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#fr if anyone wants to like plot and write this

gasstationlady · 8 months

Text

GUTS | a lando norris social media au | pt. 2

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader, ex!drew starkey x reader

drew is still hung up on y/n, but the grid’s new it couple couldn’t care less.

notes: final part of guts!! thank you so much for all the love you guys showed the first part <3 and dw i have so many more smaus in the drafts! tried to write and add a bit more but i ran out of space :/ i hope the plot makes sense! i feel like bc i know how i wanted the story to go i can't rlly spot the plot holes as easily.

disclaimer: NOT PROOFREAD. let's pretend that jennifer lawrence "kym illman" picture is olivia lmfaooo. btw the events in “GUTS” sometimes does not line up with the schedule followed in real life. again, no hate to drew and, now also, to ppl on the today show aha. (CONGRATS LANDO FOR P2 AHHH)

masterlist ⋆ previously

yourusername

liked by landonorris, drewstarkey and 4,810,592 others

yourusername thanks for having me vmas!!!! <3

View all 22,504 comments

yourbestie STUNNING

user pls not drew liking her post when he doesn’t even follow her 😭😭😭

↳ user no he’s actually so painfully desperate lmaoo

↳ user i’m glad lando and y/n are just ignoring him

↳ user girl i’m not, i want the drama AHA

user love u more than anything

user lando liking and the two of them now following each other 🤔 yup him and y/n are forrr sure together

↳ user yea after the deuxmoi post and lando’s soft launch it’s basically confirmed at this point

↳ user i wonder if she’ll be attending the next gp bc i’d actually die and then come back to life if it happens

user you look BEYONDDDDD 😍😍

user are we fr just gonna ignore drew like..

thetodayshow

liked by landonorris and 67,298 others

thetodayshow It’s GUTS day! We loved having @/yourusername on the TODAY plaza. 🍒🎤🧡

We sat with Y/N to talk about her new album and recent scandals surrounding the topics of her work. “I just write songs; it’s not my job to interpret them for people.”

Tune in on our Youtube channel for extra clips of our interview with Y/N and her performances!

View all 342 comments

user SHE ATE THOSE PERFORMANCES. DEVOURED.

user some of those questions were a bit invasive

↳ user i was thinking the same thing, but y/n handled that rlly professionally

user omg how have her vocals gotten better 😭

user lmaoooooo i see you hiding in the likes lando

↳ user it’s so cute that he’s following her activities 🥹🥹

↳ user he’s probably here bc of what she said in the interview

↳ user wait i didn’t watch everything, what did she say??

↳ user so they asked how she felt about her exes being a popular topic on the internet, and so she said “I just write songs; it’s not my job to interpret them for people.” they also asked about drew and whether they’re going to get back together (which, may i add, felt a little rude to me) and y/n replied with “Those who I’m close with can reach me anytime. I tend to not focus on anyone else.”

↳ user thank you for summarizing!! doing god’s work fr 🫡

user y/n handled the situation perfectly

↳ user no bc the way she said not too much but enough to stand up for herself and her privacy

user AHAHAHAHA SHE RLLY SAID AINT NO WAY SHES GOING BACK TO DREW

ynupdates

41,086 likes

ynupdates Y/n seen arriving in Singapore!

View all 462 comments

user wait you’re lying??? actually? waaait 😭

user IS SHE GOING TO THE GP OMG PLS

user i mean i knew they were together but imagine a paddock appearance 😩😩 i don’t think we can handle it guys

user if she makes an appearance at the paddock with lando, i don’t understand why he didn’t just go as her date for the vmas too 😭😭

↳ user i doubt they wanted to hard launch at the vmas lol y/n was barely even in the audience, tbh i think she left early

↳ user y/n has said before that award shows make her rlly anxious, so yea she probably didn’t want too much attention on herself esp with all the drew drama

user did i miss something, i thought lando was still in ny? why didn’t they just travel together?

↳ user lando probs had to leave earlier bc practice started on friday, and y/n still had a few tv show performances which i’m assuming is why she arrived today instead

kymillman

51,159 likes

kymillman F1’S NEW FAVORITE COUPLE

The first driver to arrive this morning was Mclaren driver Lando Norris. For the first time he is joined with his new girlfriend, Y/N L/N, a famous Filipino-American pop singer.

For A3 prints, hand-signed & numbered by a range of drivers/team principals head to kymillman.com

View all 343 comments

user omg it’s happening it’s happening

user HEY SIRI PLAY THAT SHOULD BE ME BY JUSTIN BIEBER

user this pic should be put in the louvre that is how monumental it is

user THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT?? FROM KYM??😭😭

user first💔hard💔launch💔is💔a💔paddock💔appearance💔

user the hand holding 🥹🥹

user don’t know if i’m more jealous of lando or y/n

user damn god really out here choosing favorites

user they’re already becoming my comfort couple omg i can’t i love them so much

landonorris

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 1,135,226 others

landonorris Singapore 🥈

View all 3,229 comments

user so proud of you lando!!

user AHHHH y/n cameo

user god idk if i'm ever going to get used to seeing y/n with lando

user SHE LOOKS SO GOOD

user yay carlando podium !!! 🥹

— — —

8 months later

landonorris

liked by yourusername, yourbestie and 4,475,987 others

landonorris Happy one year, love ❤️

View all 24,395 comments

yourusername there's nothing i love more than those chips

↳ landonorris 😐

user they're the reason i believe in love

user damn i think this is about to be lando's most liked post lmaoo

user the fact that he calls her love 😭😭

user luckiest man alive i stg

user how does she always look so good

yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 6,788,335 others

yourusername cause i love to love, to love, to love you

View all 35,719 comments

landonorris that guy's pretty handsome

↳ yourusername very :)

yourbestie LOVE seeing you happy

user omggg i'm crying i can't believe its already been a year

user might sleep on the freeway today

user let the light in is such a cute song to dedicate to someone

user LOL not the third pic

user i love them so much 🥹

user if you ever break up, love isn't real

#f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 imagine #f1 social media au #lando norris au #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #singer!reader #lando norris instagram au

2K notes · View notes

beefboyandbabygirl · 10 months

Text

Pretend It's Someone That Came for You (18+)

pairing: coworker!wonwoo x fem!touch-starved!reader

genre: coworker au, office au, strangers to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), fluffy fluffy fluff fluff

description: you're lonely. you're so lonely you think it might actually kill you. but when wonwoo transfers to your office, he might just change that fact.

warnings: unprotected sex (do NOT pls my babes), soft dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, v loving sex, praise (f. receiving), confession of love, riding, fingering (f. receiving), pussy rubbing tihi, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, baby, darling, etc), VERY angsty beginning, yn is truly v sad so DO NOT READ THIS if u fear it will make u sad!!, they say i love u unrealistically fast but i had to do it, yn uses sex to feel less lonely/ends up feeling more lonely, relatable yn frs, slightly dramatized symptoms of touch-starvation (?), kinda boring plot but idc bc its CUTE AF

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "finally!!" (she was fed tf up), "stanley is the most stanley man ever. i hate him but i love him.", (more r coming she actually didnt have time 2 read this and i didnt want to wait with posting.)

wordcount: 10.0k

a/n: this story was supposed 2 have more angst, like it was supposed to have this whole misunderstanding, but it just didnt feel right, it made me sad, so instead this is a short n sweet love story xx

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

You weren’t always like this. You remember being a sociable, joyful child; half-broken bikes and teddy bears and booster seats. You remember pigtails and popsicle sticks and Power Rangers, and what came after that? Being a moody teenager, became being a moody adult. High school became college, and college became an office job that served to keep you alive, even if it didn’t feel like being alive. College wasn’t that bad, you remember, so at what point had you mistaken isolation for privilege? And at what point had you gone too far into that tunnel-hole to turn back?

You must’ve been cursed, you think, putting on your outfit for work in the deadly still apartment. Dust dares not move, dares not give you hope that you are not alone.

You must’ve been cursed, you think, coming into work to a string of half-hearted, mumbled greetings. Your office is off-white and black and gray and everyone inhabiting it is also off-white and black and gray, and their skin is faintly oily and sickly and their faces are dragging down as if the very earth was reclaiming them and you think that you fit in here better than anywhere else.

You must’ve been cursed, you think, when you spend your day writing emails and organizing documents of information into different formats to send to huge corporations. Sometimes you fantasize about the other end of the transaction. Maybe their office is warm and brown with an accent of blue, and maybe people put hands on each other's shoulders, when they tell one another they’ve done a good job.

Yes, there’s no other explanation, you think, and can’t even muster the energy to feel bad when you blame some old hag from your hometown. You think she must’ve conjured up the worst ingredients, something cartoonishly evil, and a spell befell you, sunk into the crevices of your skin and dug into your pores.

You lie on your couch with a glass of wine and the television going, but you’re not really listening. You don’t think anyone has touched you in six months. You’re not even sure you’re real anymore. You swear, you could live with no one hearing you out, because you’re not sure you’d have anything worthwhile to say, but you just needed someone to touch you. To reach out a hand and confirm, you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips, and I’m squeezing your shoulder, and I see you, and I feel you right here.

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

Lying physically very still, you still feel like you’re scrambling, fighting the clutch of the curse, and tugging on metal chains. Maybe that’s where all your energy goes.

What do normal people do when they feel this bad?

Sometimes you leave open the window, and when the wind tugs at your door, you pretend it’s someone that came for you.

Tug, tug, tug. The door rattles against its hinges when the fatally empty sky brings to you, in outstretched palms, the wind interlaced with glimmers of hope.

There’s never anyone at the door. _____________________________

This particular day starts like any other. You wake to your alarm and you put on clothes and you get ready and brush your teeth. Then you trample down to the bus stop. The sky is smothered by a duvet of heavy rain clouds. The rain hasn't come yet, but you know it will. Your fingers become stiff and hard, where they adhere to the polyester strap of your bag, massaging it. The bag is cold and dead.

The bus ride is by far the greatest part of your day. It’s quiet - early enough that you’re only accompanied by a few other souls. You rest your head on the window, vibrating gently against the curve of your forehead, and watch the people in the street.

The bus hums a gentle tune and snakes down the streets. Then you’re there, and whatever solace that it offers you under artificial light and mediocre, felted seats is gone.

Your office building is maybe the most depressing place on earth. It’s no glamorous feat of architecture. It is but a large, orange-y, puke-y, brick square, and the building is shared between yours and the Forester company. You don’t talk to the Foresters, but you know they eat cream cheese bagels on their breaks and throw birthday parties and once you saw the branch manager squeezing a salesman’s shoulder and telling him he had done a good job. His fingers squeezed down and the movement of the fabric revealed a shoulder pad built into the suit. You remember thinking it was a shame that it blocked the real touch.

Today, you walk up the stairs with heavy steps and you idle into the office building, eyes cast down to the dirty, gray carpet. You begin the long trek into the back of the building where your desk is located.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard.

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back.

“Morning.”

“M-”

Wait a minute.

Your greeting falls short. You don’t recognize that voice. Stopping in your tracks, your shoes scratch on the rough carpet, and lift your head to see him.

The first thing you notice is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He looks like he jumped out of an underwear commercial; he’s all strong jawline, sharp eyes, round glasses on his pretty nose, neatly trimmed, short dark hair stretching down the planes of his face. He’s wearing a button up (usually you wouldn’t even register the clothing your coworkers adorned, but something about how he wore it was noteworthy), a tie draping over the dress shirt, and formal slacks hugging his thighs.

He smiles at you sheepishly, hands nervously smoothing down his thighs.

“I’m Wonwoo” he says curtly, nodding to you. “Just transferred from the Wallingset branch.”

You nod. “Right. Wallingset,” you nod more. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you too, Y/n.”

Something about your name on his lips makes your heart flutter. It’s pathetic, you know, but his peregrine being in his office chair, spilling your name from his pink lips makes you feel a little more real. You look at him and then you nod again-again, kicking your legs into gear again and walking the last stretch to your desk.

You can see the back of his head from your orange-wood desk. Papers and sticky notes are scattered among the desktop. The monitor watches you accusingly, all big and square and black, waiting for you to open it up and begin working. Your eyes linger on him for a moment. Then you work.

A few hours pass on emails and translating information from a company into a comprehensive sheet. However, today you’re having a hard time focusing on work.

This is not new.

Sometimes you briefly talk to a man at the grocery store, and your mind will wander to him for next week, wondering if he’s thinking about you too, imagining yourself cuddling with him, watching movies, imagining him telling you it’ll all be okay. Sometimes you briefly talk to a man on the street, sometimes it’s even a date, but whatever the case you obsess and you dream and you always end up alone.

Today the victim of your depraved mind is Wonwoo. The guilt is easy to push away. You feel sorry for yourself. You think you deserve this. You think you can’t survive without this. And so you imagine him hugging you, stroking your hair, and you imagine him falling in love with you, and you imagine not being alone. Your fingers rest on your keyboard. It’s old and mechanical. You think it’s from a yard sale, probably an old woman whose children moved away. It’s plastic, and it curves inwards underneath the pads of your fingertips. The keys are cold and dead.

You fully zone out, eyes blearing into the back of his head, but you don’t really see it, your mind has traveled elsewhere. You guiltily imagine his hand between your legs, on your chest, straddling him, kissing him. And it’s not rough, it’s loving, because in this world he loves you, and he’d do anything for you, and you don’t have to be alone again.

You don’t love Wonwoo. It’s not some magical love at first sight, it’s not a romance book, it’s real life. You’re lonely. You need this to survive.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You snap your head up. Maybe you were still daydreaming. But you recognized the voice well and true, and it was Wonwoo, leaned over your desk, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, uhm, hey-” your voice is shaky and you quickly rush to compose yourself, hands moving frantically and uselessly to glide papers over one another and, then, realizing that there was no point to your movements, stilling and looking up at him, cheeks flushed. “Hey.”

Wonwoo smiles gently. “Uh, you know, I was wondering,” he looks around the office, as if surveying the area. “If you knew where to get a good lunch? I don’t know this area at all, so..”

He trails off, looking at you expectantly for an answer. Now that he’s standing before you, it’s much harder to ignore the guilt you feel. You wanna gnaw at your nails until they’re nubs, you want to crawl under your desk and cover your eyes. Does he see how red your cheeks are?

“Uhm- well- I don’t- I eat a packed lunch, so I’m-”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, no expert,” you giggle awkwardly and watch his gentle smile drop into pursed lips. “But! Uh- I hear the- the hot dog stand, uh, just a little down the street is good!”

“Really? Maybe I should try it,” he contemplates, smile returning to his lips. “Would you mind showing me this mysterious hot dog stand?”

“Uh-”

Just seconds before you were thinking of his fingers in your pussy, and his hands caressing you, and him making you feel loved. He’s standing before you and he’s a totally normal guy, and you feel like shit. You feel like shit for using this fake image of him to comfort yourself. You can’t be around him, can’t convince yourself that maybe this’ll turn into something more - not when you always end up alone. Your brows furrow in determination.

“Actually, I have to, uh, get this done, so-” you gesture vaguely to your monitor.

“Right! Yeah,” Wonwoo seems embarrassed, biting his lips and nodding. “It’s, uh, just down the street?”

“Yeah, to the right when you walk out the building.”

“For sure. Thanks,” he doesn’t even look at you then, just waves you off half-heartedly and starts trailing down the office. His shoulders are incredibly broad and his belt wraps tightly around his small waist.

You feel like shit. _____________________________

Why is no one else cursed?

You look out of the window, lying on your bed after work. Everything is very still and unmoving - your whole apartment feels like it’s knotted in strings, tightened until everything is snapped into place, and if you move the wrong muscles, the invisible hands will let go and everything will fly and hurdle through your home, and you can almost hear the sound, like the hard, empty sound of throwing a bowling ball and getting a strike.

No one else is cursed. People crowd the streets with friends, family, partners, and they’re talking and laughing. You rest your head in the windowsill, a lone spectator in the window. The glass cuts you off from the streets.

The afternoon after daydreaming the way you did about Wonwoo is always hard. Your apartment seems intent on suffocating you. Your daydreams serve as a reminder that you’re alone, that you truly have no one, and the act itself is so humiliating, you sulk into a glass of red wine and sometimes you cry. What do normal people do when they feel this bad, you wonder again, sobbing in your bed and spilling wine on your nightie.

Nighttime falls early while you’re crying. You weep on and off, hug your knees, eat a microwave dinner and watch TV, light casting onto your pathetic form on the couch.

And in your most vulnerable state is when you most easily slip into your old habits.

You press an old contact in your phone, one you’d tried to steer away from recently. You wipe mascara from your reddened cheeks, you wear pretty lingerie, and you lie, completely empty, void of any warmth, on your bed, awaiting.

It’s the first time he touches you in months. When his hand finds your shoulder, you shudder terribly. Sorry, he says, and he seems taken aback. Just ignore it, you plead, just ignore it. He does so, unsurely, and every time his hand grazes over your body you shudder and sob and every time he hesitates, asking if you’re okay, you cry at him to continue.

It feels good while it’s happening. Skin beneath your fingertips, hands on you, a face close to yours. You and him are the only thing moving in the apartment, synergizing on your bed, conjoining and writhing, and for just a moment, you don’t feel so alone.

When you’re done the anonymous man stands back up, sliding on his pants in the late hour. He says it was great and you hum. But then he looks around, hesitating on every old piece of furniture, on every photo on the walls, and lastly on you.

“What?” you ask, lying naked in your bed. He grimaces at you, as if signaling that he can’t quite figure it out himself.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, hands on his newly-clothed hips and surveying the corners of the room, where shadows pool. “It feels haunted in here.”

He leaves.

When the warmth is gone, the bile rises in your throat. Old habits die hard, you think, and you feel totally empty. You couldn’t go on like this. It was nights like these you began to feel like a martyr - sacrificing yourself for a brief escape. Because when the door is closed with a click and you’re alone again, you feel yourself trembling and your heart is glowing red in the empty astral plane. Brief, easy forms of pleasure are often the most harmful.

It feels haunted in here. You remember his words, and before you finally fall asleep, you wonder one thing. You wonder if you’re already dead. _____________________________

The next day is a pain to overcome. You’re slightly hungover, slightly sore, and very uncomfortable. But you comply with your routine, and you enjoy the bus ride, and when you get to the office everyone greets you.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard.

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” Wonwoo says. You look up from the carpet carefully, flashing him an apologetic smile. You hope he can read its intention: Sorry about being weird yesterday. You think he got it.

“Morning, Wonwoo.”

And then you’re landing yourself at your own desk and beginning work once more. It’s boring, but today you ward off the daydreams and you focus, and you’re getting an exceptional amount done.

The clock on the wall (off-white, but yellowing near the top) reads 12:28 when your boss, Stan, approaches your table. He’s half bald, and his suit is much too loose, and he has a ladder of wrinkles climbing his larger-than-life forehead.

“Hey, N/n!” he calls, so loud that a couple of heads turn at the commotion. You’ve asked him several times not to call you that.

“Stanley,” you breathe, tapping a stack of papers on your desk to neaten the pile. You wonder if you were in trouble, but if his smile is anything to go by, you’d guess not.

“My favorite woman in accounting!”

“Hehe,” you laugh half-heartedly. You catch the eye of Wonwoo, glancing over his shoulder with a small, teasing smile. You smile back.

“I have a big- oh wait, wait, new guy, uhh, Jeon? Come over here real quick!” Suddenly his solid fingers waft the now scared Wonwoo over. The spectacled man’s shoulders hunch up as he moves off the chair, nodding respectfully. Wonwoo stands beside Stanley at your desk, and you focus your attention on Stanley, hoping to not get too lost in the idea of Wonwoo again - you were doing so good today.

“I have a big job for you, and I thought you could work with Wonwoo on it,” Stan moves his hand up to cup the side of his mouth, as if telling you a big secret, “seeing as he was a bit of a star over in Wallingset.”

Shit. The guy you were daydreaming about was working with you? Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed, but you hardly have time to catch it. You can’t do this. Yesterday you were thinking about him fingering you while looking at you lovingly!

“We have a massive, new client! Just dropped a big competitor of ours, and they want us to do their six month report!” Stanley seems genuinely excited about this, so you can’t help feeling a little guilty that you’ll be a gobbering, slobbering mess, sitting beside Wonwoo on this.

“That’s great-”

“I know! So, my two star members in accountancy, I’ll hand this off to you. The data should be coming into your emails soon,” without letting either of you react, Stanley hunches over, like a coach does before a little-league baseball game, wrapping his arms around both of you and Wonwoo. “You got this, troopers!”

Stanley claps his hands on both of your backs, so hard you jerk forward at the movement, and then he bounces off to the elevator at the far end of the room. You sigh heavily from the interaction. It’s quiet for a moment, while you fiddle with the papers in front of you.

“What a guy,” Wonwoo muses finally, thin fingers resting on the edge of your desk. You giggle, unable to look him in the eye for fear that you might remember how you’d thought about starting a family with him. “Yeah.”

You and Wonwoo settle into an unoccupied meeting room, and it’s all very professional. Markers and post-its, trying to find the best way to structure the report, excel sheets to categorize and overlook data, double check numbers.

However bad you think it’s going to be, you’re wrong. Wonwoo is easy to talk to - he’s quiet, but he’s intelligent, and he understands how to bring on conversation, even when you fold in on yourself like a used napkin.

“Yeah, we used to steal signs from our neighborhood,” Wonwoo admits halfway into a conversation about your hometowns. “I don’t think that’s gonna fly anymore.”

“Why stop now? You’re letting societal rules hold you back,” you joke, and the two of you laugh, and it’s so pathetic, you’re certain you haven’t laughed this much in years, and the conversation has lasted maybe 20 minutes.

“Well, I could show you the craft, you know, it’s a delicate process-”

While Wonwoo talks your phone buzzes and you absent-mindedly pick it up, reviewing the notification.

Your grin drops. Faintly, you hear Wonwoo stop talking. He tilts his head to study the way you frown at the screen. “What’s up?” he asks.

It’s the guy from last night and he’s asking if you’ll be available again tonight.

Maybe it’s how you could almost forget it - how you let yourself into positions that would hurt you, just to feel seen and heard and touched. Maybe it’s the dichotomy of that encounter and now, talking to Wonwoo, and having the laughter steal away the loneliness. But you’re reminded so terribly of your position. You’re reminded that this, too, will end, and that the loneliness will return. You’re reminded that once the shift ends, you’re alone again.

Suddenly you’re a thousand daggers all pointing out. You shield yourself.

“Uh,” you trail off, putting the phone down again. “Just some guy.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise. “Boyfriend?”

“No!” you say quickly. “No, he’s, uh. Just some guy.”

A pause.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. You don’t even remember where you left off the conversation. You bite your lip because everything is all agony. The table is cold and dead beneath your hand.

“I’m thinking we group these together,” you say, eyes now tuned to your screen and fully submerged back into your work. Work. That was all that could cover your beaten down, cursed self.

The rest of the shift you feel Wonwoo looking at you carefully, as if he’s trying to read you. You don’t talk about yourselves anymore, no more banter, no more witty comments. You structure the report, and try to ignore how his eyes laser you open. You don’t like it. You feel like he can tell you’re a pathetic, lonely woman and that you have nothing and no one. You feel like he can sense the curse upon you.

This would be torture. _____________________________

It is not torture.

The next day, to your surprise, Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen. You wait 5, 10, then 15 minutes in the meeting room you’d camped in, before you begin working on your own. It’s slower without him, but you manage.

You can’t help but slightly worry about him. It feels stupid. You know you’re putting too much emotion into a person you’d known for two days, but you can’t help it. You wonder if he’s gotten hurt or injured, or if maybe he hates you and has transferred back. You think even Excel finds you pathetic.

You sit there for three hours, among the ruins of paperwork and your open laptop, running your hand through your hair and typing in sentences that mean nothing, and the wallpaper is off-white and yellowing at the top, and the blinds are closed to the meeting room.

Around 1 PM the door to the meeting room is opened, wood smacking against the glass that surrounds it, and Wonwoo stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath. You snap your head up to him, like the jerk of a lifeless doll, suddenly interrupted from a very disorganized Excel sheet.

“Hi, shit, sorry,” he gasps, slinging his bag off of his shoulder to sit down next to you.

“Are you okay?” you ask immediately, and Wonwoo nods blindly, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Yeah,” he says, cheeks slightly flushed and licking his lips. “My cat- my cat needed surgery, she got sick last night, it was an emergency.”

You nod in understanding, “it’s okay-”

You can hardly get the words out before Wonwoo rolls his chair back, wheels resounding hollowly on the floor, so he can look at you clearly. “I’m really sorry about this, it was not nice of me to leave you alone with this.” He gestures vaguely to the scattered papers, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, Wonwoo, I get it,” you say reassuringly, peering up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re here now.”

Wonwoo seems less intent on personal conversations today - it’s probably because he was so late, and now is trying to make up the time. But it’s okay, in fact you’re somewhat relieved, because it dampens the false hope that blooms in your chest, whenever he asks you about your life.

Even if you and Wonwoo work hard and quietly, you slip into the late hours of the night in an attempt to keep on track for your schedule. Outside the windows that separate you from real life, the sky turns orange, and then dark, muted blue, and stars begin dotting its impressive stretches. People begin to leave around five, and by the time you and Wonwoo finish all your work, you’re the last ones left on your floor of the office.

Wonwoo lets out a loud sigh when he finally finishes the second segment of your report, and the both of you slump back in your seats.

“It’s so fucking late,” Wonwoo limply throws his hand in the direction of the window. You smile a little, looking out. Smaller buildings spawn geometrically from the ground, and every once in a while someone walks by with their dog, spotlighted by the stretch of street lamps that stand outside the parking lot. “I really am sorry about this, you know. Really ruined your night,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I had nothing to come home to anyway.”

There’s a pause.

Wonwoo looks at you intensely. Oh shit, you realize, was that too obvious? Was that too pathetic? Has it just clicked that you’re a loser that no one wants? You nervously look back at him, but there’s no malice in his eyes. A totally unreadable expression adorns his features, where he’s leaned back in his leather chair, legs spread invitingly. You look away, feeling dumb.

“At least we followed our schedule!” you say. Wonwoo snorts.

“Yeah, thanks to you. If you hadn’t completed so much before I got here, it would’ve been hopeless.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff, blushing lightly and looking at the linoleum flooring. “I don’t know about tha-”

“Seriously, Y/n, just take the compliment,” Wonwoo reaches a hand over, and you watch its movement.

It’s like time slows down, not like the movies, no, like you can stop time with the heavy weight of your gaze, pinning his muscles in place. But you can’t, and it lands on your shoulder with a soft thud. Fuck. His hand is warm and alive on you.

“You did so well today, I-” Wonwoo cuts himself off, because suddenly you’re trembling.

He feels your body shuddering and jerking under his hand, like the wind rattles your door when you leave it open, and he can’t see your face behind a curtain of hair, but he hears you gasp, and, fuck, you look like you’re sobbing.

The man from last night had become so hesitant when you reacted this way. When your body trembled and shook and when you cried, but Wonwoo seems to understand. He peers at you from above the rims of his glasses, and his hand stays put right there on your shoulder.

“Y/n,” he whispers, so sincere it causes a pathetic squeak to escape you. What must he think of you? The thoughts spiral and you can’t control a single one of them, they dance like freed souls in your head, and you can’t stop the spasming of your muscles, and you know you look so pathetic beside him right. “Y/n, look at me.”

You don’t. You can’t. You can’t because there are tears spilling from the rims of your eyes, and rolling down your cheeks, wet and glossy. Besides, you’re an ugly crier.

“Look at me,” he says seriously, finger tightening on your shoulder. You try to steady your breath and calm your tears, before you obey and begin to turn your chair. The simple motion requires so much effort - it’s like the air has become so thick, that the friction against your leather seat slows you down.

Finally you turn to him, eyes first resting on his knees, then, carefully, traveling up to his face. He’s frowning.

Your face is reddened and your eyes are puffy, your cheeks are shiny and you chew your bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay.

Wonwoo looks genuinely devastated. The hand on your shoulder softens its grasp, then begins petting your arm, rubbing up and down. The action has you choking out gasps, trembling even more in his hold, and Wonwoo feels the need to roll his chair closer to you, so his other hand can grab yours. His thumb rubs over the back of it, and he lowers his head to look at you.

“Shh, relax, relax, Y/n,” he whispers, and you try to nod, but it’s so overwhelming; being touched, being seen, being heard, all at once. For months, maybe years, no one has touched you like this - as if they care. Now the feeling is foreign, so scorching hot on your arm and your hand, your body can’t take it anymore. You’re stuck between wanting to lean into his hands, wanting to feel how real you are, and how physically true your existence is, and wanting to shy away. What must he think of you?

“Y/n,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the sigh of your sobbing. “When was the last time someone touched you?”

You hiccup painfully. “Uhm- I- I don’t, ” your eyes are bleary and your lashes are wet. Your lip trembles and your whole body shakes when you try to breathe.

Apparently this was enough of an answer for Wonwoo, because he suddenly stands, somewhat harshly tugging you into a standing position too, and pulls you directly into the harbor of his arms.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his torso. His chest is pressed flat against yours, so, so warm, when he nudges your head into the crook of his neck, and presses his face against its side, sighing softly into you, and breathing warm air onto your hair. His palms push you into him, soothing your trembling body, and holding you like an anker. One hand travels up to your hair.

“W-Wonwoo, you don’t have to-”

“Shh,” he quiets you immediately, voice the softest wind of a peach tree. “Just let me take care of you.”

You do. Wonwoo holds you until you stop crying, and though it must’ve been twenty minutes or so, it feels like no time at all. Standing in his space, breathing in his dark cologne, and letting his heat thaw your dead heart is a totally timeless act. Joy and serenity flows from the places where your bodies touch. When you stop crying, Wonwoo holds you for longer.

Eventually, he lets you go.

You step back sheepishly, now much calmer and the red in your face faded. You wipe your tired eyes shyly with your sleeve.

“Thank you, Wonwoo,” you mumble, voice thick and garbled. When you look up at him, he smiles softly, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly, arm extending one last time to squeeze your forearm. Then it falls limp again.

“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course.”

When you return home, you’re buzzing. Your entire apartment buzzes along with you, things seem to clatter and beam along with the bright, glowing of your heart. You snuggle into bed and nothing is still and even when you’re drifting into sleep, your nerve endings spin in joyful circles, and your feet are a static hum. Suddenly you are very, very real. _____________________________

You’d think the next day would be tense and awkward, and maybe it is at first, but soon enough you’re talking again, more intimately than before even.

This is Wonwoo’s doing - you know this. You know he’s smart and you know he doesn’t want you to feel bad, so he makes conversation and builds trust between the two of you. You know he hopes you don’t feel insecure. Every word he says and every flick of his eyes is riddled with it.

The conversation decidedly slows down your progress, so Wonwoo once more suggests staying overtime. You look at him for a moment before agreeing.

You can’t tell what his end goal is. A chamber of your heart has been revived and rebirthed, and you’re more chipper, more bouncy, but the rest of your heart insists: you’re still cursed - eventually it’ll go back to how it should be. You listen. You try not to get your hopes up that Wonwoo really cares about you. Why should he, really?

Although when you’re done for the day, about an hour after your usual 5 PM, you stand up and begin to pack your things, laptop sliding into your bag and clustering pens in your hand. It’s gray outside, but the sun comes in a single strand through a gap in the smog and the clouds. The wind hoots by the windows, and it smells like the indian you ordered for lunch together.

You stop your packing, feeling a set of eyes in your back. You twist your head to see him.

Wonwoo is sitting completely still in his chair, slack-covered legs spread open, and he makes no move to collect his own things. He just stares.

“What’s up?” you quip. You’re slightly nervous. Just before it was all silly childhood stories, college and weed and life before the dead-end job. Now Wonwoo has that unreadable expression on his face again.

He slowly lifts his hands from the armrest, eyes locked with yours, and claps his palms on the tops of his thighs.

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Wha-”

“Come here,” he says simply. When you stand completely still, like a deer in the headlights, Wonwoo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What? You think you’re cured because someone hugged you once?”

“Cured?”

“You’re touch-starved, Y/n,” Wonwoo states matter-of-factly, “you need to be touched.”

“Touch-starved?” you echo, a bewildered expression on your face.

“We can also just hug, like yesterday,” he suggests calmly. You envy his collectedness. “I just don’t want you to feel bad. So please. Come sit.”

To emphasize, Wonwoo pats his thighs again, patiently. You step away from your bag with hesitating steps, pursing your lips. Your cheeks blaze when you look at his thighs again - they’re so long, and the folds in his slacks stretch down and centralize on his crotch and- You’re being a pervert.

“Okay,” you squeak and Wonwoo tuts. Why is that hot, you think, why the hell is that hot?

“We can just hug if you-”

You feel bold.

Without letting him finish, you swing your leg over his, and plop down, straddling halfway down his thighs. You thank God you put pants on this morning instead of a skirt, when you look down at where you rest on top of him.

Wonwoo is a little taken aback, but when you’ve settled on him, his hands find your waist and he looks up at you with a hum. Your breathing is a little shaky. Once again his hands provide a pumping of golden joy into your body, and more of you comes alive and becomes real, and you smile.

What had Wonwoo been talking about? Touch-starved?

“What’s, um-” your question is cut off with a gasp, when Wonwoo uses his hands on your middle to tug you closer. You rest on the highest point of thighs that you can without sitting on his dick. Cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut, you hear how Wonwoo hums, pleased. “What were you talking about? Touch-starved?” you whisper, keeping your eyes shut.

Wonwoo sighs, and once more, like the movement is entirely replayed, his hand finds your hair and pushes your face into the crook of his neck. You sigh against it, enjoying how his arms protect you and hide you from the evil of the world.

“If you don’t touch anyone,” Wonwoo begins, his voice low bass in your ear, “you become touch-starved. That’s why you reacted the way you did yesterday.”

His hands run up and down your sides.

“But- but I’m not crying today,” you say quietly into his neck. Wonwoo hums.

“No, that’s good,” he says. “We can stop if you really want, I just wa-”

“No!” your voice squeaks immediately, and, as if he were running from you, you fist his shirt to keep him close.

“Okay,” there’s a smile in Wonwoo’s voice. You can’t see it but you can imagine it.

Comfortable silence. Wonwoo traces patterns on your back and you breathe deeply against the skin of his neck. The two of you function as one living thing, the only living thing left in the office. Chairs are turned halfway, a couple lights are left on. The desks betray the past presence of humans.

“Wonwoo,” you pip.

“Mhm?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t want you to do it if you- if it’s just.. Pity.”

Wonwoo sighs, and you feel the way his torso deflates underneath you. He trails his hand up from your back to tap your cheek. You move back and look at him.

Your faces are very close, you can feel how your exhales collide and then scatter, hell, you think you could count each of his eyelashes from here.

“I already told you. I’m doing this because I don’t want you to feel bad. I-” he hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips. “I’ve been there. So I know what it’s like.”

The thought of Wonwoo feeling like this, like you, is sickening. Genuinely sickening, you feel your insides turn to rot and mold and you frown so deeply, you think your lips might forever lock in that position.

“I’m okay now,” he reassures, reading you immediately. His hand finds your cheek and he almost cries out at the way you lean into it blindly.

“How did you-.. I- I always thought it was, like, a lifelong curse,” you say.

“A curse?” Wonwoo grins, thumb stroking over the skin of your cheek. It makes you happy, it makes you feel like your heart will burst.

“Yeah. I guess I just blamed some old woman from my hometown,” you giggle, blushing a little because, yes, it did sound stupid when you weren’t just echoing the theory to yourself, like playing a team sport alone.

“You’re not cursed,” Wonwoo promises, tucking your head into his chest. “I’ll help you, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you from now on.”

He does take care of you.

Every day you work overtime, and every day when you’re done with work, Wonwoo slides you into his lap and holds you, while you curl up in his chest. Then you talk and you laugh, and you listen to each other's music. His hands run warm up your back and in your hair and on your hips, gentle caresses, deeply intimate. For two weeks you and Wonwoo indulge in this nighttime ritual.

You have not felt lonely since that night. And Wonwoo can tell. Your skin is warmer and brighter, you smile wider, your eyes twinkle, and there’s energy in every movement. Your body thaws under his warm hands every night, and sometimes when you smile, he gets so happy he could kiss you.

You realize you like Wonwoo one particular night when you’re falling asleep in your bed and you can still feel the ghost of his arms around you and it lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when you wake up you smell a little bit like his cologne. That’s how you realize. You like how considerate and how gentle he is, you like how sweet he is to you, you like how he looks when he smiles and when he laughs and you like how much he loves his cat. You like how his arms feel wrapped around you.

And you like him, and suddenly your apartment is a song that you dance in, and every photo on your walls is smiling and your bed is always warm and so is your heart.

There’s nothing dead in here, you think, when you cook a delicious meal on the stovetop, sauce bubbling in a stainless steel pan. Nothing haunted about your home or your heart. _____________________________

“We’re almost done.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe we’re almost done!”

Wonwoo looks up, bemused, lips made small and pointed. You’re staring at the almost-done document, scrolling up and down through long and arduous paragraphs. It’s nighttime again - not that you had to stay late today, it was a choice - and the city glimmers brilliantly in the coolness. You and Wonwoo wear sweaters to keep warm.

“Feels like a lifetime,” Wonwoo murmurs, same smile upon his beautiful face. His cheekbones point out from beneath his skin.

“Yeah,” you breathe, leaning back. You won’t put your fingers back on the keyboard. Not when it could be done so soon. You look at him, all snuggled up in a brown sweater. “What if..”

A pause. He tilts his head.

“Well, are we still gonna talk?” you chew your lip dejectedly, feeling a little sad and desperate, but Wonwoo only laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, it’s one you associate with joy.

“Of course,” he says, as his laughter quiets down. “If you want to.”

A shy smile forms on your lips. You turn to look back at the computer, but you hear the now-familiar sound of Wonwoo patting his thighs. You flit your eyes back to him, teasingly scolding.

“We’re not done.”

“We don’t have to be done now,” he shrugs, an equally teasing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, but, unsurprisingly, you shift over to him, sitting down in his lap. He immediately tugs you closer, fingers searching for stimulation on the seams of your jeans. There’s something different about Wonwoo today, you realize, his touch is more feverish, his fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips and he looks up at you like you’re a diamond-encrusted chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, all glittering jewels.

“What’s up?” you giggle nervously. It’s becoming hard to breathe with the way he paws at your hips.

There’s something in the air between you, but maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, concocting the magnetic pull that lingers between you, the thicker, heavier air, that urges you closer.

He sighs heavily, as if he was dreading this. All of a sudden composed, cool, icy Wonwoo is chewing his lip and avoiding your eyes, looking instead down where your fat gives way for his needy fingers.

“I, uh, I really like you, Y/n,” his voice shakes. “Would you. Maybe. Want to go out some time?”

At the last syllable his gaze locks on to yours, and you watch him visibly relax, because you’re fucking grinning.

Not maliciously, not crudely, not a dime or a dab of evil, only genuine joy.

“I-I would like that,” you control your smile, pointing your lips in the same way that Wonwoo does and blushing all over. Wonwoo grins too and it’s unbearably boyish.

“Okay,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “Okay. Great.”

The window slams shut, the spell is undone by his hand, the dead defy their only law to bow to his necromancy. Wonwoo is alive and warm underneath you, and you are alive and warm on top of him, thighs pushed up against his and tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Your balloon of heart pops in your chest, and the bone-cage of your chest is filled with helium, that has you floating. Rosy and shiny, your heart beats at twice its normal speed.

There’s a lull in the conversation. It would’ve been a more comfortable silence, if you couldn’t see by how Wonwoo looks down and purses his lips, that he’s itching to say more.

Sparked by his confession, you confidently snake your hand up to tap his cheek lazily. He turns to you with a loafy smile. “What is it?”

He breathes out unsteadily.

“You’re-” he closes his eyes. “There’s so much I like about you. It- It makes me feel really bad that you weren’t feeling well, so I-”

He cringes at himself, one hand pushing away his glasses to rub the eyes underneath them.

“Can I make you feel better?” he asks vaguely.

You huff out a laugh. “Are you trying to ask if I want to have sex?”

He laughs too, behind his big hand. “No. It’s not the same, I want it to be about you!”

You laugh more, and Wonwoo’s face reappears as he lowers his hand. He looks up at you adoringly, dotingly. He’s smiling.

“I’m being serious,” he says quietly, when you finish. He seems less embarrassed now, more so smug. “I want to make you feel good.”

He’s paying an awful lot of attention to your hips, which he has not let up massaging and squeezing roughly.

“Can I..?” he begins, eyes fixed on your hips in his lap. “Can I make you cum?”

Then, slowly, Wonwoo lifts his hands and gently places them around on your face. His touch is always as soft as a hope-laced wind. He’s warm and he’s alive and he’s holding onto you, and you see it in his eyes: you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips.

“Please.”

That’s all he needs, before he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is everything you want it to be; because it’s loving. It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s gentle, there’s no tongue, just the soft, warm, real, alive flows of his lips against your own. His hands on both of your cheeks caress your cheekbones gently, and warm air is spilled in the small space between you. He pulls away, panting.

“I don’t understand it,” he mumbles, before he’s pressing his lips back to yours hungrily. You let out a confused hum, and you have to gently push at his shoulder to back him off again. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“Why you were so alone,” he breathes, transfixed on your lips. “I want to be with you all the time.”

Before you can respond, Wonwoo grips the underside of your thighs, lifting you and himself from the chair and placing you on the desk. You gasp at the impact when the glass table meets your bottom, and Wonwoo is standing over you, suddenly so tall and so broad, and slimming at the waist. His narrow eyes become hooded behind the reflection of his glasses. His head is tilted down to meet yours.

“Can I take off your clothes, pretty?”

You don’t answer, only grip the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head, so your bra-clad chest is exposed to him. He groans at the sight.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, nimble fingers dancing across your back to unclip the bra, sucking in a harsh breath the fabric becomes loose, sliding down your arms. “Such a pretty girl.”

“Stop,” you whisper, face warm and red. Your heart has never beat this way. It’s utterly unbearable and addicting at the same time, it’s without rhythm or class, it’s wild. And it’s because he’s looking at you and it’s not just lust. It’s adoration. There are deeper strings to the make-up of his eyes, there are lines connected to his heart, and he’s all flushed.

“What?” he asks. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

Wonwoo throws your bra on the floor next to him, hands finding the hem of your pants. “Can I take your pants off?”

You nod, still so shy and abashed, because Wonwoo’s eyes feel like a pink spotlight, and you are bathed in its warmth. He unbuttons your pants and you gently slide off the table to work them off your legs.

“Your panties are cute,” Wonwoo remarks (it should feel lewd, but he has a hand on your hip, that brushes the bone and he smiles at it). “Thank you,” you breathe, before you’re taking them off too.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to, but he still insists on gently lifting you back onto the table, and he kisses your nose when you’re sitting before him. He’s standing in between your legs, and then he’s looking down at where wetness drips onto the glass table.

His hand slides down your stomach, resting on the fat of it. He’s smiling, he’s so gorgeous, because he’s smiling the most gentle smile at how wet you are and how it leaks onto the table and his hand is so warm on your stomach, doing nothing, yet turning you on even more than you’d ever been before.

He sighs like he’s carrying the greatest burden on his broad back. “You’re so pretty,” he says, almost exasperated by it. He pinches some of the fat of your stomach between his fingers lovingly. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

Then the hand on your stomach slides down further. His large, veiny hand cups your pussy, the tips of his fingers just barely teasing your hole. You whimper against him, hands finding his biceps for support. Wonwoo studies you, craning his neck down to peer at your face, while his fingers begin swaddling your folds.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he mumbles, trying to catch your eye where you bury into his chest. One finger dips into your hole, penetrating slowly and settling knuckle-deep.

“Wonnie!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Mmm, clenching down on Wonnie’s finger so hard. My beautiful girl.”

He begins pushing his finger in and out of you, pace slow and torturous. His other hand slides up and down your body, squeezing your waist then your thigh, then coming right back up to fondle your chest. He pushes your back flat against the glass, so you’re all splayed out for him and you watch him from there, eyes hooded and legs spread to accommodate him. He breathes in shakily at the sight of you.

“Shit, Y/n. What were you doing hiding all this from me?” His finger picks up the pace, as another finger slips in alongside it. You’re moaning and panting, lips red and hair mussed, unable to focus on his words, when his fingers curl against that spongy spot inside you. Apparently Wonwoo expects an answer though, because he speaks again, voice lower and rougher. “Hm? You didn’t want to go have lunch? What, was it that guy?”

“W-What?”

“Just some guy,” Wonwoo echoes your past words, emphasizing with a harsh thrust of his fingers.

“N-No, I- Hng!” you cry out, when Wonwoo’s thumb presses onto your clit. He rubs it torturously. “I-I was embarrassed because I- I was thinking about you!”

“Oh?” this catches Wonwoo’s attention, as he diligently works his hand within you, staring down at your naked form, fully clothed and tall. “Tell me what you were thinking about, baby.”

“This!” you cry out, too high off the pleasure to really feel embarrassed about it.

“Pretty, sweet, dumb baby. You were thinking about you whimpering and writhing while I fuck you with my hand, hm?”

“N-No,” you mumble, cheeks aflame. “W-Was thinking about you l-liking me.”

At this Wonwoo hastily leans over you, pressing his lips onto yours again, and this time his tongue pries open your mouth, wet and warm in the cavern of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, hips canting into his hand. There’s something so desperate about him then, something so eager in the way he crooks his fingers, and how he kisses you, panting and covering your face in warm air. You feel a tight knot in your stomach.

“Cum on my fingers, please, pretty, sweet, baby, darling,” he mumbles into your mouth, rushing out the words before he’s sealing your lips again.

“God, I think I might fall in love with you.”

That makes you cum. You cum so fucking hard, clenching around his fingers like an air-tight seal, and your cum spills onto his fingers and his name spills into his mouth. The curse comes out with it, escaping like the air that spills out from an ancient, rediscovered chamber, and dissipating into the night. Your heart is beating and you’re breathing into his mouth, nose brushing his.

“Good girl,” he breathes, finally releasing your lips and letting his lips fall heavy and wet on your cheek.

He pulls out his fingers, unbearably wet and slick, and you think for a second that he’ll let you calm down and then maybe he’ll put his dick in you, but as soon as the fingers are out of you, they’re settling back on to your clit, rubbing heavy-handed circles.

You whine, arching your back off the table and wiggling your hips at the overstimulation. His other hand catches your hip and he shushes your cries softly.

“You can cum again, can’t you, baby? You can take it,” he says, so nonchalantly, while his slick fingers rub you. You cry out. Your legs are shaking. “Think you can cum again from just this?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh and when you look down, his entire hand covers your pussy, as he pets your clit in circles. He smiles at your words, pinching your clit teasingly. It causes a squeak to escape you, hips struggling against his hold, where he pins you to the table.

“Good girl,” he praises, purring. “Letting me use your pretty pussy like this, letting me make you feel good.”

His body in front of you prevents your legs from closing, but, God, do they try, knees pinching his thin waist, and hair bunching up on the glass when your face scrunches up in pleasure.

“A-a-ah!” you cry out. Your hips involuntarily begin to inch away from him, but Wonwoo pulls you back with one strong hand, tutting.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, pouting. “You need to be touched, remember?”

The whole thing is so heart-achingly intimate. The way he stands, still fully clothed and with a huge fucking tent in his pants, simply rubbing your pussy and looking at you with heart-eyes. Seriously, eyes swimming with adoration for you, teasing words slipping from his mouth unable to mask the genuine wonder he feels, at how you gasp and you arch and you clean and you jerk from the simplest of his movements. And your pussy is so warm and wet under his hand, and his body between your legs is so warm, and you cum again from just that; from how much love he looks at you with, and from the fingers crooking to pinch your clit again, wet and swollen underneath his glistening fingertips.

“W-Wonwoo!” you cry out, cumming again, and your body convulses around his, when it oozes out of your hole. Wonwoo’s fingers gently work you through it. His gaze on you is so intent, so careful and insistent, you can’t bear it, the way he sees you totally lost in the pleasure he brings you.

“There you go,” he whispers gently, fingers letting up and disappearing from your pulsating pussy.

“Wonwoo,” you mewl tiredly, pushing yourself onto your elbows to look up at him. He looks at you, so sweetly, so attentively, hands immediately finding your back to stabilize you. “Can I please have your cock now?”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to!” you interrupt him, brows furrowed and lips in a pout. Wonwoo grins at that and though he may deny it, you don’t miss the red that twinges his cheeks.

“It’s just if you were too tired..-”

“I’m not,” you say decidedly, and Wonwoo nods.

“Okay. C’mere then.”

You’re confused when Wonwoo sits back down in the office chair, fingers working his slacks open. He doesn’t answer to your grimace though, only manages his pants unzipped and in one lift of his hips, peel both them and his boxers down.

His cock springs free, and your confused grimace is replaced with one of awe. It’s pale and veiny, the head is red and thin, white liquid oozes from it, like melted candle wax. And it’s huge.

You’re too slow to mask your amazement, it seems, because when your eyes return to his face, he’s already looking at you, smiling smugly.

“Come ride me, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide off the table eagerly, lumbering over to where he’s relaxed against the back of the chair. He looks up at you, all naked and pretty, with a grin.

The top buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, but he must’ve given up halfway. Either way, the milky plates of his chest are exposed, shining gloriously in the warm office light, and he discards his glasses, face fully exposed to you. He’s beautiful, and you think to tell him.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, planting each leg around his, so you’re straddling him. Like your ritual, Wonwoo grips your middle and pulls you closer, but this time it’s even closer than normal. Your stomach meets his dick, all heavy and hot on your skin, and your breath hitches at the sensation.

“You’re beautiful,” he teases, looking up at you. You smile.

“Can I put it in?” you ask.

“As if the answer was ever gonna be no?”

You snort out a laugh, raising yourself by your thighs and gripping the base of his dick to steer him inside. He hisses at the feeling of your hand grappling with his impressive size, and he hisses once more when the head of his cock buries into your heat.

His hands on your waist anchor himself while you slowly sink down, until he’s so fully sheathed in you, you think the tip of his cock must be brushing your heart, because it feels like it’s swinging in your chest.

“You’re so big,” you whimper, clutching his broad shoulders, and scrunching the fabric on top of them.

“Don’t say shit like that, I’m gonna cum, babe,” he grits out, fingers bruising your waist. You mewl, clutching his shirt. Then you begin to bounce.

Your thighs flex on either side of him as you heave up and down his cock, the both of you gasping into each other, and clutching each other for stability.

“Shit,” he pants out, genuinely out of breath. “Fuck, you’re the loveliest girl in the world.”

You cry out, pressure already welling in your stomach and burying yourself in his neck like you’ve always done, and it’s so intimate and he’s warm, and, fuck, he wants you. You can feel it in his grip, in his cock, in his words; he wants you more than anything. The thought makes you wanna cum.

Wonwoo is not quiet at all. He grunts and whines and his words are strangled and garbled, but frequent, showering you in affection and praise, while you bounce eagerly on his huge cock.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Your tits are so perfect, shit.”

“Pretty girl.”

“Loveliest, prettiest, sweetest girl, bouncing on my cock, fuck.”

Praises spill from his lips in purrs, one after another, and when you cum you can’t help but return it tenfold.

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonnie, fuck! Gonna- fucking cum, I think I’m- f-falling in love with you”

You and Wonwoo come alive. Cum spurts from his cock and into your pussy, and you both cry out, entangled and completing one another in the space where you meet.

And it’s true, falling in love with him is so easy. And falling in love with you is easy too, you realize, because the second he’s spilled his cum in you, he pulls you from his neck to kiss you so deeply, so thoroughly, you think your lips might never unpuff from his hasty, bitten kisses.

His cock, now soft, still inside you, his warm chest against yours, his nose nudging yours, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin, the kiss is totally perfect, and you’re warm, and the windows are all closed and fogged up and there’s no curse other than the most fatal and most perfectly tantalizing of them all: love.

You are not alone. You’re sitting in his lap and you think if you give it a day or two more, you might want to spend the rest of your life with him.

You catch your breaths.

“You’re really good at that,” you say finally. He grins again, perfectly undone, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. “Yeah?” he asks. You hum.

After some minutes of keeping him inside you, kissing lazily, running your hands over his pretty chest and arms, you pull back, beginning to flex your legs to pull him out of you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, hands wafting to still your movements. You furrow your brows, confused.

“Am getting your dick out of me?”

His hands sink down on your hips heavily, fully encompassing his dick again. You sigh at the feeling.

“Don’t do that, silly. You’re touch-starved, remember?”

He tilts his head teasingly.

“So why don’t you just sit snug on my cock, so you can get all the closeness you need?”

#jeon wonwoo x reader #smut #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt angst #wonwoo angst #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you

2K notes · View notes

spdrwdw · 2 months

Note

hi! I saw ur post abt accidentally deleting reqs and was scared since mine wasn’t answered yet (im not complaining bc ur other work is so so delicious to read 😍) anyways here it is. Ok imagine Miguel ohara being the heir to the mafia ‘throne(?)’ ima be so fr idk what they call it 💀 anyways and he’s in an arranged marriage w/ a girl from a diff mafia family as a way to make peace between the two families, except neither he or the girl are happy abt it. Enemies to lovers would just be majestic for the plot in my opinion 🤭. Anywaysssss thank u sm and remember to drink water 🫶🏻

Art by: Kimmy_art0912 Pairing: Mob Boss Miguel x Wife reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, very mild violence, no use of y/n Summary: You and Miguel come from different mafia families, forced to be married in order to form an alliance as threat from an outside. However, you and Miguel can only tolerate each other, at best. A/N: I swear I scratched and rewrote this like five different times.I am sorry it took so long. I am slowly making my way back into writing. I do thank anon and everyone else for their patience as I slowly make my way back to life and I will be writing more Miguel fics soon. I may do a part two to this, depending on interest recieved. I have been getting into mafia books so I am going to be looking into those for inspo if I do make more parts to this. Also, very very light editing was done. Word Count: 4.6k

Your family and the O’Hara’s have been enemies since your ancestors set foot into this country. Both immigrating from nothing but the clothes on their backs and pennies to their name.

Your family started working in the food industry. Working in restaurants, bakeries, etc. Anything that had to do with food. Seven days a week. Working from twelve to fourteen hour shifts just to make ends meet. Your great great grandfather worked at the local deli as well as a restaurant. When he wasn’t cutting up meat, he was in the kitchen making food. Your great great grandmother worked at the neighborhood bakery as well as the tailors. Her dream was to make clothes- dresses. She wanted to be a fashion designer. She started taking classes at the local college once they saved up enough money to invest in her studies.

Eventually, with their hard work and sacrifices, their dreams came true. Your family soon owned several restaurants as well as luxury boutiques. Everyone did their part in keeping the family businesses growing and going.

At first, it was all simply honest work. Your family stayed humble and grateful for their dedication. Then, with your great grandfather, things took a slight turn. He wanted to expand and turn into construction. Nueva York continued to go and grow, with more people coming to try to make a living and a name for themselves. And in that mix, people with bad intentions also tagged along. The family businesses were in jeopardy of being taken over or shut down completely by these power-hungry thugs. He did not want that. So, he and the rest of the family banded together and began hiring people who would be willing to work for them and protect them, whether they were military vets, criminals, or even cops. Anyone who was willing to protect the family.

Allyship with other mafia families also aided in the growth and protection. However, there was one family that yours always butted heads with.

The O’Haras. They immigrated from Ireland around the same time your great great grandparents did. They built their own businesses, casinos, hotels, and clubs- and wanted their own power and a spot with the elites of the criminal world.

At first, things were neutral between the two families. At one point, the two families were almost allies. However, one night, there was commotion going on at one of the O’Hara nightclubs. Members of your family got into a tussle with the O’Hara group and ended up being a blood bath, with both sides losing men.

Ever since then, things were tense, and the bloodshed continued to grow as oppositions rose.

No one really knew what it was that started the feud that night. Some suspected it had been over a woman. Others thought it was simply because some members were drunk and careless words were exchanged.

Either way, the rivalry continued on. Until a new threat entered the city. And there was no choice but to come together.

—

It’s been six months since you moved into his house. Six months since you lost your freedom. Six months since you got married. To Miguel O’Hara.

It all happened in an instant. First, you were out abroad, having recently gotten your first major job as a fashion designer in a luxury clothing company, wanting to be as successful as your great great grandmother, and now you were out on a little vacation to celebrate, when you received a call from your father, ordering you to come back home.

You should’ve relished that Mediterranean breeze as long as you could, because once you got on that flight back home, your world was about to be flipped on its head.

“I’m sorry…WHAT?!” You screeched at your father, you only looked at you with his calm, cool, distant, expression as he inhaled into his cigar.

“You’re getting married to Miguel O’Hara,” he repeated.

“I heard what you said! But, why?!”

“The O’Haras had agreed to a truce. Kingpin is gaining on both of our families. We are losing men and traction left and right. We agreed by aligning our families together, we will gain strength in numbers and influence.”

“And you are shipping me off into an arranged marriage! This isn’t the medieval age or whatever!

Plus, with Miguel?! At least have me marry Gabriel. He’s not an asshole like his brother.”

“Miguel is to become head of the O’Hara family as he is the first born. Plus, his determination has been promising.”

You let out a groan. You could not believe this was happening. You never wanted to get sucked into this life. That’s why you went off to college. To try to get away and make a life of your own. Your efforts were proven to be futile as you felt the rug be pulled from under you and you were being dragged along with it to the same life you were trying to escape.

Your father’s eyes softened. A hint of sorrow filled them.

“I know, sweetheart. This isn’t what I was hoping for you, either. But, it is the only way. We are running out of options. I am sure Miguel will take care of you, and you will be able to fulfill your dream of following your great great grandmother’s footsteps. I am sure she would be proud to have someone actively expanding her fashion legacy..”

You still shook your head. It was just too much for you to take in. Plus, wasn’t Miguel in a relationship with someone? Xina? No..they broke up months ago. That’s right. But, wait..he was seeing someone else? Ugh. The guy has a new girlfriend every other day.

Besides, you two did have a thing going on in the past. It wasn’t serious. Mainly the occasional hookups. You two were of rivaling families, after all. You both did have your reasons for disliking each other. So, the sex was pretty much hate sex? If that made sense. It wasn’t out of passion. Unless you could call hatred a passion.

Never did you think you’d actually be getting married to him.

After the news broke out that you and Miguel were to be wedded, everything went by in such a blur. Preparations for the wedding. The actual wedding. The honeymoon- which was hardly a honeymoon because neither of you actually spent any time together. It was just too awkward, and you knew that he wasn’t happy with this arrangement as much as you were.

When you first moved into his house, you wanted to sleep in a separate room from him, and he agreed. However, when both of your parents found out about this, they were all livid.

“How will you two get to know each other more and become intimate with each other if you are sleeping in separate beds?” Your mom cried one day when she came to visit you. You assured her there would be other situations where you and your husband would bond. Public situations where you’d be surrounded by other people and talking to those people rather than each other.

You two simply avoided each other as much as possible. And during the times when you two were together, your company was either met with silence or bickering. And sometimes even being at each other’s throats.

He would call you names like ‘immature’ ‘wild’ ‘rowdy’ and so on, simply because you refused to listen to him whenever he demanded something from you.

You’d retaliate and tell him that he was controlling and a perfectionist. Because well, he was. He had to have things done a certain way or it would ensue chaos. And while he was right about you being a little more rowdy and wild, it was simply because you had the luxury of growing somewhat more normal. Your parents did not drill the life of the mafia into your head the same way it was drilled into Miguel’s. Which is why you both clashed when trying to communicate with each other.

Right now, you were at home in the library. You spend a lot of time there, and while Miguel’s taste in reading wasn’t usually to your taste, you’d sometimes find yourself reading some of the novels that he was currently reading, as well as reading some that you’ve been purchasing and adding to the collection.

Which reminded you, you had to head over to the mall and purchase the next book of a spicy romance series you’d been reading. As well as look for an outfit to wear at the next charity event you and Miguel would be attending.

One of the few things you liked about Miguel was that he was very generous and active in the community, helping those less fortunate.

Placing the book down, you rubbed your bag and keys and decided to head out for a bit. Saying goodbye to the house staff as you walked past them, you made your way to the garage, which housed Miguel’s collection of cars, ranging from vintage to sporty and modern to big black suvs that you’d use whenever a bodyguard was transporting you somewhere, like parties. You never understood why someone needed so many cars but, whatever, as long as it wasn’t your money being spent.

You made your way over to your car, glad that you were able to bring it with you when you got married. It was your baby. One of the few things you were able to bring with you.

Glancing over at the clock on the dashboard, you bit your bottom lip. You should have enough time to purchase some books before heading off to your parents for a bit. You did promise them you would show up. They were planning lunch for you. It was your birthday today, after all.

—

Miguel stood in front of the battered man that kneeled before him, hearing the groaning of pain coming from their mouth as blood pooled around the cement floor.

Miguel’s knuckles were bleeding. But, it wasn’t his own blood, but the blood of the poor bastard that withered before him. Miguel didn’t like to use violence. He thought it was a primitive way of negotiating with his enemies. However, there were times when a little violence was necessary to get his point across. And to send a message.

Why was this man being battered like a sack of potatoes?

The man spat blood, a tooth or two flying out with the glob of blood as he remained strapped to his chair. His face was covered in blood. Beat up and mangled by the hands of the tall, brooding man before him.

Miguel slowly knelt down before the man, taking a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up into his almost amber eyes.

“ Eres un demonio! (You're a demon). Not even the devil himself will want you!” the man spat, a glob of blood landing on Miguel’s cheek.

Miguel let out a hum of disinterest. His eyes lacked any life in them. However, this was when he felt the most alive, seeing his enemies cowering and crumbling before him.

He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the blood from his cheek before tossing the now soiled material at the man’s feet.

“I take that as a compliment, you know. Maybe I want the devil himself to fear me.”

Miguel took out a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it before giving it a deep inhale and exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke at the man’s face. He couldn't believe that one of Kingpin's goons had infiltrated his circle and posed himself as someone who could've been trusted. Miguel was definitely going to send that fat son of a bitch a message, by killing this guy and sending his corpse back to Kingpin's front door.

Not only that, but it also meant that they were going to have to redo background checks on everyone working for the O’Haras. That was going to be a pain in the ass.

"Gabriel! Hand me my gun," Miguel called out to his brother.

Gabriel, Peter, and Ben were all standing several feet behind Miguel, all watching as their boss beat and battered the man before them.

Gabriel was Miguel’s right hand now that their father had stepped down as head of the O’Hara family. Many thought Gabriel was going to take charge, however, Miguel was much more brutal and cut-throat than Gabriel. It made sense for Miguel to take up the mantle, despite him being an illegitimate son.

Plus, Gabriel preferred being on the sidelines instead of making the decisions.

Gabriel made his way over to his older brother, handing him the gun before stepping back to his original spot.

“Now. We can do this the easy way. Where I ask you a couple of questions and answer them. Or, we can do this the hard way, when I ask you said questions and if you refuse to answer them, I get to shoot you anywhere I want.”

”I would rather you just shoot me! I will never answer to you!” The man croaked.

“You never got shot before, have you?” Miguel hummed as he removed the safety from the gun and cocked it before pulling the trigger, shooting the man on the foot.

The man let out a screeching howl as he thrashed on the chair, letting out a series of curses.

Miguel simply nodded his head. “That’s what I thought. So..shall we begin?”

The whole ordeal took only a matter of minutes, as Miguel wasted no time in trying to get his questions answered. The man was not sitting lifeless on the chair as bullet holes decorated his body.

Kingpin had sent a lower ranked grunt to spy on them, trying to scope up any valuable information to report back to his true boss. Unfortunately for Kingpin, those in the lower ranks didn’t really get to be part of the action and behind-closed door discussions, so, this man’s life was unnecessarily wasted.

“Send his body back to Kingpin. Just leave him on his doorstep,” Miguel said as he examined his suit, letting out a grunt when he saw small splatters of blood. He was going to have to go home and change. “Will do. You should start heading back home. I am sure you wife is waiting for you,” Gabriel said as Peter and Ben began placing the body into a black body bag and carried him out to the waiting pick-up truck.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t hate you, but he knew that you hated him. And you had every right. You got married to him out of force, and while that wasn’t necessarily his fault, he didn’t blame you for holding a grudge on him.

“Keep me posted on any activity. I need updated background checks on everyone working for us. We can’t let anyone else slip through the cracks,” Miguel stated as he made his way over to his car, with his brother following behind him. Gabriel nodded his head as he watched his brother leave.

He had to make sure no on in his inner circle was actually working for Kingpin. Is someone indeed was, might as well just shut everything down then and there.

No. Miguel wouldn’t give up just like that. He would just have to work harder and steer Kingpin off track.

But, for the time being, his main goal was to get back home and get to his wife. It was your birthday, after all.

–

You spent the majority of the day with your parents. You had gone over to your former home- which you still miss deeply. It was such a stark contrast from where you lived now. There was just so much character, so much history in this house. It was the same house your great great grandfather had bought as a gift to his lovely wife, your great great grandmother, once their businesses were booming.

It had twelve bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. A library where your mother would take you to read. When you were young, you’d pick out a book for your mother to read to you in bed. Mainly a fairy tale story.

You always thought your life would be a fairy tale. You always imagined yourself as the princess or heroine, going on adventures and falling in love. However, the universe was not like those in the stories. Maybe in an alternate universe. But, not in this one.

Instead, you were forced to marry the enemy in hopes of forming an alliance. Which, depending on how you looked at it, could’ve been seen as a fairytale. It didn’t feel like it. You weren’t in love with Miguel. You tolerated each other at best. Plus, you guys had shared history which made things pretty awkward at times.

—-

You were back home, waiting for your darling husband to come home and wish you a Happy Birthday. He also supposedly promised to take you out to dinner. It was really an attempt for you two to get somewhat closer together. But, you weren’t sure how well that would play out. You both liked to push each other’s buttons. You were sure it would occur tonight. And honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You wanted to be a thorn on his side. He was always so full of himself. Always thought himself to be this bigshot. Untouchable. Unweavered. You loved proving him wrong.

You continued to wait and wait. The house staff had left for the night, including Miss Cheryl, your personally favorite housekeeper. She was an older woman, possibly in her mid-fifties. You never cared to ask her- mainly because you didn’t want to be rude and you actually liked her.

Looking up at the clock in Miguel’s office, you saw that it was already seven thirty in the evening. Reservations were supposedly made for eight. Miguel had thirty minutes to get there.

A part of you didn’t really care if he had forgotten or just waved it off. You didn’t want to force yourself to be nice with him, because who knew, you might just throw a glass of wine at him just as you did during your wedding reception.

You could hear a chime coming from the Alexa that rested on Miguel’s desk, signaling that someone had entered the house.

Finally. You honestly thought he wasn’t going to come.

Raising from his chair, you decided to go ahead and greet your husband.

He was making his way upstairs as you made your way down the hallway, both of you making eye contact.

“You’re late. I thought you weren’t going to come,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

As Miguel stepped closer, you could notice blood splattered on his white shirt.

“I know. Let me get changed real quick,” he replied as he walked past you.

You knew Miguel had a way of dealing with those who wronged him. You have seen his blood-stained knuckles, bloodied shirts and a dangerous look in his eyes. It’s pretty much like in the movies. Some poor unlucky soul gets tortured to death by the boss or someone higher up. You’d like to think that Miguel isn’t simply killing people just because of blood-lust. While it wasn’t your business to judge, you didn’t want to be married to someone who is a little too eager to get blood on his hands.

You made your way to his room, standing by the door as you watched Miguel slip on a fresh pair of pants and button-up shirt, something more suitable for dinner. Once he was finished, he took another look at you, furrowing his brows a bit.

“What?” You questioned.

“What are you wearing?”

“What do you mean ‘what are you wearing’?” You asked, looking down at your dress.

“Don’t you think that’s too revealing?” He asked.

“What? Revealing? Where? Don’t tell me showing a little leg and shoulder is prohibited. Come on! This is the height of fashion right now, as well as demonstrating body positivity.” Miguel simply gave you a look as if in disgust. Not for the body positivity part. But rather your fashion choices. He was aware of your family’s success in the fashion industry. He even applauded it. But, he was also a man with much simpler tastes. Tastes that you would sometimes groan over.

“Well, I’m not changing, so let’s just get going,” you said as you grabbed a shawl to compliment your dress, and to shut Miguel up.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, save for the music that was playing on the radio. You two had very different music tastes. Not surprising. Sometimes you’d change the station or hook up your phone to Bluetooth. But, you tried to sit back and let him listen to his music this time.

When you two managed to get there, Miguel stopped in front of the valet and got out. The valet driver in-waiting opened the car door for you to help you get out as Miguel rounded the car, handing the keys over to the young man who then took the sleek black suv to the parking garage.

He gave you his arm to take. It had become routine. Show some sort of display of affection while in public. You never knew who could be watching. Sometimes cameras would pop out in front of you two.

The proposal was rushed. The engagement. The wedding. People grew suspicious, and rightfully so. Your families quickly came up with a story of how you and Miguel were seeing each other in secret despite the rivalry of the families. The alleged secrecy of romance and hurried marriage gave you two the the title of Romeo and Juliet. Two star-crossed lovers who went against all odds just to be together despite your families and their differences. But, unlike the story, your ending didn’t result in a double-suicide, but rather acceptance, wedding bells, and peace between the two families. Everyone bought it. Well..almost everyone.

As you two made your way inside and were greeted by the hostess, you were taken to a more secluded area of the restaurant. There, the table had been set up especially for you. A bottle of wine rested over a bed of ice, candles were lit on the table, as well as around the perimeter of your area. It would have been romantic, had you actually had romantic feelings for Miguel.

Still, he was a gentleman and he did go out of his way to reserve a nice place for you.

He pulled a chair out for you to sit and scooted you in before taking his seat across from you. The music from a live pianist in the main dining hall still reached your private area. Had it not been for them, the room would’ve been dead silent as you and Miguel silently looked through your menus.

“Can I pour you a glass of your wine?” A waitress asked onceshe approached your table. She was young. Tall and thin with big blue eyes and blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. And wearing way too much makeup. At least for your tastes.

You could see how she was looking at Miguel, batting her fake eyelashes. You thought they were either going to fall off or send her flying away. Either way, you simply rolled your eyes. You didn’t care if Miguel got hit on, but come on, at least not while you were right there to see.

“Yes, thank you,” Miguel said, giving her a charming smile. It made you roll our eyes again. Yes, he was being polite and all, but you could see right through him.

“Can I offer you both an appetizer to start?” She then asked, still looking over at Miguel.

Miguel then looked over to you, giving you a nod. “Would you like something to start with?”

”Yes, actually. Some bread for the table. they usually bring it out at the beginning,” you started. Which was true. You were just trying to be a little petty.

“And how about some crab cakes and a salad for the table?”

The waitress nodded her head, her smile now a straight line. So straight, you could swipe your card through it like a card reader.

“Yes, of course. I will put those in for you and bring you your bread,” she said before leaving the table.

You simply rolled your eyes once again as you settled back against your seat.

“How was lunch with your family?” Miguel then asked, trying to make conversation.

“It was fine,” you responded. Usually, your responses would be short, and Miguel wouldn’t entertain the topic further. You knew you should at least try to get along with him, giving that you are married and that you will be spending the rest of your life with him. You simply assumed that it just hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to try, though.

One day.

“Ah, Mr. O’Hara! Mrs. O’Hara! A pleasure to see you two here tonight!” Someone behind you exclaimed. You could hear their heavy footsteps before turning around and seeing the owner and head chef of the restaurant. “Javier. A pleasure to see you,” Miguel said. “We were just celebrating my wife’s birthday.” “Ah! Of course! Happy birthday, Mrs. O’Hara. You look as stunning as ever,” Javier exclaimed. The man was five foot three, a mix of tan to sunburned skin, and all round. He kind of reminded you of the Pillsbury mascot. He looked so squishable and jolly.

“Actually, Javier. Would you mind me having a word with you, real quick?” Miguel then asked, scooted his chair back from the table and stood, easily towering over the man.

“O-oh! O-of cours! Of course! Come, come! Let’s step to the side,” Javier stated, now looking a little nervous as he led Miguel out of the room, leaving you alone.

All while Miguel was having his private conversation with Javier, the waitress came back with the bread and appetizers.

“We are going to need a couple of minutes,” you stated as she placed everything onto the tables.

“Of course! I’ll make my way back around in a few minutes,” the waitress said, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

You tried your best to not roll your eyes at her again as she left. Letting out a sigh, you decided to dig into the bread and appetizers. You sure weren’t going to wait for Miguel to come back to start eating. You never waited for him. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew you’d be waiting forever for him.

–

Soon enough, you were back home. You were still slightly curious about the conversation Miguel had with Chef Javier. But, you didn’t think you should press Miguel about it. Some things were meant to be kept in private. Besides, you wanted no part of this whole mafia stuff. It had stolen so much of your freedom already. You wanted to remain ignorant of what goes on behind closed doors as much as possible.

You both made your way upstairs, neither of you speaking as you made your way to your rooms for the night.

Tomorrow you were planning on heading over to the boutique. Your cousin was currently operating it and sometimes you’d go to help her out. It helped you get out of the house every once in a while. Plus, you were usually filled with inspiration when you were surrounded by your family’s clothing. You were still working on your portfolio to give out to various companies, in hopes they would hire you.

You were confident that they would. You were talented. Plus, you have your family’s name to back you up. Now, all you had to do was to make sure you get a good night’s rest so you could get up refreshed.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic

608 notes · View notes

calypsocolada · 7 months

Text

PERCEPTIVE | o. dazai

synopsis: you don't smile around dazai and he's been wondering why. authors note: no notes just dazai. cw: suggestive, making out, flirting, fem reader, c*ckblock kunikida (plot device because i suck writing smut lol) wc: 3k

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Dazai liked causing mischief. He liked keeping people on their toes, and liked annoying his coworkers. You were no exception. When you were hired on as his new assistant the first thing he noticed about you was how you persevered through all his antics.

He’d accidentally spill coffee on important documents but somehow you had copies. He’d be running late to work and expect a verbal lashing from Kunikida but when he’d get there Kunikida would be happily content and unaware of his absence.

You were smarter than you let on.

So Dazai started to test you.

He’d write bad reports and make a mess of his desk and come back an hour later to find everything in tip top shape and the reports written so impeccably that even Kunikida would be impressed. After a few days of this he saw bags under your eyes and knew it was because he was stressing you out. He stopped the tests right then because you seemed like the type to suffer in silence. He felt that was on par with him.

So from then on Dazai started to try and make things easier on you. He’d write good enough reports, keep his desk clean and often buy you lunch. He was searching for one thing in return.

A smile.

You smiled at everybody else and no matter the jokes or things he did for you you were always just very professional. It drove Dazai mad. He didn’t know why he wanted to make you smile so bad. Or why he wanted to hear your laugh. Let alone why he bought you lunch everyday and started trying harder at his job. These questions started popping up in his brain more often now. He’d sit at his desk and steal glances at yours. You were very elegant, that was another thing he noticed. Your handwriting was perfect, the way you ate, no matter what it was you found a neat way to eat it. Your voice was soft and you read at your desk on slow days. Dazai started writing down books that you read so that he could read them and see if he could find some part of you hidden between the lines.

All of this was driving him crazy.

The last straw broke when he saw you talking to Kunikida one day in the breakroom. You were at the table with him, legs crossed, hair in a loose braid. You were smiling and laughing. At Kunikida. Dazai couldn’t comprehend what could be so funny. Let alone Kunikida saying something that could make you laugh like that.

That was the moment it hit him. Like a ton of bricks, sitting at his desk staring across the room at you. It all fell into place like leaves on a fall day. Dazai never thought it could happen, let alone to himself. He loved you. He was sick to his stomach, a love bug infecting his entire person. He’d never felt more stupid in his life. If he saw anyone else acting this way he could figure it out in seconds but since it was happening to him he had just shrugged it off. But he couldn’t do that anymore because he felt physically ill watching Kunikida make you laugh. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to be happy but goddamnit he wanted to be that cause of happiness sometimes for you.

Dazai let his head fall into his hand, sighing and groaning obnoxiously loud. He literally had a book you were reading last week on his desk, how could he have been so blind?

“Mr. Dazai?” A pleasant voice broke through his melancholia. He slowly raised his head to see you, standing by his desk. Your braid was tucked behind your back, loose strands of hair falling in your face. For some reason his throat closed up. All this thinking had stuttered his ability to speak to you now because now he knew. He knew what you meant to him.

“Hm?” Was all he could muster and he felt pathetic for it.

“Would you like a coffee?” You asked and he knew it was because you had caught him looking fraught. You were so perceptive. Dazai cleared his throat.

“I would,” He says pushing up from his chair, you look at him in confusion.

“Tagging along?” You ask and he nods his head. You lead the way and Dazai can’t help but feel like an idiot. He finally had you alone and he was walking two steps behind you unable to speak. A part of him wished he never figured it out. You slowed your pace so that you two were walking side by side. “Something on your mind, Mr. Dazai?” You asked, tilting your head to catch his eyes. It works and you have him blushing.

“Uh- nono, nothing’s-- just uh- enjoying the weather.” He says, making a show of looking at the sky. You slowly nod your head, obviously unconvinced.

“Uh huh, it’s getting chilly, do you like the fall?” You ask as Dazai clears his throat, pursing his lips. He was being so utterly uncool around you it was making him annoyed.

“It’s preferable to summer, do you like the fall?”

“Yes.” You answer simply. Dazai looks over at you, watches your eyes dance along a tree, the leaves changing with the season. He admires you as you admire the world. You’re so pretty, so interesting he wonders if someone has already noticed that about you, wonders if you already have someone that cares and that you love. It twists his stomach thoroughly. “Mr. Dazai?” God he wanted you to call him Osamu, he wondered how it would sound on your lips.

“Uh yes?” He stutters when he remembers you addressed him.

“Read much?” You ask, there's a slight amusement to your voice that he picks up on immediately. His eyes devour your facial expressions. You were teasing him, which meant you had seen the book on his desk, even when he tried to hide it discreetly under a stack of papers.

“Apparently.” He answers as you turn to face him.

“That’s the third book you’ve read of mine, are you trying to tell me something?” You ask, your lips curving into something close to a smile. He wanted more.

“Just trying to figure you out.” He answers, a slight breeze picking up at his words.

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Figured me out.” You answer, turning to look straight ahead as the sidewalk gets a bit busier. Dazai pushes through to keep close to you.

“You read stories of tragic love. This last one nearly brought a tear to my eyes. Though from what I’ve observed it barely affects you.”

“It’s just a story.” You answer, holding the door to the cafe open for him.

“You don’t get attached to the characters?” He asks as you two stand shoulder to shoulder in a very long line.

“I do. I just can’t cry at work, that might freak some people out.” You say wryly. Dazai chuckles warmly.

“Might I suggest your next read?” He asks as you turn your head to meet his eyes.

“Okay.”

“Maybe something romantic, with less tragedy.”

“I like the dramatics.” You answer with a scuff of a laugh.

“You’re very serious.” Dazai says, watching you raise your brows.

“Yes, is that okay?”

“More than. I need that balance.”

“Oh do you know?” You ask, there’s something in your voice, something in the way you spoke that has Dazai pausing. Unluckily for him your two are next, you put in the order and he follows you to the other side of the counter to wait for your drinks. He watched as you tucked some loose hair behind your ear and smiled gently at the barista as they handed you the drinks. So a barista could get a smile but Dazai couldn’t? You handed him his drink, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange and that’s when he saw it. Just barely after the touch your cheeks pinkened and you slyly looked away from him as you took a sip of your drink. The little moment was so quick that he thought he might’ve dreamt it. You led the way back outside and held the door for him. This time he purposefully brushed against you and this time your cheeks reddened. Dazai hid his smirk behind his cup as he started walking.

“You have a very pretty smile, you know?” He asks, carefully watching how you reacted. It took you a moment to speak.

“I don’t think so.” You answered simply, seemingly cool but Dazai had sniffed a trail and he was going to follow it.

“You don’t?”

“It envelopes my face too much.”

“It’s perfect, it makes your face light up, but how would I know since you never smile around me…” He trails off teasingly. He doesn’t miss the quick glance you give him. As if realizing he noticed something you were keeping hidden.

“Your a menace, Mr. Dazai. What’s to smile about?”

“Call me Osamu.” Your midship as he says it, his voice all saccharine honey. You choke slightly, coughing. “Oh dear, slow sips.”

“Hush. It.” You cough out, clearing your throat. Dazai laughs wholeheartedly. Your eyes find his face, he’s so pretty when he laughs. He squints at you and you look away quickly. Guess he didn’t need those books to figure you out because now he knew all.

“We should go out to dinner tonight.” Dazai says casually, carelessly as though he was speaking of the weather.

“Dinner?” You echo and he looks down at you, nodding his head. “For what purpose?”

“A date.”

“A- date?” You echoed again, he didn’t take his eyes from yours. Again he nodded his head, cocking it slightly.

“That’s what I want, I’m sure it’s what you want to.”

“You’re so sure?” You ask and his lips quirk up in a smirk as he nods his head again. “How so?”

“You don’t smile around me.” He says simply, sipping the rest of his coffee, tossing it in a trash can before slipping his hands in his pocket. You blink.

“Okay… and?”

“And you don’t like your smile, so why would you do it around someone you fancy?” He asks so casually. Your expression drops as he holds the door open to the building the agency is located in. You pause. He caught you red handed. He purses his lips at you. Never once did you think his little sleuthing skills would sus you out. You bit at the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for not being able to refute it in time because too many seconds had passed. You sigh, pushing past him.

“You're annoyingly perceptive.” You say. Dazai laughs at that as you reach and press the button to the elevator. Part of you wishes you can slip on and close the doors real quick before he can but when the doors open, you're too in your head and Dazai strolls on before you can do anything. Dejectedly you walk in too and stand on the opposite side far from him as the doors slide closed. You can feel the weight of his eyes on you, you sip your cold coffee, not enough to ease the heat under your skin. “Stop looking at me.” You whisper as though someone other than Dazai could’ve possibly heard you.

“Something wrong?” He asks and you can hear the smirk in his voice. It made you miss the moments where he seemed like the nervous one. “You’re extremely red.”

“Shut up.”

“Like the actual shade of maroon.”

“Go to hell.” You snap.

But why would he be nervous around you if not for… oh. Gaining just the smallest bit of control over the situation you remembered what it meant to see he was reading something you were reading for the first time. Or catching him staring at you across the room multiple times over the day. Him buying you lunch and snapping at Atsushi when he lingered by your desk too long. The door to the elevator slid open and you turned to him, motioning him first.

“Such a lady.” He says, walking out first, you follow. But Dazai stops, blocking the door. “We have work to do, you know?” You sigh but he just leans in and presses a soft kiss against your lips. You let out a little gasp, your coffee splashing onto your hand. You raise your hand to push him away but you feel the warmth of his own eclipse the side of your face, stirring up something in the pit of your stomach. His fingers barely slide into your hair, surely messing up your braid but you can’t find it in you to be annoyed because he’s kissing you so expertly. Walking you back until you're pressed up against the wall just by the detective agency door and pressing himself against you. You let out a small noise that he devours. When he pulls back for a breath you speak.

“Osamu, I-” He’s back on you in seconds. Hearing his name on your pink swollen lips, your voice slightly hoarse and out of breath, he could’ve devoured you whole right there in that moment. Suddenly there’s a click, the door to the agency being pulled open. You shove Dazai off of you and turn away from whoever was walking out. Your cheeks and hair are surely a mess.

“Ah Dazai, of course I’d find you out here slacking off.” Kunikida says disapprovingly, his eyes turning to you. “And keeping Ms. L/n from her duties, shameful.” He says walking further into the hallway. You clear your throat, brushing your fingers through your hair. Kunikida looks at you.

“Ms. L/n? Are you feeling well? Do you need something?” Kunikida asks.

“Nothing I can’t provide her.” Dazai replies, making your cheeks go even redder.

“What? Dazai, she looks hot.”

“Yes,” He agrees. “Very hot.”

“Quite messing around!” Kunikida growls.

“I’m fine. Really, just gonna get back to work.” You say, pushing past Dazai back into the agency. You practically run to your desk, burying yourself in your work. Everybody else had left for the day, you just needed to finish one report then you could leave too. Dazai walks in a moment later and stroll to your desk. “Leave me alone.”

“We should talk about what just happened.” Dazai says as you refuse to look up at him, fuming.

“Nothing happened, I don’t know what you're talking about.” You answer stubbornly.

“Oh really?” He’s quick, deft fingers sliding under your chin to tilt it up. “Let me jog your memory.” He purrs just before leaning and meeting your lips with his own.You didn’t expect the kiss but that didn’t mean it wasn’t waiting there hungrily between you both for months and months. You didn’t expect his hands, covered in scars, to feel so soft against your face. But you had wanted and needed this so badly your eyes practically pleading every moment you looked at him. The world turned around you as you slowly rose to your feet, Dazai pulling you onto the top of your desk until he was standing between your knees. The grasp you had held onto so tightly was loosening. Your lips parted in a gasp and Dazai, with a growl of barely contained want. And he kissed you deeper and harder. Pressing you back against the desk, things knocking off left and right. Your lips parted in invitation and Dazai was never one to leave an opportunity unexplored. Every part of him was pressing against you, he wanted to make this special, make every touch one that you would crave and remember. He wanted you to be reading your silly books of tragedy in your desk chair and think about this moment. Your hands slipped into his hair, tugging slightly.

“Oh- my god!” Kunikida exclaimed from the door. This was like a bucket of cold water to the moment completely. Dazai pushed up slightly, shooting a glare at Kunikida. “And to think I was worried you were sick.” Kunikida sighs, looking horrified. You pushed Dazai off you, getting to your feet. You didn’t talk as you picked up things you two knocked over onto the ground. Dazai leaned and grabbed the last thing, handing it to you, you grabbed it, your fingers brushing over his. It sent a chill down your spine. You grabbed your bag and looked at your feet as you left, too embarrassed to look Kunikida in the eyes. You rode the elevator alone and when it stopped at the ground floor you slipped out into the cold, inhaling a deep deep breath, leaning against the cold brick. The door pushed open behind you.

“There you are.” Dazai says, walking and slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.” You shook your head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea after everything. I mean,” You sighed. “I’m probably gonna get fired anyways but-”

“No one’s firing anyone.” Dazai says as you bite your lip.

“There’s no way he won’t tell Fukuzawa.” You say as Dazai cocks his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes.

“There is a way and I already took care of it.” He shrugs as you look up at him.

“How?”

“That’s a secret.” He says, slowly sliding his arm over your shoulders. “Come on, I’m not letting you walk, it’s too cold.”

“I like the cold.” You say, knowing if you got in that car he’d probably have you in his lap in seconds. It seems any hope of control has now been squandered. If you couldn’t control yourself in the office, his car, with dark windows and a long ride home, was going to prove to be a challenge.

“Do you really?” He asks with a smirk.

“You better be a gentleman.” You say with a sigh, letting him lead you to his car.

“I’ll be as gentle as you want, love.” He says and you can’t help it, after being caught red handed you start laughing, rolling your eyes.

“You’re the worst.” You smile as he leans and presses a kiss to your lips.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd dazai osamu #dazai bsd #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #bsd fanfic #bsd #fem reader #osamu x reader #osamudazai

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Note

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

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

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement.

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this.

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime.

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air.

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava.

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after.

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life.

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!”

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately.

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.”

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger.

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets.

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!”

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling.

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!”

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds.

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice.

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?”

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things.

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.”

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.”

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again.

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had.

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision.

��Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider.

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line?

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.”

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.”

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead.

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing.

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!”

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out.

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly.

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes.

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment.

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline.

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand.

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth.

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them.

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones.

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment.

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas.

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt.

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh.

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad.

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow.

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond.

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed.

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!”

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door.

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger.

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge.

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide.

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle.

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms.

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused.

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs.

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile.

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience.

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes.

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette.

At the end of the train, only the engine remains.

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man.

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering.

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet.

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time.

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher.

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame.

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion.

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts.

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor.

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air.

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake.

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you.

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.”

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch.

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot.

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple.

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you.

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.”

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up.

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!”

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.”

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse.

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you.

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.”

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves.

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck.

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch.

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.”

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat.

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard.

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up.

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains.

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion.

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now.

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming.

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood.

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh.

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast.

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony.

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly.

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath.

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat.

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice.

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function.

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack.

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist.

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty.

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh.

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction.

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.”

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied.

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you.

But he can’t move.

“Harp!”

And you can’t feel your fingers.

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry.

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross.

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils.

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy.

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze.

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this.

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly.

You can’t break—not like Rorke.

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull.

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless.

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out.

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do.

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you.

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later.

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before.

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.”

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open.

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood.

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth.

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh.

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse.

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes.

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches.

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt.

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

“Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground.

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage.

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!”

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion.

Keegan?

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.”

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger.

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid.

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed.

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.”

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad.

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.”

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!”

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again.

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head.

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious.

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.”

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him.

“Christ,” he hisses.

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick.

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane.

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge.

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold.

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding.

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan.

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead.

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body.

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still.

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes.

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you.

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion.

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!”

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob.

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on.

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.”

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how.

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind.

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence.

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard.

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had.

Two months.

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet.

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President.

He’d denied all of them.

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety.

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open.

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention.

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none.

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you.

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing.

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?”

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight.

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully.

It’s a moment before he answers you.

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.”

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room.

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared.

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say.

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy.

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you.

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again.

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent.

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks.

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there.

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them.

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it.

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr.

Hesh. You want your Hesh back.

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging.

Home.

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.”

You push yourself into him tighter.

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture.

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love.

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

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

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #x female reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #call of duty: ghosts

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rzyraffek · 11 months

Text

Guys I suffer from jojo brainrot, I know its not my usual writing , but I need to get this out of my system. NO SPOILERS they/them pronouns, sfw, Request open

Also for obvious (and legal) reasons in josuke and okayasu ones reader is like 16.

Also I didnt finish jojo part4 yet so some stuff might be eee not accurate?

More jjba dating headcanons!!

Including Kars, Santana, young Joseph, Jonathan, Josuke, Speedwagon, Okuyasu

Kars

Homie will litteraly pet them. My guy has god complex, thinks that humans are so so smol and so so tiny

Picks them up like some lil baby and probably carries them around everywhere

S/o mostly just vibes in his huge mansion while Kars plots some evil emo stuff (again)

Quick reminder that this guy was doing ah mimimimi ah mimimimimi😴 for last few centuries so s/o has to explain him a lot of stuff

Imagine him getting jumpscared bcs your phone made a noise, or him just walking up to light switch and turing lights on and off repeatedly. Mans fascinated

Also guy is a walking muscle so no matter how big or smol s/o is they going to be picked up and carried around, probably he uses only one hand too btw

Pls brush his hair he will litteraly melt

Santana

...

"Human why you carry tiny talking square everywhere? Is it magical?"

My guy will take their phone and 'accidently' take 50selfies, but not in sexy way, but in 'his face is zoomed to camera and you see only his eyes and forehead' way

His love language is quality time, understanding and gifts

Hates germans btw

Will give them random stuff, like he will litteraly bring them a microwave and be like "human explain meaning of this". But also gives them shiny rocks, jewellery, hair accessories. If s/o wants a new car, my man gonna litteraly pick up first car he sees and bring it to them

I am convinced he eats food with his bare hands. S/o has to give him tutoral how to use knife and fork, he won't like it >:(

Young Joseph

Homeboy hands are everywhere, if my guy doesn't hold their hand, he is putting his hands on s/o shoulders or waist or just kisses them

Doing make-up together. And nails. And hair. All of this while shittalking his enemies and talking about all the drama.

Tequila Joseph first dragqueen in history btw

Never go on plane with him, no matter how romantinc he promises it will be. Do not

Also makes fun of Ceasar that Joseph was the first one to find a partner not him😍

S/o and Ceasar probably meet up sometimes to just complain about how dumb Joseph sometiems is😭

Will litteraly do anything to impress them frfr

Jonathan

Not boyfriend, but Husband material

My guy will be on walk with his homie speedwagon and litteraly act like teenager girl with crush. All blushy, shy and asking for advices

Gives them handfuls of flowers, but like Jonathan's sized handful (alot)

Loves walking with s/o and holding hands ofc

My boy will blush and die if s/o does first move

Pls s/o beat dio up he sucks

The best boy husband

Josuke

Bros gonna be so protective, like fr my guy will be worried if s/o goes to shop and doesn't come back in more than 20minutes

He will blush if s/o tries to hold his hand

Mumbles a lot about hair routine and hair products, and probably likes to comb s/o hair

Okayasu probably cried when he found out that Josuke has a partner btw

The sweetest boy alive

Guy will accidentally spoil them. Also they are basicly immortal due to all crazy daimon stuff

If s/o sees stands... OMG PLS pls hug his lil man, his stand i mean. It looks very hugable

Playing video games when s/o and josuke lied to his mom that you came over to teach him some school stuff>>

Okuyasu

This dude

This guy

Will litteraly beat anyone up, for no reason anyways. He just do be like that.

He is very dumb, please be patient

Isn't romantic, he tries to act cool and tough, but he is unintentionally cute! Like he will go to s/o house in middle of day, knock on door and he like "sup babygrill I bought you some ice cream"

If you guys play any kind of competitive game he might let them win! But he never tell them that of course

Also he is very physical, but not in romantic/sexy way but in 'dub me up homie/sup give me high five' hes very bromance. he also enjoys just leaning on them, like yall just stand waiting for bus and this dude will put like half his body weight on them

Once he had a nightmare and called them at 3am

Speedwagon

Btw sorry that characters are all over place and not organised, I am sleeby

My guy will shank anyone for you babe

Talks, a lot. So if s/o is a listener type, they will get along well

Goes to Jonathan and asks for advices about relationships!

S/o steals his hat and he pretends that he's offended, but pls dont stop you look cute!

My guy is very very...unorganised... total mess of a men if it comes to life. I dont even know if he has a house btw

Cuddles on couch when he's sure that noone is around>>>

Will read them to bed if that helps s/o fall asleep

He has poor eyesight but he doesnt wear glasses. Bonk him pls

#jojo x reader #jjba #jonathan joestar #jonathan joestar x reader #joseph joestar #joseph joestar x reader #okuyasu my beloved #okuyasu x reader #josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #speedwagon x reader #kars x reader #santana x reader #joseph jjba #jojo headcanons #jjba headcanons #request open

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recreationalfanfics · 1 year

Text

RECORD OF RAGNAROK x READER BUT THE READER IS A JEDI:

- NO BRO BECAUSE BRUNHILDE WOULD BE ALL: "YOU SAID I COULD CHOOSE HUMANS, YOU NEVER SPECIFIED THEY HAD TO BE ON EARTH!!"

- Obviously the usual Jedi mind tricks aren't gonna work on Gods but like, the Force telekinesis is great for throwing them around like ragdolls.

- You're gonna be a pretty experienced Jedi, okay. For plot reasons and bc those Gods need to be humbled fr.

- YOU AND SASAKI KOJIRO ARE DEFINETLY BEST FRIENDS ON THE HUMAN'S SIDE, you teach him the sword ways of your fellow Jedi and he teaches you about some of his own sword fighting techniques as well.

- Soji absolutely adoring you and wanting to train with you constantly. Kondo also has great respect for you and while you are concerned with their thirst for violence and laugh rather nervously at it. However, you admire their sense of justice and they admire yours and your virtues as well.

- Raiden also 100% begs you to let him try out your lightsaber, LIKE P L E A S E IT IS ALL HE WANTS. LET HIM. LET HIM. PLEASE. You eventually have to use Force Illusion to make him forget because you're trying to meditate.

- SPEAKING OF MEDITAITION, YOU AND BUDDHA ARE ALSO GOOD BUDDIES. Your beliefs align with his so well and you applaud him for standing up what he believes in and he shrugs and just says the other gods are petty fools.

- ALSO, YOU JUST HAVING TO CALM DOWN BRUNHILDE WHEN SHE LOSES OR COMFORTING HER. Like the loss of Hercules was devastating and Göll didn't help, although you understood why she was upset, so you just went to check in on her and found her crying and ran over to comfort her and assure her battle is not easy for anyone.

- I also love the idea of you just having Göll meditate with you and and bringing her peace, she is so young and honestly, if things were different and you were able to train her just a little, you'd think she'd make a wonderful Palawan.

- Then there's Jack the Ripper, a terrible and tragic man whose heart has been mislead and misguided far too many times. You knew he wasn't the real Jack the Ripper and you just sense that his soul was capable of heinous crimes, he was just lonely. Meanwhile, DO YOU THINK JACK COULD SEE LIKE THE FORCE AROUND YOUR AURA?? LIKE, MIGHT THAT BE A THING?? AND HE LOVES YOUR COLOR THE WAY IT IS.

- I'd write the Gods but I'm too impatient but Thor wants to fight you so badly and also, like, IMAGINE THEM SEEING YOU FORCE HEAL YOURSELF IN BATTLE AND MEANWHILE, YOU'RE JUST ATTACKING THEM AND THEY'RE ALL: THAT IS SO NOT FAIR, WHAT-"

- Also u have platonic relationships with all of them bc you live by the "Jedi aren't supposed to fall in love" rule but like, if anyone wanna makes a request when they're open, I am not opposed-

#I NEED A TAG FOR MY CROSSOVER IDEAS BJT I CAN'T THINK OF A NAME #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv x reader #ror kojiro sasaki x reader #ror raiden tameemon #Raiden Tameemon x reader #ror brunhilde x reader #ror brunhilde #ror jack the ripper x reader #ror jack the ripper

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jisungchan · 2 months

Text

notice me | lee jeno

or: where your friends set you up (accidentally) so you end up alone with your hot college professor, lee jeno

⚔︎ warnings: professor!jeno x student!reader (therefore powerplay), unprotected penetrative piv sex (pls wrap it we cannot have anymore children in this economy and society), oral + fingering (f receiving) softdom!jeno x sub!reader (ish? not really strong dynamics tbh), bigdick!jeno agenda, light degradation/praise (idk he just yappin fr), oh yea... YAPPER JENO idc🗣, sexy consent, he finished inside so BEWARE (once again PLEASE do not bring anymore poor children in this world), light nipple play, marking ?? (hickeys galore), afab!reader with she/her pronouns, NO race specific descriptors (skin colour, hair texture, etc.), NO body type specific descriptors (size of reader body parts, height, weight, etc.). also this is basically porn w/o plot ngl but it's whatever ig

^^ let me know if i forgot anything hehe

2k word count

a/n: i completely gutted this blog and deleted all my old posts because that was a completely different audience/fandom and i have now ventured here... i haven't wrote something like this in a while so it's quite bad

“yeah i mean, he is hot, but he’s our teacher.” you exclaimed to your friends, gossiping about your teacher, professor lee jeno.

the way he would loosen his tie in class sometimes and peer at students through his glasses was just too much to handle. the dark haired older man was definitely easy on the eyes.

“okay… so? i would let him hit any day.” your friend said, and you all laughed, yet were all in agreement.

next thing you knew. it was time for class with the devil himself.

you sat in your usual seat next to your friends. while they all usually messed around during class, you always paid attention. your education was very important to you, and you weren’t going to let anyone get in the way of that. so you sat there, studiously taking notes and listening intently to everything said, taking it all in.

as you were taking notes, a note got passed to you. “listening extra hard to your boyfriend today huh?” you rolled your eyes at the familiar handwriting and shot your friends an irritated look.

professor lee got a glimpse of this, he peered through his glasses, and shot you a dangerous glare.

“y/n, see me after class please.” he said, before swiftly turning around to finish his lecture.

you couldn’t focus the rest of the class, so you settled for writing your thoughts in your notebook. how were you supposed to see him one on one? you could barely handle him in class. you made note to go off on your friends after you were done seeing mr. lee.

then, the bell rang. students fled the room, nobody quicker than your friend group, feeling a little guilty for getting you in trouble.

“so, y/n, passing notes in my class, are we?” he said, his back turned to you, erasing the board filled with an hour’s worth of notes.

“i’m sorry, it’s just a stupid note my friends passed to me.” you mumbled back. He motioned you to come to his desk as he sat down in his chair. of course you obliged, immediately going to the opposite side of his desk.

“let me see it.” he said emotionlessly, his hand out expecting it to fall in his palm.

“no sir, please, it’s just a stupid joke.” you pleaded, but his hand still was expectantly extended.

eventually, you dropped it in the palm of his large hands. he opened and read the note aloud, finishing with a hint of a little smirk.

you shuffled in place, cheeks burning and blushing from him reading it out loud, it was so embarrassing and you wanted to die on the spot.

“i see someone has a little crush. you’re a good student, you know that y/n?” he said to your surprise.

“thank you sir, i try my best.”

“and i think good girls deserve a little reward, wouldn’t you agree?”

you looked up to him loosening his tie and taking his jacket off.

“come, sit.” he said as he patted the desk right in front of him.

blindly, you obeyed. mind blurry from the very sudden and odd words coming from your teacher. you sat atop the desk, right in front of his sitting figure, and more importantly, his face. you kept your legs clamped shut, and you regretted wearing such a short skirt today.

“don’t be shy now love, like i said, good girls deserve rewards, now let me reward you, yeah?

you nodded, and with that, he separated your legs, staring hungrily at the wetness leaking through your underwear.

he laughed.

“already? i see that ‘stupid little joke’ must be getting to you, hmm?"

this was all too embarrassing, you tried to close your legs back, but jeno was too strong. he tsked and widened your legs even more. then, he scooped your underwear with one finger, tugging it down your legs.

“was so excited when i saw you with that note, finally had an excuse to get you alone.” he said, his hands lightly grazing your inner thighs.

he stood, hovering over you, and kissed you.

it wasn’t desparate and harsh, but slow and sensual. he licked your lower lip, then took it between his teeth. he placed his hands on your hips as he continued. he moved down to your neck, embedding hickeys into your skin.

“how true is that note? is that why you’re such a good student in my class?” he questioned you once again.

“yes, no? i do genuinely enjoy your class, sir” you breathlessly replied.

he sat back down, you could feel his breath on your wet, eager cunt, just waiting for him to do something about it.

and as soon as you uttered a

please

jeno wasted no time to please you.

his wet, experienced tongue masterfully landed on your clit, giving you little kitten licks. then, he pressed his lips on you, making out with your sloppy mess of a cunt. his tongue circling around your entrance, teasing it until finally replacing it with a finger. his tongue went back to stimulating your clit as his finger repeatedly abused your hole over and over again. he added another, and you’ve never felt so full. as if his long, veiny fingers weren’t enough, he curled them, hitting your sweet spot causing broken whimpers to fall from your quivering lips. moans escaped your mouth as he kept going.

as he heard your gasps of exasperation, he looked up, boring his brown eyes into yours.

“such a sweet pussy for a sweet girl.”

he continued his actions, until eventually you started getting restless, pulling on his hair tightly and squirming around.

“go ahead, cum on my fingers darling” he commanded softly.

and with that, you were sent over the edge, making a mess of his fingers and all over his mouth. you thought your ‘reward’ was finished, but jeno had other plans.

“you thought that was all? y/n, you are my top student, i have to treat you accordingly.”

then, he flipped you over on your chest, ass out in the air.

“no spanking this time, but if you act up again, i will have to punish you, okay?”

“yes sir!” you replied eagerly.

with that, he placed his throbbing cock at your entrance, teasing you and himself with just the tip. you hadn’t even seen his dick, but from the tip, you could tell it was big.

he leans over, chest to your back, speaking lowly in your ear,

“i’ll show you how a real man fucks,”

he pushes himself in a bit

“how you should be fucked”

he pushes himself halfway into you, you’re already whining at the stretch

“you’re gonna walk out of here and never want anyone else’s dick ever again.”

and with that, jeno forces the rest of his length inside you, licking the shell of your ear as he stands back up.

your pussy squeezes in shock from him throbbing inside of you. he hasn’t even moved yet, but you can already feel yourself becoming undone.

“you still with me baby? hmm? can’t have you fucked out when i haven’t even fucked you yet, can we?” he asks mockingly, squishing your cheeks with his hand to turn your face toward him.

jeno just thinks you look so beautiful, face flushed with lust and eyes glossy with desire as you shake your head no.

“use your words baby, need to hear how much you want your professor’s cock.” he starts shallowly thrusting, just enough to make you let out a quiet moan.

“please, fuck, please fuck me. needed you for so long.” you whine, attempting to grind back on him in effort to get some friction for your poor needy cunt. he picks up the speed, starting to drag his dick in and out at a more rapid speed. you can feel each vein massaging your gummy walls.

“fuck, me too baby. every time i saw you walk into class, just wanted to bend you over the desk and fuck you just like this. let everyone see how much of a slut you are for me.”

your head hangs down, forehead against the desk as he presses his hand in your back, causing you to arch even more. high on euphoria and need, you start bouncing your ass back on him, meeting him halfway. you hear a small laugh that turns into a low grunt at your actions, when he suddenly pulls out.

sad at the feeling of emptiness, you didn’t even have a chance to protest before he flips you around, ass on the desk and your arms keeping you sitting up.

“wanna see those pretty tits bounce when i fuck you.” is all he says, before he ruthlessly enters you again, going even faster than before.

you moan and clench around the feeling, never having felt so full before. you’re gushing around him still, causing his length to be covered with your slick, it even dripped all over his desk and over both your thighs; though, you’re too turned on and needy to even be embarrassed. all you need right now is to cum around him.

you lift your shirt up, granting his wish of seeing your chest bounce and jiggle as he fucks up into you. he groans and takes one in his hand, kneading it and rolling your nipple before pinching it, making you yelp. he then brings his head down to paint more hickeys all over your now exposed chest, leaving so many littered across your skin.

“is my pretty girl enjoying herself on my cock?” he hums as he kisses back up to your neck.

you moaned in response, not able to formulate words. his gentle question was contrasted by how hard he was ramming into you. with every thrust you heard your skin clapping together; you swore you both were going to break his desk.

“you’re gonna let me cum in you, right? be my perfect little student and let me cum in you, yeah?”

“yes please, god, i need you to cum in me. wanna be so full of you, please.” you choked out, furiously nodding your head.

he kept going at a steady pace, fucking himself into you over and over again, chasing after his release. he placed his thumb on your clit rubbing circles, with the other gripping your waist.

“cum with me, yea? make a mess on my pretty cock, okay?” he cooed in your ear once again. that was all you needed to finish, and you came all over him as he came inside of you.

after a moment of each of you catching your breath, he pulled out. you whined at the feeling, especially as you felt his cum start to leak out of you. he took his finger, gathering it, and pressed it back into you. you hissed at the feeling of his finger in your sensitive cunt again, but he kept fingering you through your overstimulation. the moment he placed his thumb on your cunt, you came for a third time, crying out his name.

he cleaned you up with his handkerchief, slipped your underwear back on for you, and even helped you fix your clothes and hair. he looked at you fondly as you soothed face, still showing evidence of your semi-fucked out state.

“you were so good for me, how about a free private tutor session at my place? i could go into so much more depth than what we discussed here.”

i do not give permission for my work to be translated or reposted.

#nephele after dark #nct #nct dream #lee jeno #jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct jeno #jeno #jeno imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct hard hours

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localwhoore · 22 days

Text

hey its me again 😁

todays topic is why you freaky ass bitches are into dark! driver shit like Ok babesters !!

people can read what they want but ts is actually fucking weird bro rape kink is crazy 😭

thats weird as fuck like youre into…. being kidnapped…….. and raped??????? have you considered seeing a therapist? and speaking about your issues? and what if the drivers see what youve been writing??? WHAT IF LANDO OR MAX OR WHORVER SEES THAT YOUVE WRITTEN A FIC ABOUT HIM LOCKING YOU UP IN A BIRD CAGE AND VIOLENTLY FUCKING UR “innocent pure pink pussy with his 40 inch schlongus🥺🥺” LIKE BRO HES NOT GNA “breed u so ur stuffed w his fertile seed and stuck w him forever” ??????? WHY ARE YOU WEIIIIRDDDDD

I LITERALLY SAW A FIC WHERE THE READER GOT KIDNAPPED????? AND GOT FUCKING BABYTRAPPED????????????????AND SHE WAS OK WITH IT BECAUSE CHARLES WAS HOT???????? THAT MAKES ZERO SENSE THATS SI FUCKING WEIRD BRO I JS CLOSED THE FIC AND WENT STRAIGHT TO SLEEP BRO LMFGFKAOOO 😭

“ur mine…… and mine only 😈😈😈 grrrrrrr daddys here kitten witten schmookulicious🐺🐺⛓️🖤” be so fucking fr rn if someone said that to u irl TELL ME TO MY FACE u wld not be SPRINTING IN THE OTHER DIRECTION 😭😭😭 AINT NO F1 DRIVER BOUTA SCOOP UR FATASS UP AND SWEEP U AWAY TO THE BED TO REPOPULATE THE EARTH WHILE UR CHAINED UP AND HAVE TO FILM VIDEOS ASKING FOR RANSOM MONEY 💀

almost all the plots are;

reader talks to a rando, driver gets jealous and violently breedfucks reader to “assert dominance”

reader is a hissy brat and driver gets jealous and violently breedfucks reader to “assert dominance”

reader is casually spending time w her friends like a normal person and driver gets jealous and violently breedfucks reader to “assert dominance”

reader gets manipulated into a relationship and then driver violently breedfucks reader to “assert dominance”

driver violently breedfucks reader to “assert dominance” to babytrap so that pookie reader will 🥺never leave themmmmmmm🥺

to end things off,, lets play a drinking game! every time u see a dark fic, check the warnings. if it says somnophilia take a shot. if it says breeding kink take a shot. if it says size kink smut take 2 shots. if it says manipulation, obsession, controlling behaviour, gaslighting, or dubcon take a shot for each that shows up. now u can read the fic. take 5 shots every time a driver growls “youre mine”. take 3 shots for every ooc thing ANYONE does throughout the whole story. take 2 shots if the setting is in a random bar. take a shot if the driver gets jealous somewhere along the entire fic

and what do you get? whats your end result?

𝓪𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓱𝓸𝓵 𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰🕊️🕯️🛁🫧🎀

#🧼 rants #dark fic #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #lando norris #charles leclerc #f1 smut

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yesimwriting · 3 months

Note

How do you think Felix would react to bestfriend!reader coming out as bi/pan or nonbinary/genderfluid?

Do you think he would view women as much of a threat as men or…? And what do you think he would say if reader went: “OMG FELIX that girl is so hot” or something like that.

Sorry this was kinda long— 😭

i wanted to answer this fully bc it's a good question, and that got a little long so it's below the cut!!

also i analyze felix's sexuality a little just to give some background on my perspective,, but i try not to put my own speculations on felix's sexuality in fics (unless asked to) bc i want the person reading to be able to decide how they see felix

oh!! also! side note! i've mainly written bestfriend! reader with female pronouns,, and some plot stuff in the main fic i'm writing does rely on reader being female, but if anyone ever wants a specific blurb to have reader be gender neutral,, just specify in the ask and i'll make sure to write it that way :)

okay,, i think felix is extremely bi/pan leaning

and by that i mean i don't think he'd label his sexuality,, and not even in a 'too cool' way, he just wouldn't put that much thought into it,, like he probably sees himself eventually settling down/marrying a girl bc that's kind of the default (a tiny bit of comphet lol),, but i think he likes who he likes, he's attracted to who he's attracted to and doesn't pay much mind to their gender

i feel like this applies to most of felix's family/inner circle as well lol,, like attraction is attraction, why get caught up on the details if that makes sense

also no one can convince me felix didn't feel anything for ollie,, they are that romantic coded best friendship that ends dramatically and traumatically for all involved <3 but in bestfriend!felix verse reader will always be his #1, trust

but if we are reading felix as straight,, i still think he'd be super supportive (bi wife energy)

so considering that (and the fact that felix loves reader too much to ever make them feel bad about anything,, especially something like that) he'd be extremely supportive of reader's sexual orientation and/or gender identity,, and if anyone even implies something rude oh!! he's fighting!

depending on how bad it is, felix might just exclude that person socially, and bc of felix's influence, that means everyone starts to shun that person,, if someone was really homophobic towards reader,, felix would cuss them out fr,, might even instinctually get physical depending on how bad it is

as far as reader being like "felix! that girl is so hot" his initial reaction would be to agree/hype you up bc it's instinct to support reader,, but then it'd hit him and he'd be like oh. wait.. :(

true equality and acceptance of reader's sexuality/gender identity is wanting everyone of all genders to realize how wonderful reader is,, but from a distance <3 like yes i have the cutest, most perfect, lovely,, intelligent best friend, i'm glad you noticed,, unfortunately that's all you get to do

i do think that if it was just you two talking while out partying or hanging out and it didn't go further than some comments, felix would be supportive, but he'd be a little extra touchy to prove to himself that reader will let him

i think he'd be more bothered if reader called a guy hot, not bc he's more intimidated, but bc at least when reader finds a girl attractive it's much less of a direct comparison (bc female presenting and masculine presenting are generally hot in different ways) if that makes sense

if it goes any further than that,, felix is equally pouty no matter the person's gender

also we know felix's friends have a habit of hooking up with venetia,, so i could see this making felix more wary of venetia and reader getting along a little too well over the summer lol,, like he wouldn't assume the worst if they started liking each other a little, but he'd be wary

honestly, though,, at the end of the day, as long as it's clear that felix is reader's absolute favorite person of any gender, he'd be chill and even when he's jealous he's supportive

#bestfriend!felix #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader

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aarmaudiaries · 2 months

Text

i could go on and on about mcd zane’s characterization for HOURS dude i’m so fr. cause like i firmly believe that mcd is the type of media that allows fans to interpret any character however they want because canon is weird and full of plot holes- BUT! personally i could never see mcd zane as anything but a villain. like that man was a FREAK. he slaughtered whole ass villages and hurt literal CHILDREN for fun like cmon guys. and like ik some people aren’t fans of mcd aaron so they kinda ignore his character and stuff but if you do pay attention to his backstory you would really understand why diaries zane is such a horrible person. like he slaughtered the dude’s entire village! you can hate aaron all you want but that was so fucked up . and what’s also horrible about it is like he probably did it to MULTIPLE villages too, cause there was no reason to just only go after falcon claw lets be real, he wanted to do more then that. PLUS literally everything that happened in season 1 ???? dude literally RUINED LIVES. LIKE ARE WE FORGETTING ABOUT ALEXIS ??? OR THE ENTIRE WEDDING DISASTER ?? like WHAT 😭 and again i’ll say that you can redeem zane and stuff in your rewrite i’m not judging anyone for that- i just know personally i could NEVER do that. it just like- kinda takes away from the whole point of his character in the story i feel ? not that you can’t do that cause jess fucked up mcd’s writing tremendously- but i just feel like zane was such a good villain. his purpose was to be a villain. so like- i know that keeping him that way in my rewrite at least is what i’m going to do. like he’s silly and absolutely bonkers insane but that’s part of the charm! the entire reason i think hes cool is BECAUSE of how evil he was. idk i just think hes neat slash derogatory (that’s a joke)

anyways yea sorry if this makes absolutely no sense i’m just rambling atp. if you have redeemed zane in your rewrite feel free to share what you did because i find it super interesting !!!! just don’t take this post the wrong way please i promise i’m not shaming anyone i swear </3

ok but that’s all for now aphblr have a good day/night 🩷🩷🩷

#aphblr #aphmau #aphverse #minecraft diaries #aphmau mcd #zane ro'meave #please nobody come for me i get so anxious abt upsetting ppl 😭

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just-another-author-i-guess · 1 year

Note

omg if you write smut you NEED to write judd birch smut

I literally cannot stop writing smut for the guy— he’s just so 🥰😋😳🥵

Tags: fem! Reader, porn, literally and without plot, Judd doesn’t know what ‘soft sex’ means fr, he also curses and calls you a variety of fun swear words, very unprotected sex, use protection pls! author wrote this at 1 am and was sleep deprived

Summary: you and Judd fuck.

Author’s note: I was laying on the couch and just,, got this idea. It’s super short, but sometimes all we need is a short lil Judd smut to get us through the day, right? God I love him so much,,

Judd smut drabble

Word count; 1,3K

You couldn’t hear Connie anymore, barely had the brainpower to register that she indeed still was somewhere in the room— you couldn’t think because all you could feel was Judd.

He had been fucking you for hours. You were so sore and puffy and sensitive, so worn out that you couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore.

His hand was in your hair, large fingers roughly gripping the back of your head and pressing your face so far down into the mattress you could barely breathe. He made sure you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t touch him as he covered you entirely with his own body, holding you up with an arm under your hips and thrusting into you with a speed most would deem inhuman.

Drooling, whimpering and crying, you clawed at the pillows, they were close to ripping under your tight grip. You could feel him so deep— his mushroom-like tip pressing against and bruising your g-spot each time he moved.

You had taken his cock plenty before, in this particular position too, but you never seemed to get used to his size. The stretch burned so pleasurably in your lower belly, you could feel him there too, slightly bulging and turning your brain to absolute mush.

“You’re crying, bitch?” He drawled, feeling your body wreck with sobs. You were so wet, and it felt so good, what else could you do than cry?

In response, you wiggled your hips, trying (and failing) to match his rapid thrusts. His grip on your hair tightened, and his speed picked up. It hurt, but you liked it. Loved it even. It only served to make you more wet, slick running from your puffy hole and coating everything underneath and besides you— including Judd. His thighs were wet with your slick, you could feel it as he leaned further over you and smeared some of it on your ass.

He pressed your face further into the mattress, mushing your cheeks together. “You got what you asked for— take it.” He grunted. It was true, you were completely at fault for getting yourself into this predicament. Earlier, while he was trying to concentrate on his training, you had been all over him— you begged and pleaded and told him he could fuck you as a form of exercise, and he generously took you up on that offer.

But that also meant he wouldn’t stop until he grew tired— it didn’t matter if you could handle it or not.

Only a few times, when you first got together had he fucked you so roughly. He could go, and go, and go, till you passed out still on his cock. So no. He wouldn’t stop till he was tired.

“Jwudd— jwuud, I can’t—“ You sniffled, makeup and drool bleeding out into Judd’s pillows.

He cackled sinisterly, lifting your head slightly. “You can and you will. Just one more time and you can pass out, alright, baby?”

Then he was moving his arm down from your waist— long fingers coming to rub harsh circles into your neglected clit. You gaped, pussy clenching wildly around Judd as he finally played with your puffy, aching bud. You moaned loudly, so loudly that it bordered on a shriek that the whole house would be able to hear.

“So now you want everyone to hear? What happened to being quiet?” He teased you, the corners of his mouth perking up just the slightest. Both his brows were furrowed— sweat dripping between them, he was also getting close to yet another release himself and he had to concentrate to not blow his load.

You knew his family was home, anyone could walk up to the second floor of the house and hear the two of you clear as day.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, in time with Judd’s harsh pull on your hair. “Y-yes! I don’t care— please, J-Judd..” You babbled, too drunk on dick to come up with anything coherent.

His thrusts increased again, your already loud squelching gaining sound. “If you wanna sound like a fucking whore, let everyone know who’s making you cum. Who owns you, huh? You and your wet fucking pussy,” Judd spat.

You mewled. “You— Judd..!”

“Not good enough.” He growled. “Again, slut.”

Fat, wet tears rolled slowly down your cheeks and you wailed; “Judd! I’m yours— you own me and my wet pussy!”

Suddenly, he was harshly shoving your head back into the mattress— then letting go of your hair. He flipped you around, cock leaving you for barley a second before he shoved it inside again, all the way in one thrust.

You gasped as he held both your thighs to your chest, bending your knees over his shoulders and supporting himself with an arm on each side of your head. He looked directly into your face and your cunt clenched at just the sight of him— his tightly set jaw, rosy cheeks and furrowed brows. If you didn’t know better, you’d have mistaken his concentration for a scowl.

“So big. S’big,” You babbled— his cue to spread a large hand over your stomach.

His cock bulged through you, he pressed down, right when he thrusted into you and that’s when you had enough.

You came with a sob of his name, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as you creamed on his cock. He groaned, loudly and hid his face in your shoulder to conceal the way he bit his lip. Judd was only a few, very rough thrusts behind you. His balls slapped against you with each thrust, he pressed down a bit harder, feeling himself through you and then he came.

Your hole clenched pathetically around him as he filled you with thick, warm spend— he bit down on your neck and jaw. He peppered you with small bites, your neck was already so completely covered that he had to bite in already sore and tender marks. You moaned and found his hair with your hands, holding him tightly to you.

You felt your belly expand slightly— so full with both his dick and cum. It was hard to stay awake, with his warm body covering you, your eyes crossed slightly as you concentrated on staying awake.

Judd nosed your collarbone. “You can sleep, pretty girl. I’ll clean you up,” he muttered, softly pulling your legs down and slipping out of you.

You whined, at both the feeling of loss when he slipped out and when he started to move away. You reached for him and he clicked his tongue. “You wanna fuck again already? You’re such a little slut,”

“Mhm..” His words didn’t register in your brain, all you felt was his warm cum in your pussy and something that felt suspiciously like an old t-shirt being rubbed against you to clean you up.

Then you were out, softly breathing and hiccuping in your sleep. Judd looked down at you with a crooked grin. “Pretty little bitch.” He muttered, eyes raking your sleeping form.

Even though he literally fucked you to sleep, you looked completely innocent to him. He gently covered you with his blanket— fingers softly digging into your skin to feel you as he did so. You were so warm and soft, his chest swelled with pride as he looked at the work he did on your neck, shoulders and thighs. Bloody teeth indents and bruises covered your smooth skin, his teeth indents and bruises.

‘Fuck her while she’s sleeping.’ Maury clapped him on the shoulder. He shook the monster off, fixing him a dark glare.

“Fuck off, I’m going to sleep.” He was getting tired himself, going for so long did use up quite a bit of his stamina.

The monster laughed hoarsely. ‘I was kidding! You did a great job, kid. She’s knocked the fuck out,’

Judd barely bothered acknowledging his praise, grunting but otherwise keeping quiet as he rose from the bed to search for a pair of boxers. His muscles were sore and he groaned as he stood up, stretching before pulling a pair of boxers from the drawers.

Maury bid him goodbye, spraying nonsense about visiting a nearby restaurant before disappearing. Judd fell back into bed, narrowly avoiding falling onto you. He pulled your sleeping form to him, nuzzling his face into your hair as he drifted off to the land of dreams.

Omg I need to go to bed 🫣 I genuinely hope you enjoyed this, though

Also, three fics in one week?!?!? Can we talk about that??? Y’all are eating so well lol. And look at me somewhat consistently uploading 😎 wowie

Tags: @dlfvrr , @bxbyyyjocelyn (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

#big mouth #judd birch x reader #judd birch #big mouth x reader #judd birch smut #x reader smut #smut

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local-omen · 12 days

Text

bad batch finale thoughts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first of all damn. like damn. they really did it. those crazy sons of bitches did it. they ended this beloved show in a way that was cathartic, happy, full of tension, and did all the characters justice. my faith in star wars has been restored. i am so happy

—— the tension was unmatched this whole episode. like narratively, killing off tech told us as the audience that no one is safe, there’s no plot armor. so the whole time i was like omg they’re all gonna die but they dIDNT BECAUSE THEYRE THE BEST IN THE BUSINESS AND BECAUSE THEY HAVE LOYALTY AND LOVE FOR EACH OTHER AND THATS WHAT THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT. LOYALTY AND LOVE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

—— CROSSHAIRS HAND IM SOBBING there is something so heart wrenching but amazing about his 'shooting hand' being taken away from him. it's like the physical embodiment of why he was created but now that he's free of that embodiment, he can choose to be whatever he wants. such a good choice narratively imo

—— that elite task force was badass i'm obsessed with their designs and their fighting styles i kinda wish we got more of them but they were also terrifying

—— crosshair finally made the shot that mattered the MOST. i love him so much. like he seriously means so much to me idec

—— still bummed that tech is actually dead (no he’s not haha loser i’m happy in my delusions). while i do think it’s technically more realistic for clone soldiers bred to die and raised with the expectation that they’ll be killed in battle to lack emotion, i think the lack of emotion this season was to its detriment. however i will say that the “clone force 99 died with tech” line was so good it pretty much made up for it lol

—— THE ENDING WAAA A A AAA A. A A A A. A AAA. A A A A A. A A AAA AAA AAA AAAA A A AAAAAA A A. omega and hera best friends confirmed. they were rebellion pilots together. omega is in the rebellion. like that is just the perfect ending to her character i can’t even. because of course she would. and i love her. i’m so proud of her. she is the heart and soul of this show and anyone who hated her is prolly feelin realllll silly right now

—— damn we’re really just not gonna know who the cx 2 operative was huh. like. he really was just a guy

—— that last shot of tech’s glasses almost got me i fr almost cried. he would be so so so proud of omega. he would be proud of all of them

—— omegas and hunters older designs mean everything to me. just. storytelling through clothes will never not be my favorite thing. her little skull patch 😭🫠 the bandana 🫠🥲

this show means so much to me, truly. it has inspired me artistically, comforted me, and connected me to some amazing people. i don’t even feel stupid for writing all these thoughts about a ‘silly little star wars show’ because damn it this is what art and stories means to people!! this is how powerful they can be! i do not need to hide behind jokes and irony to communicate how much this artistic work means to me!

#big huge rambly post but thank you for reading lol #so happy with that ending #so happy my doubts were proven wrong #the bad batch #star wars #tbb #the bad batch season 3 #tbb spoilers #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #good art is so important #thank you star wars for actually letting them be happy #thanks bad batch. i’ll love you forever

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rs-hawk · 4 months

Note

Do you have any writing tips? Even if it’s not necessarily for smut?

I won’t be touching on tips for smut at all on this post but I can make a separate post for it if y’all want.

My Top 10 Writing Tips

Love all your characters. Yes, even your antagonists. Hell, especially your antagonists. Even if they’re evil for the sake of being evil, if you want a 3 dimensional character, you have to acknowledge that they’re more than just evil to someone. Their mother. Their friends. Their dog. You have to think of their motivations, and honestly?-acknowledge that every character you write has a part of you in them. Maybe just your anger, your fear, your trauma, but love them for that, and it’ll shape them and your works in ways you never thought of.

Don’t reread your work too often! It’s hard (so very very hard) but when you have to crank out 2k words a day every day of the month but 2 it gets easier. Lol. Fr though just keep chugging along. You can reread later. You can edit later. Just get it done.

Don’t edit too much while you’re still actively writing. I know that’s hard, I really do, but if you keep rewriting, you’ll never be able to finish. You’ll keep writing a handful of scenes over and over again until you hate it, your book and yourself for “giving up”. You can edit later.

Write for yourself. It doesn’t matter how good of a writer you are, how beautiful or eloquent your style, if you hate it with every fiber of your being, it’ll turn to dust in your hands. I consider writing work, and when people enjoy themselves at work, not only do they do better, but the consumer enjoys it more. Think about it. If you’re at a restaurant and the workers are laughing and smiling with each other and seem genuinely happy, you’re more likely to go back than if they’re miserable, on the verge of tears and seem to hate being there, right? The same is true for your writing. Readers will enjoy it more if they can feel how much you enjoyed creating it.

Don’t just write. Listen to music. Get up and go for a walk. Text/call a friend. Watch a TV show. Pet your cat. Experience something. It helps you write but it also reminds you that hey, you’ve been here like eight hours. Get something to drink. Take a screen break. Go outside.

Be comfortable while you write. I’m not going to lecture you on posture because I’m currently laying down with my legs drawn up under me, my upper body turned and my phone in the air because I’m trying to put enough pressure on my lower back to pop it. Anyway, even if you can’t stay in one position long, switch. Listen to your body. A “proper” posture can end up hurting you if you don’t ever relax or if you’re putting too much pressure on your lower spine. It’s okay to lean. It’s okay to lay down. It’s okay to sit cross-legged. Just not at the expense of your body. Be aware, and don’t forget to get up and stretch!

Take breaks. Eat. Drink. Stretch. Go to the bathroom. Some people need them scheduled, and that’s fine, but also listen to your body. If you need to use the toilet but you don’t have another break scheduled for an hour, just go. Pause your timer or delay your alarm if you want, but take care of yourself.

Don’t be too rigid with your “starting” plot. We know most of us have that one scene or one character in mind we want to write, so we create a plot around them. That’s fine and I love it, but your writing is like a living creature. You might change while writing it. Your characters and ideas might change while writing it. Let them change. Let you change! You can edit later.

Remember it’s not a race. Just because you see some people dropping 3 novels a year, or 5 Tumblr posts every day doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. No one can write what you write. No one can create what you can create. Your work deserves to exist and be judged on its own merit. Not compared to anyone else’s, even if it’s you five years ago who could crank out multiple posts daily. It’s okay.

Don’t expect anything. Start writing because you love it. It makes you happy. It itches that part of your brain that no other hobby does. That no other love does. I’ve been writing for about 15 years now. I don’t know who I am without it. I have tried giving it up, moving past it, doing other things, but I always come back. Nothing else makes me feel the way writing does. I have gone years without writing, but when I start writing again, it’s like a high. I can go for hours, and I have! I have been lucky to be able to monetize my work, but it took 10+ years and was only because I got goofy about werewolves on a PTR app. You can’t go into the arts and expect to make money right away, or ever. You can hope, and do your best, but don’t only do it because you think you’ll make a living. It’s a sad but real fact. Capitalism makes us think we should only do stuff we can make money off of, but that’s a lie. You can AND SHOULD create just to create. Humans are meant to make art, and if writing is your canvas like it is mine, write to create. Fuck capitalism. Your art existing is enough reason to create it.

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