by the arm and tug him along as you scurry up from the booth. Confused, Frankie takes a step back, you feel bad but you don’t have the time to explain. Jack glares at you and yanks his arm away.

“What the hell–”

“It’s him– Albert Dunn, the waitress tipped him off. Come on Jack we need to go,”

“Jack?”

God fucking dammit.

While Jack rushes to the door it allows you a moment of privacy with Frankie. When you face him his gaze is full of worry, he gently holds your wrists and pulls you close so you can hear him over the music. You’re aware the moment won’t last long but you appreciate the warmth of his skin.

“That was Jack? I thought–” he sighs and shakes his head. “You’re not in any kind of trouble right? You’re safe?”

You nod as you attempt to peel yourself away from his grasp, he doesn’t let you, fingers squeezing your wrists enough to be understood as a warning.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you avert your gaze, in the short amount of time you had chewed the inside of your cheek raw.

Anxiety continues to nibble at the walls of your stomach. His grip around your wrists loosens, despite the crowd it feels like it’s only the two of you present. The bass of the music makes your heart thud accordingly, your ears ring, mouth incredibly dry.

You know that you should diffuse the situation, act rude or do anything to steer him away from you as far as possible. Your heartbeat stops.

The awareness of the crowd returns so does your heartbeat, you don’t have time for this.

“I’ll call you,”

Before Frankie can answer you run and disappear into the crowd. Never once in your life did the presence of so many people make you feel so secure. It was a mistake saying that. You knew that as soon as the promise left your lips, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Forcefully pushing back all of the thoughts that circulate around Frankie, it’s been a while since Jack had disappeared through the club’s doors and he might be an excellent fighter but you were still worried about him.

You’re a mess. What the hell were you supposed to tell Frankie?

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