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longing-for-the-past-times · 7 months

Text

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - five.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 9k (as you will see, a lot of stuff happens)

synopsis: When the mission goes south and you end up in the hands of the enemy, Ghost finds himself alone and angry, reflecting on what your presence actually means to him.

warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of torture, occasional swearing, mentions of smoking, hurt/comfort, slight happy-ending, Ghost being angry and tortured by his inner demons, military inaccuracies

notes: So this is it - the finale of a series that was initially meant to be a one shot consisting of several random fluff-filled scenes. I am actually quite satisfied with how the story turned out, although I have to warn you that this chapter is longer than usual because it consists of several pure narrative parts (background descriptions and such).

If you need therapy after reading this, just dm me the bills and I'll work something out :)

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

five.

To say Ghost was angry would have been an understatement. He was fuming, his heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the now-silent room. Even after half an hour had passed, the burning feeling in his chest did not fade away, serving instead as a reminder of his helplessness. He was angry at Laswell for pairing you up with the younger sniper team. He was furious with Price for his decision to not go after you the moment your radio stopped working...

But in the end, he was livid with himself for not being there to protect you in the first place.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that ate him from inside like a parasite, and as the seconds turned into minutes which would be bound to turn into hours, he felt the weight of his inaction suffocating him like he was the one under torture. Clenching his jaw, he began to stomp around the living room of the safe house. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife and, as he felt the concerned looks of the others on him, Ghost couldn’t help but replay the events of the past 36 hours in his mind.

He felt he had failed you when it mattered most, but he was determined to set things straight and bring you back unharmed.

Or at least alive and breathing.

--- 28 hours earlier

The sky was painted in golden hues by the time you left the briefing room, the morning air being a cold, yet comforting sensation that welcomed you when you got out of the main base building. Your mind was reeling with a plethora of classified intelligence and even more questions, but at least your adrenaline levels were high enough to chase any remnants of sleep away.

It had been almost a day since you left your apartment, but you weren't in a rush to go back. You would have to pack for the next mission anyway, and the given approximation of "an undefined amount of time" was an additional reason to delay the task. Instead, you went to the only place where you knew you'd find Ghost at this hour: the unofficial smoking spot of the base, named after the lack of security cameras in the area.

And there he was, perched on a plastic chair that made him look comically big and threatened to barely hold his weight. His mask was raised to his nose, highlighting a prominent jawline, peppered with faint scars and a hint of blonde stubble. Involuntarily, your eyes focused on his plump lips and the way they were wrapped around the cigarette, its burning tip glowing orange with each drag he took. His eyes were focused on a random point on the ground, but you knew he had heard you coming- his body had unconsciously shifted towards you, his legs adopting an open stance, almost as if to greet you.

"Thought you said you'd quit", you teased him in a soft tone, dragging a chair and sitting next to him. You opened your mouth to add something but were taken aback when you saw his lips curl up in a gentle smile, accompanied by a weak laugh.

There was no humour in it, but that did not stop you from relishing in the rare sight of Ghost's grin, your eyes once again focusing on the faint scar that rested on his lower lip. You didn't know the story behind it, nobody but Price did, yet that didn't stop you, Soap and Gaz to come up with scenarios of your own, one less likely than another.

"You're staring!", he remarked in a gravelly tone, blowing out a huff of smoke.

You knew it was wrong, but you secretly enjoyed second-hand smoking when he was around. He was too stubborn to let you try one of his cigarettes, always arguing about the negative impact on your health, but it was not like he could forbid you from keeping him company. The traces of smoke in his scent were an integral part of him and sometimes you just couldn't get enough of it, your lungs always begging for more.

"I'm not!", you eventually countered, taking a deep breath in. "And you did not answer the question!"

"It wasn't a question!", he argued back with a serious expression, his lips now forming a straight line.

"You know what I mean!"

You also knew that the banter you two had going on was meant to keep him away from the edge that would send Simon away and bring back Ghost. You'd already seen glimpses of him back in the briefing room when Laswell brought you up to date on the details of the mission. Just as you were witnessing Simon now, smoking half a pack of cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep the deadly persona of the 141 Lieutenant away for as long as possible.

"Can I try one?", you went on with the distraction, already knowing his answer.

"No." - his answer was definitive, his clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Huffing in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest and furrowed your brow, slightly scrunching your nose. He did not seem to be fazed by your childish outburst and instead, inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing as he drew in the smoke. The exhale came shortly after, grey tendrils of smoke escaping his parted lips before he decided to speak again:

"Wanna hear something funny?"

You were already aware of Ghost's penchant for what he called "dad jokes", but what actually were just really bad puns, although, with him, they often had the tendency to turn out darker than expected. That was why you had to carefully pick your answer because you did not want to have Ghost on the bad side before going into mission - either because you refused to listen to a pun, or because of your reaction to it.

"I'm really not sure…", you shook your head, struggling to avoid eye contact.

As expected, he went on regardless of your answer.

"What do you call cigarettes you find in a thrift shop?"

A faint smirk was profiling on his lips again as he was clearly waiting for your reaction before delivering the pun.

"Go on, tell me", you eventually nudged him, rolling your eyes in fake pretence.

"Second hand smokes."

You struggled to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread on your face, but eventually, you ended up looking to the ground and shaking your head in defeat. Another low chuckle was heard from Simon, yet when you looked back at him, the cigarette butt was already in the ashtray and his balaclava was back on. You let out a deep sigh, your lips forming a pout, but you accepted his extended hand, allowing him to lift you from the chair.

"Come on, I'll drive you home. Price said the plane leaves at 1300 hours which leaves us with… exactly 6 hours and 45 minutes to get our things in order."

"Can't wait for it!", you let out an ironic huff, a shiver going down your spine upon hearing a hushed laugh in reply.

You and Ghost were in a good place. You could only hope this would last.

---

"Sergeant L/N, these are Privates Reynolds and Jones! They will be accompanying you on this mission as a sniper, respectively a spotter!"

From the instant you set eyes on him, you knew Captain Price had chosen the tarmac to make the introduction with a firm reason in mind. Perhaps it was the thunderous roar of the engines or the massive air currents caused by the propellers of the military aircraft you were about to board, but you could tell the atmosphere was intimidating enough for the two young men that they could only hold your gaze for so long before nodding their heads in acknowledgement.

"This is Sergeant L/N and she is going to be your mentor and leader for the duration of this mission", Price went on, his tone mercilessly cold.

The previous night he'd been a friendly face, "the dad of the group", as you drunkenly mentioned him in the toast, but that day he was the Captain of one of the most lethal Task forces there had been. And with that position came no room for mistakes or second thoughts.

"You will listen to her, no matter the situation. She tells you to shoot, you shoot. She tells you to hide, you hide. Hell, she tells you to come out and surrender, you do just that if you want to come home in one piece and not in a body bag!"

And he had a tendency to be slightly dramatic sometimes. Yet it was well-intended: you could only remember the "pep-talk" he'd given you before your first mission, after having placed you in the care of one of the most deadly operators you've ever seen, also known to others as "the big boy with a skull face"; that mission had gone sideways minutes after it had begun and you ended up saving yourself and the Lieutenant twice just by being high on energizers and adrenaline.

You and Ghost did not talk about that.

"Good to meet you, boys!", you shook their hands with a firm grip before nodding them into the direction of the aircraft. "You should go and buckle up. I'll be joining you soon!"

"Yes ma'am!", they answered in unison, shooting each other a cryptic look before heading in the direction of the plane.

You and Price caught that, but before being able to talk about it, you were interrupted by the big boy with the skull face himself:

"Those are the boys Y/N's supposed to be babysitting?"

Ghost was not one to mince words, even on a good day. Perhaps, at one point in the past, he had simply decided that hiding behind a wall of well-chosen words was not worth it, or he simply preferred to make himself understood from the beginning. And when opposing something, as he was at that moment, he did not bother to hide it:

"You're lucky they're not in your care!", you decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "I don't know where Laswell found them, but I bet at least one's dad has stars on his shoulders!"

Neither you, nor Ghost liked Price's lingering silence, but you didn't show it. You trusted Kate well enough to know she would have ensured they posed no real threat to your safety and the mission's success before having them join you on the field.

What actually bothered you was that it all happened on such short notice. You barely had time to bounce back from the previous assignment before having to start a new, high-risk, high-stakes one. You were aware of your limits and confident enough that you could pull this one off - but having to look after another two people you met a couple of hours before going into the field? Sure, you knew your limits, but did they know theirs?

"Stop it! Get it out of your mind, now!"

Ghost's deep Manchester accent pulled you out of your head and back into the present moment. You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring look, unaware that you actually looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took you a moment to realise Price had left, leaving you two alone on the tarmac.

"They do anything you don't like, they act fishy - you report directly to me!"

He took a step forward, the tac vests you'd fastened on your bodies almost making contact. You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the tremor that coursed through you and raised your eyes to take a better look at the skull plate, firmly attached to his black balaclava by messy stitches.

Just like Price, he was quick to bounce back into being the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. You were used to seeing him in full combat gear considering the big count of missions you went together into, but you couldn't help but furrow your brow at the sight of an additional Ka-Bar knife strapped in a detachable holster on his belt. And at the two fragmentation grenades attached to the same belt. But after all, he and Soap would drop out of the plane before you hit the landing zone - he would need all the additional equipment and ammunition he could get.

"Are you ready to go into the hornet's nest?", you tried to tease him in an attempt to mask the audible gulp you had to take as the adrenaline started to kick in.

"You'll have reduced it to half before I even take out my knife!", he hummed as an answer, a soft warmth glowing in his chocolate eyes.

You opened your mouth to talk back, but you were interrupted by the loud beeping that signalled you to board the aircraft. You knew you had to go, you had a tight schedule to follow after all, but neither of you seemed to want to be the first to leave.

"I'll meet you at the safehouse?"

This time you couldn't look him in the eye, pining your gaze to the ground as your voice trembled, a soft vibration that got lost in the brutal cacophony of sounds. A surprised sound left your lips when his tac vest came back into your sight, two gloved fingers resting on your chin and lifting it until your eyes made contact with his.

"I'll be there."

You maintained eye contact as his hand fumbled for something on his vest. His glance was soft and tender, just as reassuring as his words and the gloved fingers that still lingered above your helmet strap.

"And I'll want that back."

You shot him a quizzical look before feeling an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your tac vest. Your eyes shot down to the place, catching a glimpse of his skeleton glove before setting on the crumpled, half-smoked pack of cigarettes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"That's an order, Sergeant!", he barked out before heading towards the aircraft. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and follow him, left hand resting over the smokes.

"Roger that, sir!"

--- 2 hours earlier

"Watcher 1 to Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

Laswell's voice could be heard through the radio, partially interrupting your watch. With mechanic moves, you pressed the communication button and brought the microphone closer to your chapped lips:

"Watcher 1, this is Bravo 4-7, solid copy! Go on for traffic."

"Interrogative, have you got eyes on the target?"

Shifting a bit under the dessert camouflage net, you peered down the scope of the rifle to check the gates of the compound. Two men with hunting dogs seemed to be on foot patrol, automatic guns swaying at their hips.

"Affirmative. Do you want me to take them down?"

It had been more than 20 hours since you got into position, yet all you were ordered to do was to keep watch and stand for future orders. Since it was not the first mission of this kind, you had expected that yet you could see the Privates getting jumpy and distracted, the two of them idly chatting between their own shared camo net.

"Negative, we expect the smugglers to arrive shortly after they switch patrols- we plan to infiltrate so hold your fire!"

"Copy, Watcher 1! Bravo 4-7 out!"

Taking one last look at the current patrol, you switched the communications on the channel you used to communicate with the two Privates. During your first mission, Ghost wasn't exactly the most talkative partner and not being able to entirely understand his intentions almost got you killed. After you got to know him better, you knew that he had been testing you and that he was always ready to step in if things went more south than expected, but nonetheless, you decided to do things differently with the two soon-to-be operators:

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You turned your eyes to the left, a frown on your face as you saw the camo net slightly shift as the radio began to crackle.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1. Uhm… solid copy?"

"This is Bravo 0-7. Why the hell are you talking to your supervisor on the main channel?"

You couldn't help but giggle at Ghost's rough voice and you rolled your eyes at his antics. He was surely having the time of his life after having found a way to pick on the two men.

"Sorry sir… uhm, we were answering to Bravo 4-7-1 and…"

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, switch to channel 4 and we'll continue our private chat there."

The quiet air was filled with even more crackling static and occasional mutters coming from who was probably Reynolds. Still keeping your eyes locked on the gates of the complex, you let out a sigh as you pressed the communication button again before Ghost could intervene:

"Bravo 4-7-1, use the red dial that is next to the communication button. All Bravos, sorry for the disturbance - though we could all use a small break!"

"You've got it, Bambi! How are you holding up there?"

You smiled hearing Kyle's reassuring tone, briefly accompanied by what must have been Price's laugh. Ghost and Soap would infiltrate the building from one side, while the Captain and Gaz would break in from the other- and you would keep watch and annihilate any unexpected threat, coming from the outside.

"It's all good, Gaz, all good. Just sitting my ass here and waiting for the moment I get to save yours!"

"Have you seen this ass though? Definitely worth killing for!"

Naturally, Soap couldn't help but intervene, his cocky reply being laced with a hint of playful arrogance. You opened your mouth to give him a well-chosen answer, but Ghost beat you to it. He was in full-combat mode, his stern voice being more than enough to make you bounce back into the harsh reality of the mission.

"Keep talking, MacTavish, and there'll be no rear-end left of you by the time the job is done! Party's over, get your asses back into the game!"

"Roger!"

But you still laughed after you made sure your radio was off, shaking your head in disbelief. Even when pent up on combat stress and adrenaline, you knew Ghost's pun was intentional. Involuntarily, your hand brushed over the crumpled pack of smokes, fishing it out of the pocket and bringing it closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled slowly, a deep sigh leaving your mouth. Even after a bumpy plane ride and 20 hours spent on a stakeout, Simon's scent was lingering, a silent sign of his presence.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1, how copy?", Private John's voice could be heard through the radio, a tense silence settling in after his words. You had an inkling that they still had second thoughts on whether they were on the right channel or not.

"Solid copy, Private." You eventually decided to end their inner torment and reply, a grin forming at the corner of your lips when you heard a collective sigh from the two.

"Ma'am, we're sorry about before…"

"Mistakes happen- let that be your biggest and last one", you were prompt to cut them short, remembering how Ghost had tried to instil discipline through clipped, yet complete orders. "Now, Reynolds, tell me what you two are looking at!"

"Yes, ma'am! We're looking at two solid iron gates which are openly guarded by two mobile patrols, each one consisting of an armed man and a hunting dog. They haven't rotated in the past 5 hours, I think, so they are probably expecting to be changed soon-"

"Which also means that they might have got bored and should not be as attentive to their surroundings as-"

"Wrong, Private Johns, you are dead. Lesson number one on the battlefield, never underestimate your enemy!", you barked through the headset in a manner that would make Ghost proud. "You always need to uphold the enemy to the highest standard, not rely on their mistakes to succeed. Mistakes are occasional, but underestimating them is what will get you killed!"

The prolonged silence on their part was not a good sign and, for a moment, you wondered whether you'd been too harsh on them. But they must have known what they were signing up for temporarily joining the Task Force, so you sighed in defeat and pressed the communication button once more:

"I want you to move to the next ridge and keep watch from there. I expect detailed reports every 15 minutes from now on. Any questions?"

"No ma'am. Bravo 4-7-1 out."

"Bravo 4-7 out."

---

You started to realise something was wrong when another hour passed and the patrols were not switched, but instead doubled, with no signs of smugglers in sight. So far the main channel had been quiet and you divided your attention between the Privates' reports and being on the lookout for any signs that you've been compromised.

Your left hand was unconsciously fiddling with the cigarette pack, while your right one was adjusting the scope to focus on the road leading to the complex. Your breath hitched upon seeing a Humvee heading towards the gates and you fumbled for the communication button of the radio, bringing the mic closer to your mouth.

The sudden explosion of static coming from the radio had you almost ripping off the headset from your ears, a cold shiver running down your spine the moment you realised it.

Your radio was not working.

"All Bravos, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You could feel your heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate when no answer came and you turned to look at the place where Privates Reynolds and Johns should have been, keeping watch on the complex. Your heart dropped further in your chest when you realised the ridge was empty and there had been more than 15 minutes since their last report- still that didn't justify why they'd left their position without telling you. Were Price's orders not clear enough? Sure, your radio may have broken somehow, but they should have come and checked in with you in person as they must have been trained.

You let out a string of curses under your breath, the realisation of the imminent danger you were currently in hitting you like a bullet train. You must have been compromised, the same way the scouts Laswell mentioned had been - and your radio was not working because someone must have been using a signal jammer in the area. And judging by the absence of the two Privates, the order to retreat had already been given.

You needed to get out of there.

With rapid, but calculated movements, you disassembled the sniper and began to pack it into a camo warbag. You were slowly rolling up the camouflage net when multiple gunshots were fired on the road you had been watching. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw what must have been the convoy supposed to transport the weapons Laswell talked about, coming under heavy fire. There had been someone else who had known about the transport, and who must have done everything they could to get their hands on it.

And taking into consideration what they had done to the Special Forces scouts, you could easily rule out the saying that stated that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So when you heard men hollering in what seemed to be Russian in your vicinity, you ripped out your dog tags and all the badges that identified you as a British Special Forces operator and buried them into a shallow mound, carefully placing one of Ghost's cigarettes on top of it. As the shouts grew closed, you took in a deep breath and your left hand gripped around the hilt of the extra Ka-Bar knife you kept in your boot.

With a small sigh of resignation, you accepted the fact that you couldn't outrun them without the high risk of getting killed. While the ridge you were stationed on was a good point of observation, it provided no proper cover outside of the camouflage net you've already packed and it only left you with the choice you've been trained to make and despised the most.

Surrender yourself and hope somebody will come to save you.

-- present time

"Why didn't she listen to the orders to retrea-.."

One of the Privates whose nametag read Johns tried to speak up, but his words faltered as the deadly gazes of the remaining Task Force 141 operators were set on him. And at that moment they resembled a pack of hound dogs, eager to be released on a hunt.

"Listen here, boy", Soap began in an unusually calm tone, although his tensed-up form spoke otherwise. "You and your friend here- you better pack up and make sure you board Laswell's ride, as soon as she touches ground here." His words were cold and calculated, his voice getting harsher as he went on. "See, right now we are all focused on getting back our comrade- to put it plainly, we do not have the time to deal with you leaving her behind deep in enemy territory."

He paused for better effect.

"But Lord save you once we find her because nothing will hold us back and we. Will. Be. Coming. For. You."

"That's enough, MacTavish!", Laswell curtly said as she entered the safe house. She was dressed plainly, if not for the bulletproof vest she'd donned and the usual stack of manilla folders she was usually carrying around had been replaced by a laptop she placed in front of Price and opened. "I take full responsibility for what happened to Miss L/N. As for now, she is declared as MIA."

"What do you mean, happened? I don't care what you're going to say, but I am sure as hell going to get her out of wherever she is!", Ghost couldn't contain his growl, his fingers turning white from his hard grip on the chair.

If any of his teammates noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour when Laswell declared you as missing in action, they had the common sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. All of them were stressed, angry and tired, but there was one more feeling that was bubbling in Ghost's chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd been buried alive in a dead man's casket.

Simon Riley was scared. He was scared he wouldn't be able to get you in time, that he would fail to protect you when you needed it the most. He couldn't control the frantic way his heart hammered in his chest when his brain fabricated scenarios in which you were alone, cold and petrified, and it took him a great deal of what was left of his self-control not to throw caution out the window and run to find you.

Ghost was scared for you, but what terrified him the most was the thought of having to live in a world without you.

On the outside, he seemed still as a statue, his trained blank look not betraying the internal conflict that was raging inside. He saw Laswell's lips move and the laptop screen that was placed in front of him, but the lights were too bright and the colours, too saturated. He was supposed to watch a video, a drone footage, as his military-trained mind registered, but the voices in his head became too loud to ignore and the temperature in the room was too high for his liking. His breaths quickened and he felt the mask sticking to his face, suffocating him, as if he was in the coffin again, in the dark, and alone with a rotting corpse. Only it was not the body of the person who'd betrayed him, but your sleeping silhouette, gently resting your head on his chest and sighing every once in a while.

The footage from the drone zoomed in on a familiar figure who was encircled by armed men from all directions. The scene of you being taken as a hostage played in front of Ghost's eyes, but his mind did not register it as his sole focus was on your slumbering figure, the warmth of your body against his playing a big role in persuading Simon that you were actually there, with him, safe and sound.

Yet you weren't, and when he tried to brush a strand of hair away from your face he was met with the rough and cold surface of a skull plate, his fingers instantly jerking away in repulsion. A wave of nausea had him shot up from his chair and stumble to the bathroom, shaky hands fumbling with the thick mask before he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he'd been dunked in a barrel of cold water. His mind was no longer muddled with what-ifs and second-guesses, but had a clear purpose in sight: one that would keep him going until the end of the earth just to see it done. His hands no longer trembled as he pulled the black balaclava on his face and headed back to the main room, paying no mind to Soap's concerned gaze.

His eyes were cold and determined as he laid his hands on the first assault rifle within reach, methodically assembling it and stuffing as many ammunition magazines as he could into the pockets of his tactical vest. His hands itched for a cigarette, but the urge only strengthened his resolve: he would find you, even if it meant it was the last thing he did.

---

You didn't even have the energy to flinch when the fist collided with your face, sending your head rolling backwards. The world was reduced to a blurry mess, blue stars dancing before your eyes. Out of instinct, you lolled your head to the side and spit on the ground, in an attempt to diminish the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could still feel the unpleasant stinging that overwhelmed the left half of your face where you'd been hit with the back of a gun but tried to ignore the blood that was trickling across your cheek, all too aware of the jagged line that started near the temple and stopped short of the jawline. The bastards knew how to do their job and they weren't ones to shy away from using you as a means to an end- the future facial scar they'd given you serving as solid proof for that.

"He asked you a question, filth!"

An angry conversation was taking place right in front of you, but you were too busy trying to alleviate the pain, to focus on your captors. Sometimes, familiar words would reach your ears: american, military, information; but it was clear that they were struggling to find a way to make you talk. The questions were always the same ones, similar to what you've been prepared for in interrogation training- who were you, who were you working for, what are the Americans planning? Why has everything had always something to do with the Americans?

And just as you'd been taught in interrogation training, your answers were short and clipped- revealing little to no information at that time. You were still in the phase where they saw you as an asset, a potential source of information, taking into consideration the fact that they didn't kill you on the spot, and it was up to you to dictate the rhythm of their game. Speak too fast and too soon, they will get everything they need and kill you. Say nothing for too much time, they will see you as a dead-end and kill you.

You were currently walking the tightrope, trying to keep the balance between the increasing pain you found yourself in and the amount and importance of the information you were giving them. All you had to do was to make sure you stayed alive long enough for your teammates to find you. You knew they would take care of the rest.

"We shall try a different question then, kotyonok…" You shot your captor a cold look full of spite, not sure what disgusted you more: the mocking nickname he gave you or the pressure his fingers applied on your face, so different from the calloused, yet gentle touch of Ghost. "You wouldn't tell us your name- at least give us your codename and we might get Boris here to clean up your cheek. I know you wouldn't like that cut to scar…"

Your hands were numb from the tight grip they used to tie you to the metal chair, but you could still feel them shake when a knife, your Ka-Bar knife, was pressed against your cheek. You bit your lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to stifle the tears that were pooling in your eyes, and you couldn't help but whimper when the blade was lightly traced against your skin before being sheathed, a heartless laugh following the gesture soon after.

You closed your head and let your head hang low, the rhythmic drip of your blood being the only sound that filled the room for a while. You could only hope you would make it through the next hours and your teammates wouldn't have to be greeted by your still-warm body.

---

Ghost was quick to follow the sound of Gaz's voice, his steps leading him to what proved to be quite a strategic place to observe the complex. A brief look at his compass confirmed the coordinates registered along with the drone footage, and even if more than 4 hours had passed since you'd been captured, his eyes were frantically searching for any signs that might lead him to you.

"I found something! She must have been camped here, there are still traces in the ground from where she pinned the camo net!"

"There was something in the footage…", Gaz started to mutter to himself, starting to hit heaps of dirt at random. "She was crouched over the earth like.. she was trying to bury something, I think?"

Not bothering to reply, Ghost's eyes began to systematically scan the area. At first glance, it all seemed the same, the desert soil not providing much diversity in terms of landscape. But you had to leave a mark behind, something subtle, yet noticeable at the same time, something that you could find only if you knew what you were looking for…

"That's bloody good work, Gaz!"

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sudden praise coming from his usually cold-demeanoured Lieutenant. For a couple of seconds, he was too distracted to notice that Ghost had kneeled on the ground, his gloved hands digging through a heap of dirt, a white cigarette carefully placed away from the mound. By the time Price and Soap joined them, he managed to unearth your dog tags and Special Forces badges and put them on display:

"She knew she would be taken in… and that revealing her identity at a later point would buy her time…"

"That's basic interrogation training, Sergeant!", Ghost barked at Soap in an unusually aggressive way that made the Scot frown in his direction.

He opened his mouth to talk back, yet no words came out when he noticed your dog tags wrapped around Ghost's hand and the obsessive way he seemed to fiddle with them. Subtly sharing a knowing look with Price, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent suggestion to let it slide, Soap turned around and started scanning the perimeter for any sign that might point to your current whereabouts. Your sudden disappearance had a big impact on all of them, yet it seemed that it affected Ghost the most, his recent mood swings being strong proof of it.

"Bloody bastards… they smoked my cigarettes…"

Simon stomped the cigarette butts under his boot, turning his head to Price, but the Captain was already meters away, fishing another cigarette butt from the ground. Nodding his head in Ghost's direction, he brought the radio closer to his mouth and pressed the communication button:

"Kate, I think we have a lead. Well, at least a path of …smoked stubs?"

Yet before Price could give the order to spread out and start looking for more tracks, Simon already went ahead of others, pulling the automatic gun from his shoulder. Under all the layers comprising of the tactical vest and the rest of the military-issued gear, his heart was thundering in his chest. Second thoughts were already forming inside his tired mind: they really got you, they stole your cigarettes, the pack he gave you for safekeeping and that was supposed to be your lucky charm- somehow, he had thought that having a physical piece of him would keep you out of harm's way.

He could only hope he found you in time before the damage you'd sustained would become irreversible.

---

"I don't think you understand how this is working, milaya…"

He was so close to you, that you could feel his rancid breath on your face, a faint familiar smell lodging in your nostrils. Your head was throbbing, and you decided you were hallucinating- Russians didn't smoke the British cigarette brand Ghost did. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, subconsciously wishing for the masked Lieutenant to find you faster.

"So far we had a monologue…- but I still think you have potential."

Out of reflex, you flinched when someone gripped your shoulders, but the pain your mind was preparing for did not come. Instead, you were untied from the chair and violently shoved forward. Your hands were still tied behind your back and you ended up falling face first on the hard concrete, letting out a pathetic moan that raised a few laughs from your captors.

As you lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain composure, you felt a pair of arms hooking your shoulders, pulling you upright and dragging you out of the room. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, the pain dangerously dulling your senses, but that didn't stop you from thrashing around in your captor's grip and throwing curses at him. To your dismay, he didn't seem fazed by it, his grip never faltering as he hauled you through a deserted corridor, seemingly underground, judging by the lack of natural light. You maintained your aggressive facade, yet your eyes were carefully studying your surroundings, taking in every little detail that might prove crucial, should you be able to escape.

Before you realised it, you were thrown into a dark room, yet this time you were able to cushion the fall and land on your knees. Wincing at the brutal impact, you squinted in an attempt to make out your surroundings and any potential escape routes.

"See, little one, everyone has a breaking point.."

The harsh voice of your captor broke through the silence, followed, as if on cue, by the lights being turned on. The sudden brightness had you close your eyes in discomfort, your wrists starting to turn red and raw from your relentless efforts to free yourself from the tight ropes. You could feel blood trickling through the small abrasions where the rope had cut into your skin.

"It seems plain violence is not yours. Not even cresting your pretty little face… I will tell you a secret, you might not live long to keep it anyway, but that is the breaking point of many- ladies and men both."

As he went on with what you decided was a well-rehearsed discourse, he started walking in circles around the room, almost like a predator circling its prey. The intimidation technique was not foreign to you, yet you did your best to morph your face into a scared and hesitant expression, giving him what he wanted to see: a person who was on the verge of breaking, someone who should be kept alive for a little more.

"So I thought to myself- the doll does not work alone. Maybe we should bring one of her friends here and see who gives in first."

If you weren't busy maintaining the terrified mask, you might have laughed at his weak attempt to extract information about your teammates. He was trying so hard to be menacing, yet he didn't know that you had been trained by the Ghost himself, who had drilled all possible interrogation scenarios into your mind. You made a mental note to thank him if you ever got out of there.

"But then I remembered we had a special room we haven't been able to test yet."

His voice grew closer and closer. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground, you focused on the blood that was dripping from your face, staining the concrete floor crimson. When he exhaled in your direction, you could clearly feel the smoke of Ghost's cigarettes wafting towards you, your hands clenching in fists at the audacity he possessed. You opened your mouth for the first time, if only to give him a piece of your mind, yet you barely had time to register him roughly grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and violently dragging you to the middle of the room.

"And if this doesn't break you… do not worry, we will find something else!"

You could barely make sense of his words, his unveiled threat, before your head was forcefully shoved into what you made out to be a basin. Piercing-cold water enveloped you from all sides, and panic surged through every fiber of your being when you realised that there was a firm grip on the back of your head, preventing you from pulling out. Your throat burned with each passing second, and your vision gradually darkened as you struggled to stay conscious, your body going limp on the edge of the bathtub.

"After all, we have all the time in the world. No one will find us here… not when we are right under their noses."

---

It took them one hour under the scorching sun, but the members of Task Force 141 had managed to discover the Russians' hideout. Following the cigarette butts eventually led them to a camouflage net, one which Ghost almost ripped away when he recognized it as yours, and they ended up staring at the entrance of what was supposed to be an underground bunker. The few guards that were lingering around didn't know what hit them, a blood-splattered skull plate being the last thing they'd seen before collapsing to the ground.

As he carefully threaded through the dimly lit corridor, Ghost's demons had never been so loud. On the one hand, his feet were urging him to bolt, to sprint through every room and hallway and find you as quickly as he could, but on the other hand, he was still part of a team with whom he shared a common purpose. Ditching them would be highly dangerous and irresponsible and it would help no one in the end.

Yet all common sense jumped out of the window when the silence was shattered by a high-pitched scream followed by a loud string of curses, both in English and Russian. Simon barely waited for Price's curt order to go before he bolted in the direction of the commotion, swiftly incapacitating any man who was foolish enough to get in this way.

At that moment, he didn't even need the mask to become one with the Ghost- the primal need to protect you overtook his senses, the chaotic surroundings fading into the background as the singular purpose took hold of him. When the automatic gun ran out of ammunition he simply threw it away and lunged for the rifle strapped on his back. When he ran out of throwing knives, he openly jumped on anyone who got in his way. He did not hold back, being quick to send his opponents staggering backwards and crashing into walls or doors. His objective was clear - to create a diversion, a way to distract attention from you and put an end to the torment you must have been going through.

He didn't even bother to check if the door was unlocked before kicking it to the ground, unaware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his gear. When he registered the lower half of your limp body, beaten and bruised, he saw red. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he let out a feral growl as he launched himself at the man standing in the middle of the room, who was staring at him wide-eyed, fumbling with the safety of the gun he was holding. Blow after blow rained upon him, each strike being filled with a mix of madness and rage that Ghost had struggled to contain within himself throughout the day. The Russian, unable to defend himself from Ghost's fury, was crouched in a fetal position, whimpering and sobbing, just like you did hours ago, yet Simon's assault did not seem to falter. He was determined to make him feel at least a fraction of what you've been put through.

Until he realised that there was no other movement in the room, that you hadn't crept up to him and assured him you were fine like he secretly hoped you would. He was almost scared to look in the direction of your still-limp body, his blood running cold at the sight of you leaning against the edge of a water basin, your head still submerged in the water.

Simon had often fantasized about what kissing you for the first time would be like. It was a small comfort he liked to indulge in whenever he would try to go to bed and sleep wouldn't find him. Where would you be, how would your lips feel when pressed against his? Would it be gentle, or wild and passionate? What would you say to him afterwards? Would you regret or do it again in the following moments?

He definitely did not expect your first intimate contact to be on the cold, hard floor of the torture room, with your lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. He ripped his gloves away from his hands, searching for your pulse with trembling fingers and the relief he felt upon feeling an irregular, yet faint heartbeat, had him peel the mask from his face and discard it on the floor. Without wasting a second, he tilted your head back gently and sealed his chapped lips against yours, trying his best to breathe life into your still body. Your skin was cold against his fingers and he could almost feel his heart stop beating when he realised your condition was not improving.

Ghost was not a religious man, yet he started to recite the only prayer his mother ever taught him when he pressed his hands against your chest and started the compressions. Hot tears started rolling down his cheeks as he counted the compressions, lips trembling as he kept chanting your name again and again, urging you to open your eyes and wake up.

A choked sob left his mouth when you gasped and started coughing, your body twitching against your will. He was quick to roll you onto your side, gently patting your back in an attempt to help you expel the water lodged in your throat. His vision was still clouded from the tears, but that did not stop him from cradling your shaking figure in his arms, resting his head atop yours. He could feel your erratic breathing and your heartwrenching sobs, but all he could do was hug you tighter and try to reassure you, even though his voice was breaking:

'It's alright. They won't be hurting you again… I'll keep you safe!"

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, but you were convinced you had been so deprived of oxygen that you started hallucinating. Somehow, you were absolutely convinced it was Ghost who was holding you tight in his arms, your cheek being squished against a tactical vest that could only be his, judging by its specific scent. Yet the sight of a head of dirty blonde hair made you scrunch your forehead in confusion. Why was he not wearing his mask? Your eyesight was still too blurred to make out the features of the person who was holding you, but you could trace the contours of his face in your sleep, even though you could count on your fingers the number of times you had seen them before.

Breathing heavily, you lifted a shaky hand towards his face, scared that if you moved too suddenly, the spell would break and you would be once again pulled out of the basin and asked the generic set of questions you've been asked for the past half an hour. But when your fingers made contact with Simon's cheek, softly threading through his stubble and tracing the deep scar that almost split his lip in two, you let out a breath of relief, a warm wave of comfort washing over you. Your tired mind took note of the foreign voices that were mixed with Simon's reassuring whispers: there was someone repeatedly asking whether you were okay, someone talking over the radio and someone asking for med-evac. Yet the sudden commotion only made you nuzzle your head against Ghost's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally allowed your eyes to shut closed, the constant thought of finally being safe serving as a temporary balm to your wounds.

The base's hospital was no different in any of those regards, yet Simon had spent the last days inside its four walls, camped out on the armchair Price had arranged to be brought into your salon the moment you'd been transferred from the municipal hospital.

---

For someone who had spent a good part of his life in hospitals, Ghost hated them. He couldn't stand the pungent smell of chemicals or the hushed conversations that took place in the brightly lit corridors. The constant beeping of the monitoring devices would drive him insane and he detested the cheap food.

Ghost hated hospitals, but he hated being away from you even more.

So he had resorted to spending the last three days acting both as a makeshift nurse and a guard dog for any of the curious passers-by who would try and peek at the operator who had been captured by the enemy and survived torture. Soap, Gaz or Price would usually join him outside working hours, trying to make small talk or urging him to eat the take-out they bought him, but he would only leave your side for bathroom breaks and showers.

He spent the rest of the time next to your sleeping figure, lying still in the armchair and keeping his eyes glued to you. Every once in a while, he would zone out and find himself counting how many times your chest went up and down, totally unaware of the heart-rate monitor that was placed right next to him.

For the time being, Simon was grateful you'd been filled up with painkillers and still sleeping. He couldn't wait for you to wake up, but he wasn't mentally prepared for it: it wouldn't be like before when you fell asleep on him and woke up feeling slightly ashamed, but refreshed, a soft smile lighting up your face. This time, you would wake up to a body full of bruises and a new scar marking your face- and he had no idea what he could say to help you get through it.

Simon was not a man of words, so he decided to convey his feelings through actions and gestures. His moves were well-rehearsed as he emptied the glass of water he'd filled a couple of hours before and refilled it to the brim, placing it on a table next to your bed. His gloves had been long gone by the time he changed your blanket with a fresh and soft one that Soap had brought the last time he came in. After he ensured you were comfortably tucked in, Ghost busied himself with rearranging the flowers and the get-well-soon cards that had already been neatly arranged at the edge of your bed.

After there was nothing left for him to do, he eventually dragged the armchair close to your bedside, removing his mask with slow and weary movements. The dark circles that had formed under his eyes were a stark contrast against his pale complexion, and the stubble he'd neglected for the past few days threatened to turn into a full-grown beard. Yet that did not stop him from exposing his face in your presence, his tired mind arguing that perhaps the sight of him might pull you out of your head, at least temporarily.

A heavy sigh left his body as he laid his upper body on your bed, his head carefully resting on the top of your hand. Out of instinct, he nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of your palm, relishing in the warmth of the contact, and draped one arm against your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

Minutes passed and his eyes gradually fluttered closed, his soft breaths slowly mingling with yours. He would never admit it out loud, but especially after the events of the last mission, the sole way he could fall asleep was in your proximity, only finding solace in the warm feeling of your touch. It may have taken him a while, but he eventually came to the realisation that it was in your arms that he felt safe, where the turmoil and chaos of the outside could temporarily be forgotten. And he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it took.

---------------

more notes: do you guys would like a bonus part, say, an epilogue for this? I'm thinking of something like "the one where they finally get a bed" or something... let me know in the comments (or ask box if you'd like to remain anonymous)

taglist: @neoarchipelago, @thecorruptedlovely, @mitchlow, @fieldsofbats, @thaprilks, @stars-andfreckles, @that-napa-know-how, @preistinajamjar, @iamaliceinwonderland, @allaboutirem0, @lilpothoscuttings, @01trickster10, @yyiikes, @joanne-uwu, @dorck26, @wawuwe, @karagd13-blog, @rindulacre, @claibornc

#cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty imagine #ghost fluff #task force 141 #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost

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byooregard · 16 days

Text

x men tumblr dashboard simulator

bluebabadee

THIS BLOG IS A SAFE SPACE FOR NON-HUMAN PASSING MUTANTS. HUMAN PASSING MUTANTS DNI

10 notes 📌Pinned Post

sparklejays Follow

based on your likes!

every time I see a human talking about "how cool it would be to have superpowers" or some shit like that I loose it a little bit more. do these people realize that being a mutant isn't just fun powers. like even beyond the shit I deal with trying to get jobs or all the relationships that have been ruined once people realized I'm a mutant. abilities aren't just fun and games, I have a friend who can't touch people without nearly killing them, I burned down three buildings before someone finally taught me to control my abilities, and these people are all like "wouldn't it be great to fly to work every day??" just admit that you see us as comic book characters and not real people with real struggles

#actually mutant #jay .txt

276 notes

scamperpamperblog reblogged spocktism

🏙️tilleys-brain Follow

self diagnosing is great and all but most of you people aren't telepaths, you're just hyperempathic

#actually mutant #actually telepathic #hyperempathy #crosstagging i know but some of yall need to see this #tilley speaks #it can be dangerous to go around acting like you know peopels actual thoughts when its just your brain

1,657 notes

oh-you-pretty-things

#vent post #sometimes I get really mad at magneto #like I think he's done a lot for mutant rights and stuff #but I'm so fucking tired of everyone assuming that I'm evil just because of my powers #like jesus not all of us are trying to start atomic wars #some metallokinetics just use their abilities to make cool sculptures #but I can't get a spoon from across the room in front of strangers without someone mentioning jfk

3 notes

mutantbuffy reblogged muntantpollscentral

🩻mutantpollscentral

*physical mutation meaning something that is ALWAYS physical, not just something you can turn off and on whenever

#ig my mutation IS technically physical its just not visible to people most of the time so i feel weird claiming that #but like i was born with the tattoo marks #the powers didnt come till later tho #so idk which to pick

668 notes

sploimsh reblogged jesterjuleses

🎹pussy-truck-faggot

HEY! shout-out to people with *weird* mutations. Mutations that don't look cool, mutations that are gross, mutations that are dirty, mutations that you can't tell people about because they always cringe. You're just as valid as every other mutant out there. Your powers don't need to be palettable to humans for you to be treated with respect.

#THIS!!! #rb

5,678 notes

rosetvler

god i am so tired of the hypocrisy in this community. the double standards are insane. its okay to have 'scary' powers but the moment someone's abilities are scarier than like, pyrokinesis you're evil and dangerous to be around. 'acceptance' for you people only means nice mutants who've never hurt or scared anyone ever.

rosetvler reblogged rosetvler

non-mutants can reblog this btw

#srb #actually mutant #getting real tired of this

18 notes

katiedidnt reblogged morelikesexmen

🩻magicsteele27 Follow

okay like. i get that were all about acceptance and pride or w/e but no one in this tag has ever had friends irl i swear. if someone asks you not to read their mind you shouldnt. honestly you shouldnt be using telepathy on people at all without their permission. mutant abilities dont disclude you from respecting peoples boundaries

🌌rosetvler Mutuals

i swear to god you people are such hypocrites. its all 'mutant and proud' until someone has a power you dont like. its always about keeping the humans feeling comfortable instead of thinking about how it feels to never use your powers because theyre breaking 'boundaries' that were made up by humans in the first place

🩻magicsteele27 Follow

dude do you hear yourself right now

🎆jade-the-pyromancer Follow

Hey, I like your point op, but maybe you should stop trying to speak over actual telepaths and let them decide how to use their powers themselves???

🩻magicsteele27 Follow

i. i am a telepath.

#duddeeee telepaths are insane #used to be friends with one SO glad i broke that off before it went too bad

15,678 notes

#x men #cleb talky #marvel comics #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #x men movies #x men comics #i dont know what to tag this #i have more of these in my brain

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miraclewoozi · 5 months

Text

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

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roosterforme · 6 months

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How You Play the Game Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You find more comfort in Bradley's home and in his arms than anywhere else. But time is ticking down, and only a win by the Angels on Saturday evening will give you more of both. Bradley tries to make a compelling argument, because he knows it's finally time to start speaking his mind.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, angst, oral and smut (18+)

Length: 7600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

You woke with a small jump as soft lips and a bristly mustache met your cheek. "Bradley?" you mumbled as his deep chuckle next to your ear made you shiver. When you started to push the covers off and open your eyes, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm leaving for work, but you should stay in bed. You deserve a day off."

Now you were looking up at him standing next to his bed in his khaki uniform with all of his pins and his name tag. And he looked so good, you knew you were staring. It was almost startling seeing him like this when you were so used to all the Padres shirts and snug fitting jeans. Most of the people in his life were probably more used to this look. The Lieutenant Bradshaw look. But it was rendering you speechless.

"Can I come to work with you today?" you asked him, earning another chuckle. Spending the day at his house doing your laundry, relaxing and eating everything in his refrigerator sounded actually pretty perfect, but you'd just rather be doing all of that with him here, too.

"It's not Take the sports writer you're completely infatuated with to work day."

Now you were the one laughing as you set up in bed and reached for him. "When's that day? I'll make sure I'm off."

He kissed you sweetly as his hand found your hip. "I think it's in April."

You were giggling against his smiling lips when he suddenly groaned. "I need to go. Text me if you need anything? Or if you just want to distract me?"

"I will."

"See ya, Ace."

When you heard the front door open and then close, you rolled over in his bed and buried your face in his pillow. Then you squeezed it to your body. Bradley smelled incredible, especially since you were so used to the sterile bleach scent of hotel bedding and the stale air of ballpark press boxes. You wished you could bottle this up and take it on the road with you. Take a little bit of Bradley wherever you went.

Before that thought could take further shape, you climbed out of his bed and shivered in just his TOP GUN tee shirt. Since he told you to make yourself comfortable, you allowed yourself to root around in his dresser drawers in search of a pair of socks. Your eyes caught on the frame of his mirror hanging over the dresser, and you smiled at your reflection as you reached up and touched the ticket from game one. It was the media pass he won from the radio program, and you traced the corners of it before you sat on his bed and put on a pair of his comically large socks.

It was early, but you were hungry, and you found a fully stocked refrigerator when you went to the kitchen. Bradley's home was a treasure trove of things that were normal for other people but not for you: bedding that smelled like heaven and a delicious assortment of fresh food. You pulled out a container of berries and then found oatmeal in his cabinets. Your stomach was growling loudly as you poured yourself some coffee from the pot he left out for you.

You sat on his living room couch with your breakfast and looked out the window. It was probably always this sunny here, always this inviting. Bradley's cottage was easily five times the size of your apartment, which you rarely thought about beyond it being a place to hold all of your things that didn't really matter. You didn't have time for stuff; just the clothes on your back and your computer.

When you finished the last bite of oatmeal, you felt tears in your eyes. You were so lonely. You were so tired of forcing yourself to work harder and harder to make up the deficit between yourself and your colleagues. You just wanted to hide here, in San Diego, with Bradley. You felt safe and desirable, and he wasn't yelling at you or telling you that you needed to go to Boston.

You took a deep breath as you went to the kitchen sink with your bowl and mug. There were a few other dishes there, so you washed everything for him and set them out to dry. It had been years since you hadn't done at least a little bit of work on a day off, so you went to get your computer out of his bedroom. But it smelled too good, so you carried your computer back to his bed and snuggled in where you could work on the beginning of your next article before the game tomorrow afternoon.

Your inbox was completely filled with offers from recruiters with other newspapers and online outlets. You knew some of them would send you a job offer in an instant without even asking you to interview with them. Some of them had even managed to corner you when you were on the job; they knew your schedule as well as you did. You were always sent to the most high profile matches and events. And while some aspects of what they were offering you sounded very enticing, you were already at The New York Times.

After you took some deep breaths, you deleted all of them and opened up a blank document and got to work. But you didn't get far before you closed your laptop, because writing baseball stats was a lot more fun when you were sitting on Bradley's lap. You decided to text him.

How's work?

Then you remembered he told you that you could check out his collection of baseball cards in the garage. You jumped out of bed and walked down the short hallway, peeking in the extra bedroom on the way. You opened one door, but it was just a linen closet which he actually had organized by color, which you found charming. The next door led you out to the small, attached garage which was also very tidy. You looked at everything on his shelves before you found some boxes that said Nick Bradshaw- Baseball Cards. The marker was very faded on the cardboard, so you slid the first one down very carefully.

When you carried it back inside to the living room, you felt your phone vibrate in your hand. Once you set the box down, you saw that you had a new message from Bradley.

Bradley Bradshaw: Work is not as fun as playing hooky with you. What are you up to, Baby?

You took a selfie with the box of baseball cards which you assumed had belonged to his father. You added the caption 'About to dig through these and swoon all over your living room.'

The collection was impressive to say the least. You didn't collect cards, because you didn't have the time or space for them, but you knew which of his were valuable when you looked through them. You thought about how much fun it would be to organize these a little better with him. Your phone was vibrating again.

Bradley Bradshaw: You look gorgeous. Send me another picture?

You sent him another selfie, and then he asked for another one. This game went on and on until lunchtime when you decided to mess with him a little bit.

Now send me one, and you'll get something sexy in return.

He didn't respond immediately, and you figured he must be busy. You made a sandwich for lunch and ate it with some potato chips. Then you found his washer and dryer in a little closet across from the bathroom door and started a load of your dirty clothes. And then you got ready to get in the shower.

Your phone vibrated on the sink vanity, so you grabbed it before you stepped under the spray of hot water. And you almost dropped it when you saw a set of two photos of Bradley out in the bright sunlight in his uniform. In the first one, he was wearing some aviator sunglasses and smirking. In the second one, the sunglasses were gone, and he was smiling.

"Fuck," you moaned as you looked at the photos, making sure you didn't get your phone wet.

Bradley Bradshaw: Now where's my sexy Ace?

Before you could tell yourself what a big mistake you were making, you snapped a photo of yourself, water cascading down your breasts and a grin on your face. You sent it with the caption 'You look so good in those aviators, I'm about to start touching myself.'

You were standing there thinking about it. Your nipples were hard, and you were thinking about the scratch of Bradley's mustache on your skin. But his next message had your hand pausing before you could touch your clit.

Bradley Bradshaw: Jesus Christ, Baby. How am I supposed to focus when you send me something that good? Don't you dare touch yourself. I want you dialed up to eleven for me when I get home.

And now you were a whimpering mess as you tried to shower without letting yourself get off, wishing you had brought some sexy underwear on this trip with you.

-----------------------------

Well now Bradley was a mess, thinking about your body while he was supposed to be listening to a safety demonstration out on the tarmac. Why had he bothered to come to work today? He should have taken a second day off and spent it with you.

But you were leaving soon, and that was why he decided to try to keep to his normal routine. And you were exhausted whether you thought so or not, so he wanted you to have time to relax and unwind.

"Hey," Nat whispered, nudging his arm. "You okay?"

Bradley sighed and nodded, and then he held up his phone with a photo of you with the baseball cards for her to see. Nat pushed him a little further away from the group and hissed, "She's at your house? Are you insane?"

"Nat," he started, running his hand through his hair. "I know-"

"No, I don't think you do, Rooster. You're going to get your heart broken."

He nodded and looked down at their feet. "It's already unavoidable at this point. And she makes me feel so good."

His best friend sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You know you're supposed to come to the Hard Deck for Mickey's birthday tonight, right?"

His plan was to bring you along, buy you a few drinks, maybe dance to the horrible collection of songs in the jukebox with you. "Yeah," he replied. "I'll come if she wants to join me, but I don't want you giving her the stink eye all night."

She scoffed. "I'll be perfectly nice to her."

Bradley shook his head, starting to get pissed off. "Will you though? See, the thing is, I'd like to think that I'm not the only one headed for some heartbreak here, Nat. I'd like to think she feels the same way I do. Like maybe I'm too good to be true, too. And maybe spending time with me now is worth the pain later."

Her face softened immediately. "You are, Rooster. You're too good to be fucking true. I promise I'll be nice. At the Hard Deck and next week if you want to talk about it then."

After that, Bradley just left early instead of hanging out on the tarmac with the others. He skipped the showers since he'd barely even done anything today. Then he could get home sooner and see you and just shower there. When he climbed in the Bronco, he texted to let you know he was on his way. And then he sat there with his key hovering next to the ignition.

You'd be gone by Monday morning. This was the only time he'd ever get to tell you he was on his way home to you. More than anything, he wanted to know if you were falling in love like he was. He wanted to know if there was even a tiny part of you that wanted to stay.

Ace: Hurry! I'm making dinner. And you should keep those aviators on when you get here... I'm dialed up to eleven.

He shoved the key into the ignition. He was pretty dialed up as well, but he knew it was at least in part because his heart was invested. He lived so close to base, it only took him a few minutes to get home. When he reached to remove his sunglasses and leave them in the cup holder, he smiled. Then he dashed up the walkway to his front door with his keys in hand and his aviators perched on his nose.

You were right there when he walked inside, wearing one of his favorite tropical print shirts and a pair of his socks and a bright smile. His house seemed more inviting than it ever had before. It even smelled like you were making something delicious. And then you were in his arms, and his hands were inside the unbuttoned shirt all over your soft skin.

"I missed you. Been thinking about how good you look in this thing all day long," you moaned, running your hands up and down the front of his uniform shirt. "But the sunglasses make it magical."

"I missed you, too." Bradley kissed you as your hands made their way slowly down to his pants. "You had me dialed up all day and I wasn't even with you." He wanted to ask you so many questions right now, but you were kissing his mustache and bumping his sunglasses with your nose while you wrapped your hand around his cock and started jerking. And then he couldn't remember anything except how happy you made him.

When you sank to your knees in front of him, Bradley yanked his aviators lower on his nose. You were smiling up at him as you yanked his pants down a little lower and licked away the bead of his precum before you kissed his tip. "Why is this so hot with you in your uniform, Lieutenant?"

Bradley groaned loudly as you took a few inches of him with a smirk. "Why is this so hot with you in my shirt and socks?"

You popped him free and giggled. "All my clothes are in your washing machine. Even my underwear."

"I love that for myself," he grunted as you took him deep. With gentle fingers, he stroked your face as you gave him head in his living room. It was like some depraved housewife fantasy, the way you felt so familiar to him. The way he could smell dinner cooking. The way you bobbed your head and moaned for him.

You sucked on his balls and ran your tongue slowly back and forth as you looked up at him. You had one hand wrapped around his length, and you were touching your tits with the other. Your gaze was the neediest thing he had ever seen as he stroked your cheek. Every time you released him, he groaned for you, and then you just started sucking on him again. He could feel himself tightening up as you kissed his balls and whimpered.

"Fuck," he growled, hauling you to your feet and getting his lips back on yours as you gasped in surprise. "I wanna fuck you."

"Please," you gasped, nodding and looking toward the couch.

He shook his head and lifted you up with both hands on your bare ass. "In my bed, Ace."

"That's even better," you whispered, sucking on his neck and raking your fingers through his hair. "Your bedroom smells like you. I love it in there."

"Fuck," he grunted again, his cock slapping against your ass as he carried you to his bed. And then you were on your back with your head on his pillow as he took off his aviators and tossed them down next to you. His shirt was hanging open on you, and his socks looked ridiculously adorable on your feet, and your legs were spread wide, your pussy already so wet for him. "You are the hottest thing I have ever seen," he announced before burying his face in your pussy and making you scream his name.

"Bradley!" you screeched and gasped over and over again as he got his face all wet from you before bringing his lips up to yours for a kiss. His uniform pins were brushing against your breasts and you were grinding your pussy against his cock.

"Shit," he gasped, pulling your lip between his teeth and releasing it. "Where are the condoms?"

"In my suitcase in the hallway," you whimpered. "Skip it if you want. I have an IUD."

And if Bradley thought he was losing his mind ten seconds ago, it was nothing compared to letting himself slip inside your warm, wet pussy with no protection at all. "Ace," he rasped, watching your face as he pushed himself deeper until your back arched off the bed. He fucked you with his hands on your hips until your legs were shaking. You had your hands all over his face, continuously pulling him in for kisses.

"You feel so good," you gasped, running your feet along his thighs.

He pressed his lips to your ear and asked, "Are you getting close for me?"

"Yes," you moaned, reaching for his hand and drawing it up to your lips. You sucked on his fingers for a few seconds, taking him painfully close to the edge, and then you pressed his fingers to your clit.

He worked in quick strokes, listening to the sounds you made as you got louder. When you pulled him closer for more kisses, he indulged you before he said, "I wanna watch you come for me, Baby."

And then you did. You came apart with his fingers on your body and his name on your lips. Your face was beautiful as you gasped and babbled nonsense as your pussy drained every drop of cum from him. You were perfect as you reached for him and said, "Now you better kiss me."

You and he had your lips all over each other for so long after you both caught your breath that he was surprised and delighted all over again when he started to pull out of you and remembered he came inside you.

"You're blushing," you whispered as you looked up at him on his knees between your legs.

His cum was slowly oozing out of your opening and dripping down to your ass. "Baby, if you could see what I see, you'd understand." He was transfixed. Obsessed. He leaned down to kiss your pussy and taste himself there, licking along your skin with a soft grunt.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and tugged him by his hair, and he just knew you wanted to taste it, too. So he kissed you, letting you suck on his tongue. Then he jerked away from you and turned toward the door.

"Is something burning?"

-----------------------------

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Bradley said for the hundredth time as you sat on his couch with him eating pizza. "This isn't as good as yours would have been."

You just laughed. "Seriously, this is probably better. I'm not great at cooking. I was just trying to impress you."

Why exactly, you weren't sure. What difference did it make to Bradley if you could cook a chicken casserole that was good or not? He wasn't yours to impress. You weren't going to be here past Sunday night at the very latest, and that was only if the Angels won game six tomorrow.

"I'm impressed," he replied, his cheeks a little pink again.

"Yeah," you said, trying to push your feelings to the back burner. "I could tell how impressed you were with me in your bedroom."

"That's not what I meant," he said, looking down at his lap with a frown that made your heart ache. You tossed your pizza crust into the box and climbed on his lap. You and he had taken a quick shower together after he called in a pizza order, and now you were both in your own clothing.

You kissed him and tried to change the subject. "What time are we leaving for the bar?" you asked.

When he met your eyes again, he said, "We can go whenever. And we don't have to stay long. Just long enough to say happy birthday to my friend and have a drink?"

You could hardly believe he wanted to take you with him. His friends would want details about who you were and why you were together, so you would just follow his lead.

It was a short drive in his cool Bronco to the bar, and he sang along to the radio and held your fingers laced with his the whole way. And then he paraded you inside with him like it was the most natural thing the two of you could be doing. "That's Mickey, the birthday boy wearing the blue Captain America shirt. And that's my best friend Natasha wearing the annoyed expression because someone is talking to her."

You laughed, and he leaned down to kiss you as you walked toward the pool table. As you walked past the bar to meet everyone, you noticed the bartender's gaze following you and Bradley as you went. Her expression was one of curiosity as she mixed a drink.

"Ace, this is Nat," Bradley was saying, and you turned in time to grasp hands with the woman that he referred to as a 'mean little spitfire'.

"It's nice to meet you," Natasha replied. She didn't look happy exactly, but she didn't look like she was upset that you were here. "I've heard a lot about you."

You looked up at Bradley, a little surprised. "Oh. I've heard a lot about you, too. Bradley said you're smarter than all the guys."

She nodded and smiled. "Yes. Yes, I am. Thanks for acknowledging it, Rooster. You two want drinks?" she asked.

"Go ahead," Bradley replied. "We'll get some in a minute."

"Hey, Rooster!" Mickey shouted as he waved in between taking shots.

You laughed. "I don't know if I'd ever get used to everyone using your call sign," you told him. "It's so amusing to me."

Then Bradley wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer. He kissed your forehead softly, but he looked serious. "If you stick around in San Diego, I bet you'd get used to it, Ace."

You swallowed hard as you looked up into his brown eyes. You could tell he was being sincere, which made everything hurt a little more. But you were saved by the group of guys all calling for him. Bradley sighed and kissed your forehead one more time before you and he were absorbed by the group.

A few minutes later, your head was swirling with names and faces when Bradley asked, "Do you want me to get you a drink?"

"I'll come with you," you told him, and he nodded before taking your hand a little hesitantly. You were confused, because then he wrapped his arm around you just like he always did, and his fingers were softly stroking your side through your shirt. But then when the bartender turned your way, it clicked. She and Bradley had slept together before. You could just tell.

"Hey, Bradley," she said, already reaching for a pint glass and pouring what must have been his usual beer. The way she looked at him and talked to him was just a tiny bit too familiar.

"Hey," he grunted before turning your way. "What do you want to drink, Baby?"

You met the bartender's eyes and couldn't help but smile as Bradley brushed his lips along your temple. You weren't his, but he was choosing you right now. And it felt incredible. "I'll have the same thing," you told her before turning your face so he could kiss your lips.

Bradley dug out his wallet without really looking at her, and she ran his credit card as you sipped your beer. He wasn't being a jerk, and she didn't seem overly jealous, but you just knew they had a past.

Then the two of you threw some darts and played some pool, and Bradley was more than happy to point out that mini golf was probably your worst game. "Happy to see you can handle a pool cue better than a putter," he whispered with a grin.

"Be nice, or I'll leave my golf ball behind at your place," you replied.

He looked a little sad as he shook his head. "I want you to keep that." You knew you would, and he knew you would. You could picture the perfect spot for it in your apartment, but you already knew it would never make it there. You'd keep packing that stupid blue golf ball from your date with him in your luggage and take it everywhere with you.

"Can we go now?" he asked suddenly, his face a little sad. "Back to my place?"

"Yeah," you agreed, and after a round of goodbyes, he led you back past the bar with his arm around you. The bartender tracked your movements, but you didn't care. He was yours right now, the way he was touching you.

And he was yours when you got back to his house, the way you were touching him. "Ace," he sighed as you rode him in his bed. His body was delicious, but his voice was what had you a mess. "Baby, you're so good. Can't get enough of those little noises. Keep going." The feel of him once again inside you without a condom as he verbally coaxed you to orgasm was only part of what you knew you were going to miss.

Because the rest of it came next, when he was curled up with you in the dark, quiet room, his arm draped around you, pulling you close. The only sounds were his breath next to your ear and his deep whisper. "Night, Baby."

-----------------------

"Stay in bed," Bradley whispered again. It was Saturday. Game six was this evening, and he was trying his hardest to draw you back to him again. He had successfully made you snuggle in and fall asleep with him again after the first time you woke up.

"You'll mess up my sleep cycle for when I'm in Boston," you murmured before you snuggled against him with the covers pulled up to your chin. "But you're so warm."

Bradley indulged in a brief fantasy where you would fly out to Boston, complete your assignment, and then fly back to San Diego to be with him until you had to go somewhere else. And you'd be here when he got home from a long deployment. Ready to take him to bed and hold him just like this.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked as you ran your nails along his cheek and kissed his nose.

He couldn't tell you, no matter how much he wanted to. "Thinking about how I'm still the worst Padres fan ever. The Angels better win today. We deserve seven games, Ace."

"We do," you agreed, and Bradley was delighted that you fell asleep in his arms again.

When you and he finally got out of bed, you went to his dresser and pulled on one of his tee shirts like this was a normal occurrence. "Will you let me make you breakfast?" you asked with a smile.

"I was going to make breakfast for you," he replied, patting your ass on his way to the bathroom. "But we could make something together."

You were already in the kitchen, kneeling on the countertop and looking in his cabinets when he came out of the bathroom. "Do you have chocolate chips?" you asked. "We can make chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, maybe some oatmeal. Sorry, I'm just so excited for something other than a free continental breakfast."

He wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you down as you squeaked. "Not up there," he whispered, kissing your neck as he set you on the floor. "In the pantry."

You turned and scampered across the kitchen, and now Bradley was sincerely hoping he had all the ingredients you'd need for pancakes just so he could make you happy right now. "Found them!" you announced, holding up a bag with a smile that made him weak.

"Let's get started."

It was too much fun being with you. The pancakes you made turned out beautifully, and you and he ate on his couch again. This time he accidentally dripped maple syrup on his bare abs since he wasn't wearing a shirt. "I feel like you did that on purpose so I'd either buy you another shirt or lick it off of you."

He smirked. "I mean, I wouldn't be mad if you did."

You sighed dramatically as you set your plate on the coffee table next to the box of baseball cards. "Fine. Extra large shirt? You want the Padres this time?" Bradley laughed at your words, and then you leaned down and licked him clean as you looked up at him. Then you climbed into his lap and kissed him.

"The Angels better win tonight," he murmured against your lips. "I need them to."

"Do you want to go back to bed?" you asked, and he carried you there, expecting maybe some more tongue exploration. But what he got was you curling up in his arms again, your lips pressed to his chest. You were quiet for a bit before you asked him softly, "What would it be like being in a relationship with you?"

This was an echo of his question from Thursday night, and now he could appreciate that he had really put you on the spot then. How could he describe something spectacular that he wasn't going to get to experience with you, in a way that would make you remember him fondly. Bradley made sure his breathing was calm and even as he said, "Probably just like this, Ace. A whole lot of this right here."

You didn't say anything for a long time, and you kept your face buried against him. But eventually you nodded and said, "I would like that."

-------------------------

When Bradley held your hand during the game at Petco Park, everything seemed a bit more somber today. The press box was quieter than usual even though the crowd was going crazy. During the seventh inning stretch, when you leaned in close and kissed his cheek, Quincy turned around and asked, "You bring him to every game now?" as he nodded at Bradley.

"He's my intern and my sex slave, Quince. And that's strictly on the record."

But Quincy was undeterred today even as you and Bradley laughed quietly together. "Heard Greg was thinking about pulling you out of here early to send you to the Bruins? He only pays you so much because you're useful to him. Being a woman and all."

Bradley watched your head snap to face Quincy with a look of barely concealed rage. "Try not to cry too hard over the fact that I make more money than you even though you're twice my age."

Quincy grunted and muttered, "Same old, same old with you. Always gotta be on top. Always gotta get the last word in."

Bradley watched you press your lips together like you were trying your hardest to not have the last word right now. It was obvious that wasn't why you made it as far as you had. It was also obvious Quincy was trying to bait you. Bradley just felt a little bit bad that he could be used as ammunition against you. "You want something to drink, Ace?"

When you nodded, Bradley stood and went to get you a water bottle. "Thanks," you muttered, looking down at your keyboard as he handed it to you.

"Hey, don't let these assholes get to you," he whispered as he slipped back down into his seat.

He was drawing little shapes along your back with his fingers as you looked up at him in surprise. "I don't fucking care about Quincy.... the Padres are up three to zip." You laughed sardonically. "You know I'll have to leave in the morning if they win, right?" you asked him.

Bradley nodded. He couldn't even say the words out loud. So he focused on the game and held your hand tight. The Padres were using their relief pitcher a little early, and he looked fatigued. His pitches were wild, and he was walking batter after batter. Then right at the top of the eight inning, Bradley heard the crack of a perfectly hit ball.

"That's a grand slam," you whispered before the ball was even beyond the fence. Instead of marking it down on your stat sheet, you tossed your pencil aside and kissed him. "Angels up by one run," you said against his lips.

"They need to hold the lead," he replied, letting his forehead rest against yours. "They need to. I don't care who wins the World Series, but they need to do it in game seven, not game six."

His words made you smile so much, he wrapped his arm around you to keep you as close as he could. And when the final score was the Padres with three runs and the Angels with four, you were practically on his lap. You were even smiling when Greg called you a minute later to tell you to get to Boston first thing on Monday morning after game seven on Sunday night.

"I'll have to book my flight," you said to Bradley as everyone started to flood out of the press box ahead of the crowd. "But we have two more nights together instead of just one."

You and he were quiet after that, your fingers laced together as you walked out to the parking lot and rode back to his house. He didn't feel like he needed to rush right now as he unlocked his front door and followed you inside. You pulled him in for a kiss that was so sweet, he was surprised. Just your arms around his neck and your lips moving gently on his.

"We have some time before my midnight deadline. Can we get changed and snuggle in bed like earlier?" you asked him, your eyes closed as your lips hovered near his. "I want to change into your Padres jersey."

Bradley had goosebumps on his skin as he whispered, "It's your Padres jersey now."

You looked so damn pleased with yourself as you ran toward his bedroom, shedding your clothes on the way. Bradley undressed down to his underwear while you did the same and then slipped his jersey on before heading for his dresser. "Your floor's cold," you mumbled as you grabbed a pair of his socks and put them on before jumping into his bed. "And now I look ridiculous."

Bradley shook his head as he stared at you. He'd been holding back enough, and he just didn't want to do it anymore. "Nah, Ace, you look... like everything I want."

"Bradley," you whispered, pulling his blanket up over your face. "You can't."

He slipped in bed and burrowed under the blanket with you. Your eyes were bright as you looked at him in the dim bit of light. "I can't help it," he replied, and you eased yourself into his arms. "There's nobody like you. You're the Ace for a reason."

"God," you whimpered, kissing his lips and his cheeks, and teasing your fingers through his hair. Your palms were warm on his cheeks as you traced every single scar and the curve of his lips. You ran your nose along his mustache, and you just snuggled closer and closer to him. "I can't think straight when I'm with you. It's like, I feel like I could..."

"Like you could what, Baby?" he begged. He needed you to finish that sentence, but you didn't. You just kissed him until you were the one begging and pleading. It was so easy to give you what you wanted right now, because he wanted it, too. He yanked his underwear down and pulled yours to the side, and when he slipped inside you, he watched you pull the blankets down. And now he could see you a little better, and you really were exactly what he wanted.

It was slow and sweet, and he knew he'd never feel this good with anyone else. He didn't want to let you go. He held your thigh on his hip and rocked into you, thrusting as he thought 'stay, stay, stay'.

"Bradley," you moaned, pushing him onto his back and riding him until you came. He was afraid he was saying exactly what he was thinking now as words like need and permanent surfaced in his mind while he babbled. You told him to cum inside you again, so he did. And when you curled up on his chest, he kissed the top of your head.

Your lips were on his neck as you silently ran your fingers through his hair. "Ace," he whispered, but you just shook your head. So he pressed his lips together and rubbed his hands up underneath the jersey, and you shivered against him.

A few minutes later, when he was nearly soothed to sleep with his cock still nestled inside you, Bradley felt your body jerk. "Oh no. What time is it?" you gasped. You climbed off of him abruptly, a look of panic on your face as you searched for your phone. "Fuck!"

Bradley climbed out of bed as you fumbled your phone and ran for your computer which was charging on his chair. His cum was on his abs and your legs, but you didn't stop to get cleaned up before you ran for his kitchen table. "What can I do to help?" he asked as he followed you.

"Nothing," you snapped, booting up your computer. It was almost 11:30, and Bradley wasn't sure exactly how much you'd written before and during the game; he had been too concerned about the Angels winning tonight.

He got you some water and whispered, "I can help you proofread it," but you didn't respond. You just typed away frantically while he hovered around the living room, glancing in your direction constantly. Your brow was creased in frustrated determination, and Bradley felt like an asshole for not suggesting that you or he set an alarm before climbing in bed. Because he could absolutely lose all track of time when he was with you, whether you and he were fucking, talking or cuddling. And he knew it.

When he looked at the clock on the microwave, he winced. It was nearly midnight, and you were still typing and looking at your stat sheet. "Anything I can do?" he asked again, but you just shook your head, so he went to the bathroom. He got himself cleaned up and then just leaned on the sink vanity with his head cradled in his hands.

Fuck. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel any stress when you were with him. He felt like an idiot. When he finally returned to the table, the clock said 12:01 and you were still typing. He was waiting for your phone to ring. Greg would be calling you to start screaming any second now. And he had to stand there and watch it all unfold. You submitted your article at 12:07, and you looked up at him with sad yet determined eyes before you answered your ringing phone.

"Greg," you said, your voice sounding strong and sure even though your face was defeated. And then Greg was hollering nonstop as you held the phone a few inches away from your ear. Bradley hated it so much. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and then your cheek while Greg reminded you not too kindly that you missed your deadline by seven minutes. Then Bradley cupped your face in his hands and held eye contact with you while you told Greg it wouldn't happen again before you ended the call.

The silence was almost deafening as you held your phone and looked up at him. Bradley swallowed hard, but his voice was still a harsh whisper as he said, "I hate it when he yells at you."

You shook your head and grimaced as tears filled your eyes. "Well, I missed my deadline, so he had every right to-"

"No," Bradley said, dropping to his knees in front of you on his kitchen floor. "He doesn't, Ace. He shouldn't do that. It's just seven minutes."

"But it's a deadline for a reason," you supplied immediately, looking down into his face. "One minute is the same as seven is the same as sixty. It shouldn't happen at all."

Bradley scoffed. "So he sits up until three in the morning in New York just to call you and scream? That's fucked up."

You swiped at your eyes as you whispered, "I let myself get distracted by you. This is my fault. But when I'm with you, I can't think straight. Which is bad."

"Ace," he whispered helplessly as you cried. "But if we were together-"

"We can't be together," you told him. Your voice was soft and sorrowful, but it felt like a gunshot to Bradley. His ears were ringing from the sound of it. He could tell you were stubborn, but right now, he felt stubborn, too. It wasn't very often that he allowed himself to want something, and never on the scale of how badly he wanted you, but he thought right now it would be worth fighting for this.

"I've seen your email inbox," he whispered, and your eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't need Greg or the New York Times to be successful, Ace. You bring everything to the table, and clearly other people see that."

"Bradley," you said, shaking your head sadly. "It's the New York Times. The pinnacle. There's nowhere else for me to go that wouldn't be a step backwards in my career, and that's a fact. My job is important to me. Writing is important to me."

"But you're more than who you write for-"

You cut him off as you raised your voice. "You knew immediately who I was when you saw my name, because I work for The Times!"

Bradley buried his face against your thigh as he tried to will his heart to stop pounding so hard he could barely hear. He kissed you there before he looked up at you again in agony. "People would follow your writing anywhere, because you're that fucking good. Have you ever thought about writing for someone else?"

You swiped at your eyes as you whispered, "No." "Baby, you could make a big name for yourself on an independent platform. Your style is fun and it flows. You can find something better for yourself than the New York Times. This doesn't have to be that hard."

"It's not that easy either. I told you how it would be, Bradley," you said, your voice taking on a pleading tone. "You would hate it when I was away for long stretches. You would want someone else. Someone easy to be with. Someone who was always in San Diego."

"That's a fucking lie," he growled. "And you know it."

You were silent for a minute as your eyes settled on your lap. "New York is my home. I'm settled there. And you're settled here."

He felt sick. The words had too much finality. But you were waiting for him to confirm, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was let you down. "Yeah. I am." Then he realized he was crying as well when he reached up to cup your cheek again. You melted into his touch before you slid off the chair and onto his lap on the floor. "Ace. Look at you," he whispered, and you met his eyes as your lip quivered. "You're perfect. The perfect woman. I want to be with you. And I think you want to be with me, too."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he held you while you cried. "I'm sorry, Bradley," you murmured against his shoulder.

He knew you were scared to even think that something might be a better fit for you, and maybe he was wrong. Maybe it would be career suicide if you left your job. He didn't know a damn thing about it really. All he knew was everyone wanted you with them. Including him. It was hard for him to breathe as he asked, "What do you have in New York that you couldn't have in San Diego? Here. With me."

But you didn't answer him. You just stayed curled up on his lap until after one in the morning with your arms wrapped around him and his securely at your back. He tried his best to memorize how good and yet terrible this felt, because in a few days, he knew he'd probably give anything to feel you in his arms.

When you finally eased away from him and kissed his lips, you tried to smile as you said, "Let's just enjoy our last day together."

Bradley closed his eyes against the pain. "Sure, Ace."

--------------------------

All I feel right now is pain. I miss feeling joy. The final game is next. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

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@chassy21

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dailycass-cain · 4 months

Text

2023 was another big stepping stone with Cass. The character was featured in A LOT of stuff this year amongst a few negative antics.

But unlike prior years the good really outweighed the bad. BY A LOT.

So let's take a look back one final time #CAINAISSANCE2023...

The year started STRONG with the release of Batgirls #14 aka the BEST solo story that involved the character this year.

I've gone in LENGTH on how AMAZING this tale was. If you haven't read it DO SO. You don't need any context but to just take in the masterpiece given.

Writers Becky Cloonan and Michael Conrad gave artist Jonathan Case just this canvas of an issue to tell AN EPIC mostly silent issue.

If there's a tale Batgirls will be remembered for it'll BE THIS ISSUE.

I've lost count to just taking in the gorgeous art Case delivers here and just letting the actions and emotions tell the tale.

The only regret is well no full payoff to what is fully learned within this issue.

It just hits EVERY mark and is something any Cass fan CRAVED, but never got in Batgirl Vol. 1. Batgirls #14 was a worthy issue that should be talked about amongst fans of Cass for quite some time.

February gave us Cass's grand entrance to Ram V's Detective Comics run (#1069) and what an entrance it was! Literally, I can't let it go of how AMAZING it was.

And the run itself? It just keeps delivering as THE Batman book out currently.

It's a slow burn and when the run lays the payoffs IT HITS THOSE PAYOFFS. The series just ended an exceptional bi-weekly event that featured Cass and well, I'm extremely curious where this run goes with the character.

If anything, I just want MOAR from Ram V or a smaller secondary story involving Cass. But given the various characters he's been rotating and given next year is 2024 (more on that later) I'm keeping my fingers crossed for ALL OF THIS.

This run does work in trade but I digress you'd be missing the GORGEOUS covers this series has been shelling out. If anything BUY the single issues and read the run this way until you get to the present.

Or reread them like I've been doing. 😋

The early half of 2023 marked Cass's surprise return to an actual role in mega crossovers. She took part in the final issue of Batman vs. Robin being one of the random factors to stall the possessed Batman until ALL of DC's magical users came to cast it out of him.

The weakest of the crossovers the character was involved in I have to say was Gotham War. It was a nothing burger that made me swear off the Chip Zdarsky run of Batman completely.

Honestly, I feel more rewarded reading Tec more. Unless Chip pulls off a miracle turnaround in 2024.

But I digress Zdarsky was only half of the problems with the other being Tini Howard and yeah, if you were a Bat Family member who wasn't Jason Todd (how did that mini turn out to be more entertaining then the ENTIRE event?!)?

This story SUUUUUUUUCKED. Quite possibly the worst Batman event story since War Games/Crimes for me.

Sadly, the most disappointing stories I'd have to say are on equal ground in Beast World and Knight Terrors. As there was interesting concepts with Cass involving them, and both stories just go NOWHERE.

I feel more so robbed with Knight Terrors as the design for Cass within it went hard. It's just that you give us THIS design and tease us with this little nugget and give us NOTHING?

COME ON!

Beast World was a whole nothing burger as well, save the pretty art and a full confirmation that Cass's old NML is now canonically her defacto one again.

Even if we had it mentioned earlier last year and again in the best crossover event involving Cass...

WHICH WAS IN LAZARUS PLANET: DARK FATE #1. It gave us Alyssa Wong returning for a THIRD time to write Cass and they were joined by Haining on art which introduced us to the world of Xanthe.

That in itself led to a spinoff mini-series that had Cass in it with SPIRIT WORLD. It did more with the new character Xanthe and laid out their origins and powerset nicely while also laying some seeds for MAYBE future Cass stories.

Again, I feel like a repeating record on how GOOD this series was. Like, I can't wait for the trade next year to take it all in again. But besides the creative team delivering it gave us Dustin Nguyen AND Marcio Takara drawing Cass again OFFICIALLY AS BATGIRL!!

Even when this series ended, I STILL WANT MOAR!! Like what memories did Cass lose? What the heck happened with Spirit World twisting her memories of Batgirl Vol. 1 #72?! How will Xanthe be with the Jade Court?

SO MANY QUESTIONS!!

Something else that left me with MANY questions was DCeased universe as even though the story ended back in April.

I still crave more starring Cass, because let's face it STEPH/TALIA DESERVE CLOSURE!! Cass could be the gateway to that.

Doing so would tie up the final loose ends as well. Let's see how Rose is raising her kid with Jason. Silent Olsen. Harley/Ivy. Ollie/Dinah. Jim Gordon.

But I digress. It gives us more Cazzam. We need more Cazzam.

But an alternate universe Cass just didn't pop up there we had a Cass show up in various other comics. Knights of Steel which also had me hankering for MOAR and Harley Quinn & the Legion of Bats.

I know some didn't like it, but me? I think it was LEAPS and BOUNDS better than what we got in the actual season of HQ.

Let us never talk about that season again…

Now something we SHOULD talk about more is the first actual appearance of Cass in a DC ANIMATED MOVIE!! Yes, Kai Li Cain from Batman: The Doom that Came to Gotham.

I was blown away at the extended role they gave the character in the film (to the, "Oh right Tim is here and alive." role in the books).

Kai Li voiced perfectly by Tati Gabrielle gave a balance of innocence and reason with the batshit craziness this film throws at us.

Like, I really REALLY want a sequel. Just to see what she'd do now given full access to Bruce's fortune? Will she follow his path? I mean yeah we want steampunk Bat!

Speaking of which artists we need designs for this stat still!

It just adds that anchor where you want to see more of this universe and the characters that inhabit it. I mean that's the sign of a REALLY good Elseworlds. Where you want more and sometimes you get just that.

But with all this good came the sad, and that was the canceling of Batgirls. I know many were against the series (especially after #7-8), but the series found its footing with #9 and ran into something I hope more positively can be talked about it.

It's true failing wasn't the creators behind the series, more just elements outside that just slotted it's end (Batgirl movie getting canned making #7-8 more wasteful), Evil Oracle #4 aka the pitch, and just being something it couldn't be).

I'm grateful for each and every creator who worked on this book because it was a GIFT that I'll always be appreciative of.

I'll say it again, THANK YOU TO ALL! 🙏

And its spirit lived on in the Nightwing back up a few months ago. It was something that was TRULY needed after the garbage fire that was Gotham War. It gave us this Cass/Dick sibling stuff and GIVE ME MOAR!!!

Unlike the past where we'd be done, DC brought us back up giving us the current BIRDS OF PREY ongoing which has Cass in it.

Really the series is a revelation of giving us things I always wanted that I'd never thought we get. Cass with Dinah? CHECK.

Cass meeting Big Barda and the two having a bond? HELLS YEAH CHECK! Anytime that bond grows I squee even more.

Just give writer Kelly Thompson ALL the time and ideas she has to churn this out to the proper conclusion she has envisioned. Just give me fifty-plus issues of her, Leonardo Romero, and Jordie Bellaire.

Finally of course there was Batman: Wayne Family Adventures which gave us THREE banger Cass stories. One where she and Steph are a MENANCE (as they should), Cass scaring the crapbaskets out of EVERYONE and of course...

Season 2 gave us A LOT of things I wanted in general (her interacting with Damian) and just showing the world why I really really love this character. Why I talk about her daily.

Really as 2023 closes and 2024 is about to begin... Well, it's the character's TWENTIETH-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY. 25 years of kicking ass and ripping our hearts out.

It's been a journey for sure.

really REALLY hope DC honors this anniversary and continues to mend the bridges burned all those years ago.

Give us that Omnibus. Give us a mini or SOMETHING to celebrate this character. If not, I'll take whatever Ram V and Thompson give us.

#CAINAISSANCE2023 may be over, but #CAINAISSANCE2024 will be the most important year yet.

25 YEARS OF CASS!! LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN ON JANUARY 1st!

#cassandra cain #dc comics #cainaissance2023 #my thoughts #CAINAISSANCE2024 v

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genericpuff · 1 month

Note

Genuinely I would give anything to hear your thoughts or read more critical analysis of yours on other webcomics writing (*slides you Marionetta* I like the webtoon but there are some things in the writing that I'd like to see be discussed critically more often but the fandom focuses way too much on shipping. sighs..)

Anyway, you probably have been asked this before but are there any webtoons in particular you would recommend? :D

Oh lord, you don't know how many times a week I get asks in my inbox asking for my opinions on webtoons they're reading. It's really sweet that people wanna hear me talk about other works outside of LO, but unfortunately I just don't have the time to read as much as I used to, even keeping up on LO lately is getting really difficult 😅 I'm definitely keeping a list though of works to check out!

That said, I try not to read series on the basis of criticizing them because frankly I just... don't want to spend time reading something if people are only looking for me to rag on it? 😆 Of course I know that's not the only reason, I know there's also just the element of seeing me talk extensively about other works the way that I do with LO, but it's not really something I can turn on and off like that, I have to get really into a series to want to talk about it to that extent. So it often comes down to just luck of the draw :'0

Right now the series I'm keeping up the most on (or have completed and would absolutely 100% re-read):

Alfie (18+, it's porn with plot but the plot is REALLY GOOD , I SWEAR LMAO the art is gorgeous, the characterization is IMMACULATE, and it ironically tackles the subject of purity culture way better than LO ever has lol)

Theia Mania (the creator is often in my comment section / neck of the woods, she's been working on an Abduction of Persephone retelling for a long while now and has also tackled other myth retellings in her style! I always love seeing new pages of her work in my feed :' ) <3)

Tales from Alderwood (if you like fantasy and comedy, this one's great, the plot's really starting to get interesting and it's just got this really great sense of humor about it)

The Black Parade (this one's REALLY interesting, it's a comic-stylized version of My Chemical Romance's The Black Parade, using the songs as narration and sometimes even dialogue to tell a visual story, it's really cool and the art matches beautifully with the lyrics and style of MCR!)

A Tale of Two Rulers (this is a Legend of Zelda fancomic that poses the question, "What if Zelda and Ganondorf got married to solve their political crisis?" It updates a lot slower than most of the other comics I follow but the art and writing is so worth it <3)

Dogs of Future Past (and p much all of Lynx's Undertale comics which can be found in the link, seriously, THESE are the comics you wanna read if you wanna get into Undertale fanworks, they are PEAK)

Tamberlane (this one's an anthro comic, I normally don't read anthro but this one actually gripped me by the throat, the art is gorgeous and the character arcs so far have been great!)

The Mafia Nanny (okay it's legit so funny that I'm including this one here but I've been reading it the last couple days after seeing it basically beat out LO at the top of the trending tab for a couple days, so I figured I'd give it a shot, at first I was like "great more tropey shit" but the more I read it the more it's actually started to get pretty good, I'm holding out and hoping to god it stays that way LOL it's not especially deep or anything like that, but it's really fun and cute to read and the shipping of the main character within the narrative isn't too self-absorbed which I can always appreciate, I'd honestly be 100% fine with it if it didn't turn into a romance)

City of Blank (I talk about this one a lot here, but it's one of my favorite Originals right now, the art is super polished and the writing has gotten INTENSE, go check it out if you want some fun action / sci-fi storytelling!)

Time and Time Again (a time-travelling vampire and his werewolf boyfriend get into all kinds of misadventures, what more could you ask for?)

Touch of Divinity (like the Mafia Nanny, this is one I just started reading, it's got a very interesting premise so far and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes!)

#if i ever do read marionetta then y'all will definitely hear about it LOL #ask me anything #ama #anon ask me anything #anon ama #recommendations #reading reccs #reading recommendations

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anxious-lee · 6 days

Text

|| Ramshackle Tickle Headcanons ||

A/N: just watched the pilot last night and read the comic this morning, I'm ready 💪. I can tell these three are gonna be my new beloved found family. as far as I can tell, there isn't a whole lot of fan content of this on tumblr so I'm really scared this is gonna find its way to the normies 😢

---

Vinnie

- chaotic ler

- usually the first one to initiate a tickle fight

- fights to WIN (and have fun with her friends)

- the roughest tickler of them all; squeezes, scribbles, and pokes anywhere and everywhere she can reach. she will the loudest laughter she can out of you

- skipp is her easiest lee; he'll start a chase and everything for the game of it, but he doesn't fight too hard once he gets caught

- stone, however, is the hardest lee, but we'll get to that later; despite how difficult he is to corner, she likes the challenge; besides, somebody's got to make sure that sad twig boi smiles

- once she finds your worst spot, she's not leaving

- teases with evil laughter and playful mockery; "no mortal can escape the clutches of the TICKLE MONSTER MWAHAHAHA!" "You wanna get away? You wanna get away?? Well you're not gettin' away~"

- when tickled, she SCREAMS and CACKLES but will NOT beg

- doesn't mind being tickled, doesn't love it; it's all in good fun

- ^ you wouldn't know that based on how hard she fights her ler; kicking, clawing, flailing, you name it; she does not like to lose

- in fact, she'd rather have her face turn purple than call it quits; the ler just has to know when to stop on their own because she's sure as hell not going to tell them

- most ticklish spot is her armpits

- do not try to outrun her because she is so damn persistent. she will catch you; tackles and pins you down before she tickles you

Skipp

- lawful lee

- has the goofiest little giggles in the world; a real "teehee" lad

- can't and won't hold back his laughter

- by far the happiest to be a lee

- actively likes tickling and WILL admit it

- most ticklish spot is his sides

- he can tickle if he thinks one of his friends needs it but he mainly prefers to be the lee

- doesn't wiggle that much; all the energy that would go into squirming goes into giggling instead

- cups his pink cheeks and gives tiny feet kicks 🥰

- will squeal if you tickle his neck

- a lot of teases don't work on him because they rely on being embarrassed, and he's not embarrassed about tickling

- the teases that DO work are baby talk, since it adds to the silly feeling

- pokes tickle him the most

- his giggly laughter is laced with mangled outcries; "HEHEHEHE WAITHEHEHE STO- HEHE NOT THERE HEHEHE"

- if skipp gets in stone's personal space one too many times, stone'll wreck him (he knows skipp is doing it on purpose)

- isn't that invested with winning or losing a tickle fight; he's just happy to be there

- tries to get stone to loosen up about tickling (explanation later)

- gets ganged up on by the other two the most

- falls for those old tickle tricks, not because he wants to get tickled, but because he is just so obliviously trusting

Stone

- HOOOO BOY

- the one we've all been waiting for

- I'm gonna let yall know right now this ones going to be the longest (SUE ME OKAY?!)

- neutral lee-leaning switch

- will swear up and down on his life that he's not ticklish (it's a lie!) until the other two little gremlins finally decide to prove him wrong

- he's very embarrassed about being ticklish; skipp doesn't understand why and tries to get him more comfortable with it, which causes stone to turtle-up and shut down the conversation; vinnie takes a less gentle approach and just tells him to "loosen up, dude!"; it seems like a childish thing to him, like something he should have grown out of

- despite how embarrassed he is about his weakness, he's not actually embarrassed about saying the word; he can say "tickle" all day long, he just can't admit he's ticklish

- he repeats the same three words everytime someone asks: "I'm not ticklish"

- if he thinks for even a second he's about to get tickled, he sprints like his life depends on it; this means the first ten times his friends have tried to tickle him, they failed, no matter how stealthy they were.

- finally, on try eleven, they managed to overtake him; he wouldn't laugh for the first two whole minutes; vinnie was straddling his waist while skipp kept him from kicking and bucking her off; eventually, he did crack; it only took a random squeeze at his death spot for him to slip up: his thighs; vinnie caught on right away and went to town, and then poor stone couldn't keep himself together; if he laughed any harder, he swore he'd crumble to pieces; his arms waved around, too jellied up to put any real force behind them; his eyes were still squeezed shut, but his smile was brighter than the motherfucking sun; it even put skipp's to shame; he looked uncharacteristically like a little baby, laughing and shrieking

- vinnie and skipp's eyes practically filled with stars; neither of them had ever seen this side of stone before; but that was about to change

- he can't claim he's not ticklish anymore, but he'll still go to any lengths to avoid talking about it

- stone didn't know he had a death spot until that moment, nothing ever came into contact with his thighs so he had no way to know

- his laugh is very high-pitched, differing from his usual deep rumble; pure belly laughter with a side of hiccups (no not hiccup laughs, ACTUAL hiccups. it's the cutest thing I swear)

- within thirty seconds of laughing, he's lost all ability to save face; cries out a lot of "please"s if vinnie goes hard enough

- the tops of his cheeks will go red while he's being tickled; not full tomato, but just enough to shatter his pride

- he's the most adorable lee 💓💓💓

- he is SO HARD TO CATCH THO

- he's got the reflexes of a cat

- doesn't like being teased, then he gets a little too embarrassed

- the only comments that ARE acceptable are ones of curiosity; like if skipp goes "hmmm I wonder if this spot is ticklish?" or vinnie says "dang bro I didn't know you could laugh that hard"

- if he's comfortable with anyone tickling him, it's skipp; he knows he can trust him to not laugh at him

- as much as he'll deny it, he doesn't hate tickling as much as he wishes; in fact, it might even be a little bit fun <3

- as a ler, he's pretty skilled

- where vinnie is a very rough and sloppy ler, stone is very careful and methodical

- starts with light traces to amp up the tension, then goes in for the kill

- tickles skipp the most, because there's a significantly smaller chance of skipp fighting back

- he tickles his friends in an older brother sort of way; mostly its when they're bugging him

- teases with "ya learnt your lesson yet?" "that doesn't sound like someone who wants me to stop tickling" "you were practically asking for it, being a pain in the arse and everything"

- specifically teases skipp because he knows he likes it; "having fun, down there? i can see that smile, mister, you ain't fooling me"

- most of the time though he'll just watch the other two tickle fight and watch boredly

----

IT TOOK A LOT OF RESTRAINT NOT TO RAMBLE

AND I DID ANYWAY!!!

I'll save the rest of my thoughts for potential fics

Hope you enjoy!

#tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #tickle community #tickle headcanons #ramshackle tickles

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sapphic-coded · 7 months

Text

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and did not choose her codename. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: When writer ADHD hits, it hits. Sorry for the wait friends. Been working on this for a comically long time. Thank you for all the love and support for this series. I love that you love this. Enjoy!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You counted the small rocks in your black gloved hand. Neither one looked the same. All were varying shades of gray. A few were smooth and round while others were rough with sharper edges. It was the best of what you could find around the neighborhood. You looked up when you heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

The ends of Nat’s blue hair spilled out of her dark gray knitted hat. Her black puffy jacket swallowed up most of her body. In her white gloved hands was a single stick. It wasn’t very long. Hardly more than four inches. Some pine needles still hung off of it. You watched as she approached while the chill that hung in the air after the first snowfall stabbed at your cheeks.

“Aren’t we supposed to use a carrot?” you asked as she came to stand next to you. You were also pretty sure that you were supposed to use coal instead of rocks.

“My mom already cut up the one we have,” Nat replied.

You certainly didn’t have any carrots lying around at home. Your refrigerator and Nat’s were so different that it was jarring the first time you saw it. You hadn’t realized how much food one refrigerator could hold when you didn’t have to make room for your father’s weekly experiments.

You looked at the headless snowman in front of you. You had spent the better part of the last two hours alongside Nat and her younger sister building the snowman in front of their house. The snowman’s base was large, round, and a bit lopsided. But it supported the slightly smaller packed ball of snow on top of it. You and Nat had done your best to brush off any dirt or blades of grass that stuck to the snow. Now you waited for Yelena to return with the snowman’s head.

You heard Nat shift next to you while you stared at the empty spot where the snowman’s head will go. You wondered what kind of person this snowman would be. It was a shame when your brother told you years ago that snowmen don’t actually come to life after they are built. There’s no singing or dancing. It was as your father put it when he overheard your conversation:

“It is a byproduct of man’s lust for godhood.”

But maybe they did come to life. In secret. Perhaps at night. You read about all kinds of supposedly fake creatures coming to life in secret in your sister’s books. If it was possible, would this snowman end up being a good person or a bad one? Would the lack of a carrot make a difference?

“Are you going somewhere?” Nat asked.

You looked at her and found her looking across the street. You followed her gaze. Outside on your driveway was your father. The trunk of his station wagon hung open while he shoved a couple large bags into it. His back remained toward you and you hoped it would stay that way. The freshly plowed street put enough distance between him and you that you felt like you could breathe normally without him noticing.

Your gaze landed back on Nat. “My father is attending a convention. It’s a tradition.”

“What kind of convention?” she asked.

You shrugged. “One for people like him.”

He would come back giddy from talking with his fellow scholars. You knew that when he returned you and your siblings would be forced to spend at least three hours trapped at the kitchen table with nothing to eat but plenty to listen to. If something particularly interesting happened, you would definitely be trapped at the table for five hours.

“You’re not going with him?” she asked.

You heard the trunk of your father’s station wagon slam shut. You looked over your shoulder and watched as your father started back up the driveway. You looked at Nat and shook your head. “Kids aren’t allowed.”

Yelena hurried around the house from the backyard carrying a mostly round snowman sized head. It was pretty impressive when she reached you guys. Since you both were taller, you and Nat carefully took the soon to be snowman head and set it on top of its cold, round body. You pushed one smooth light gray rock into the snowman’s left eye socket and then pushed a square black rock into its right. You let Yelena help you set the rest of the rocks into a wide smile. Nat pushed the stick into the middle of the snowman’s face. Then, all three of you stepped back to admire your work.

“We should give him a name,” Yelena said.

You tried to imagine the snowman’s rock eyes blinking. You imagined puffs of white mists slipping from between his rocky lips. You tried to imagine him with a carrot for a nose. “He looks like an Ian.”

You heard Yelena giggle and when you looked at Nat you saw the beginnings of a smile curling her lips.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

Being part of a team sucks. There are rules you have to follow. Sure, there were rules back when you were working for your father. But those rules were different. You could bend and shape them into whatever you needed. As long as the job was done, your father was content. Maybe he’d nitpick if the job got messy. But you had the freedom of choice. There were so many ways to kill people. Some days your imagination would run wild with new possibilities. You had yet to surprise a target in their bathroom and drop a toaster into their bathtub while they were bathing. Then there was the old classic you had yet to try. This idea demanded the perfect costume, but tying a target to train tracks and watching a high speed train obliterate their body into nothing more but tiny bloody chunks would be great fun.

You loved that part of the job almost as much as you loved watching your target’s life drain from their eyes. But now that freedom is gone. You don’t get to decide how you are going to do your job. You are told. Ordered. The worst is when you’re not even allowed to kill your target. You remember the first time you were given that bizarre job. You remember how punchable your target’s face was. You remember how easy it would have been to just push the ridiculous man over the edge. No one would have known. But you couldn’t. You watched that opportunity pass you by and you wanted to scream.

You did scream. At Rumlow. You cornered him and demanded to know why. Why did they keep fucking with your head?

He reminded you of your role. The chains that kept you bound to these nonsensical rules. You work for SHIELD. You don’t kill targets unless SHIELD wants you to kill them. You keep to your role and you don’t raise suspicions. You live out the story Rumlow crafted for you. He found you on one of his missions. He saw your potential and peeled you up off the ground like some frozen, sick, dying, abandoned mutt. He molded you into the weapon you are now. A weapon he happily handed to SHIELD.

You hate that story. You hate it more than the stupid suit he forces you to wear. The black tactical suit covers every inch of your body from your neck down to your feet. It had taken a while to get used to the added weight of the black body armor attached to the suit. You still don’t like it. It makes you feel as if you are a child running around with pillows tied to your chest and a foam sword in your hand. But it’s the mask that feels the most suffocating. Despite being able to hear clearly from within the black helmet, you feel cut off from the world. The black tinted visor that conceals your face is full of fancy technology that often gets in the way when you are just trying to watch your target die. You hate the stupid suit. You hate that you can’t do anything without having to wear it. The only time you can strip the stupid costume off and breathe in lungfuls of air conditioned air is in your bunk buried beneath all the levels of SHIELD and fake SHIELD and real HYDRA.

But if you could choose, you’d stick with the stupid suit if you could craft a different story. Preferably one that didn’t include anyone molding you into anything. But that freedom is gone, and all you have is a boatload of memories to distract you from how angry you are. That anger burns deep inside you. It fuels your every step as you walk alongside Rumlow down a bright, busy hallway. You ignore all the data that blinks across the inside of your visor screen with every SHIELD agent that hurries by. In the beginning you had been curious, but now all the data was familiar and boring. Mostly low level clearance agents with spotless records because they never did anything but sit at their desks or hurry around places looking busy.

You walk out into a large hangar and board one of the waiting Quinjets. You spy two empty seats in the cockpit and a black duffel bag resting on one of the seats in the cargo bay. Rumlow hands you a small, black flash drive. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he can’t see your face. If he let you take off the damn helmet you could read the mission briefings perfectly fine. You didn’t need to clog up your visor’s hub with all the unnecessary tidbits of information on your targets. You hate this role.

“This one is routine,” Rumlow begins as you insert the flash drive into the slot along the backside of your helmet. Almost instantly, information clogs up your interior visor screen. “Your target is Tomek Sikora. He’s an arms dealer that SHIELD has kept an eye on.” The picture of your target fills up your visor. Tall, muscular build. Short, dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Mid thirties. “We have good intel that he’s operating out of an abandoned storefront in Bardstown, Kentucky. His main clientele is HYDRA.”

Your visor floods with images of your target standing with or shaking hands with other important looking men and women. A few of the faces look familiar, but the images scroll too quickly across your visor for you to be certain.

“Your objective is to shut down Sikora’s operation,” Rumlow says. “SHIELD would prefer Sikora alive, but if you have no choice, do what is necessary.”

The coded orders hidden behind his words brings a small hint of relief. A nice simple kill. You know that if you read more into the file scrolling across your visor that you could piece together why real HYDRA wants Sikora dead. But you don’t care. All you care about is watching your target die. All you care about at this moment is that you won’t be forced to watch your target walk away breathing. A straightforward mission is exactly what you need. Something easy. Sikora will probably put up some kind of fight. You’ll engage and end it when it feels right.

You pull the flash drive from the slot at the back of your helmet. Your visor clears.

“Rollins will accompany you on this mission,” Rumlow says.

Eh. It could be wors–

“Slight change of plan.”

Both you and Rumlow turn towards the open cargo bay door. You see her clearly through your visor screen. You feel the chains of your boredom lift. That familiar energy that buzzes right beneath your skin awakens. You haven’t seen her since you put a bullet through Erik’s head. Even then, you can’t count that as your official last parting. You were buried beneath your costume. She didn’t know you were there. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have let you go like that.

The weight of the costume you wear now feels heavier as you watch her ascend up the Quinjet’s ramp. She’s dressed in civilian clothes. You love the black, leather jacket that she wears over her red shirt. Dark denim jeans cover the length of her legs, and a gun sits in a black holster strapped to her right thigh. You’re envious of her clothes. You want to look into her wardrobe. You want to strip out of this stupid suit and wear anything else.

“Agent Romanoff,” Rumlow greets.

Nat. Your teeth bite into your lower lip. You know you can’t say anything. The rules of your role have been drilled into your head. You don’t speak. You only act. If anyone asks questions, Rumlow has your pathetic sob story ready to share. You know all this. You know you must comply. But you really want to say something.

Her olive green eyes settle on you as she steps into the cargo bay. You instantly miss the recognition as she looks at you. Her eyes travel up and down the length of your body, taking in your forced getup. You want her to see right through it. You want her to say your name and rip the damn mask from your face so the chase can resume.

“What’s the update?” Rumlow asks.

Her attention shifts to him. “Rollins can’t make it. He’s in medical. I’m filling in.”

Now you really really want to say something. You watch as she walks over to where the black duffel bag sits. A smile stretches across your face. You had wanted to start slow. A coffee date scheduled on a day that neither one of you needed to even think about work. But if you can’t have that, then you will happily take this.

“That’s not necessary,” Rumlow replies.

Your smile drops away, and you turn your head to give Rumlow the most threatening glare he will never see. He ignores you as Nat zips up her duffel bag and looks over at him.

“I’ll get one of the other guys to fill in for Rollins,” Rumlow continues. “It’s a routine operation, and you’re needed for more Avenger missions.”

You wonder what would happen if you punched Rumlow in the face. If you swing hard enough, there is a good chance you could knock him out. That would give you a couple seconds to say something to Nat before all hell breaks loose. You’d definitely apologize for the stupid thing you said before. And if Rumlow didn’t go down in one punch, you could always follow it up with a solid kick.

“Fury disagrees,” Nat replies.

The name sparks two recent memories of the Director of SHIELD. Both memories consisted of you standing in this stupid suit and staring at the bald man with an eyepatch while he interrogated Rumlow about you. You played the part of a lost puppy well enough despite wanting to smash your head into the closest wall.

“Besides,” Nat looks first at you and then back to Rumlow, “I’ve been dying to meet your new sidekick.”

Oh god. That one hurt.

“They’re not much of a talker,” Rumlow says.

You have so much to say.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nat replies.

Rumlow shakes his head, but finally relents. He looks at you. “Stay focused. I expect results.”

You watch as he steps out of the cargo bay and descends down the jet’s ramp. For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You thought that Rumlow would have done just about anything to rip you away from Nat. He had made sure to keep you as far away from her as possible. But the reality of your amazing luck settles when Nat comes to stand next to you.

“Has he taught you how to fly one of these?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll fly. You fill me in on the mission.”

This is the greatest day of your life.

The Quinjet, Kentucky Sky – A Short Time Later

You pull the flash drive free from the tablet’s port. The tablet’s screen goes blank while the hub screen built into your interior helmet visor lights up with a selection of unnecessary data about the tablet. Battery at 68%. No security update needed. Software version 3.8.27. You don’t understand why you are forced to tolerate the random extra tech. Rumlow told you it was to make your story more realistic. You still didn’t understand how something only you see makes others believe you more.

You look up from the tablet, and the extra data clears. Bright sunlight floods the cockpit. The sky outside is so blue that it is almost painful to look at. You are sitting in the co-pilot seat. The various buttons and screens stretched across the dashboard mean nothing to you. Nat has been doing all the flying. All you’ve done is find a SHIELD issued tablet and plugged in the flash drive so Nat could review the details of your mission. So far she’s asked you easy questions about the mission. Your answers are simple nods or a shake of your head. You want to say more. You need to say more. But you stay quiet. You comply with your role.

But there is sweet happiness in your forced silence. You look over to the empty pilot seat next to you. Nat left a few minutes ago to change after switching on the autopilot. You are tempted to lift up your helmet and sniff the pilot seat. You want to know what she smells like. You want to peel your black gloves off and touch the cushions of the seat. Feel the warmth left behind by her touch. A couple different scenarios float through your head and each one is far more entertaining than sitting in silence. But at least you get to be near her. You don’t have to hurry off and leave her. Despite all these stupid rules, you’ve discovered a piece of freedom that kept eluding you before.

You turn your gaze forward when you hear Nat emerge from the tiny bathroom directly behind the cockpit. She settles back into the pilot’s seat. Her casual clothes are gone. You miss the leather jacket, but the black catsuit is a warm familiar memory. You tuck the flash drive into one of your suit’s many pockets.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” she comments as her green eyes dart across the various screens and lit buttons. “About fifteen minutes out.”

There’s a moment when you taste that bitterness of disappointment. You don’t want this to end. The two of you up in the sky without anyone else to distract you. But that moment ends when you remember what’s to come. For the first time you won’t be on opposing sides. Sort of. Not exactly. But it sends a thrill through you.

“So,” she looks over at you, “Silent Type.”

You frown at the stupid codename. You know she can’t see your face, but she sees something because she starts to smile. The tablet’s screen comes back to life as you navigate to the application you need. A virtual keyboard pops up along the lower half of the tablet. Your gloved fingers are quick as you type your message. You turn the tablet around so she can read it.

Rumlow’s idea. Not mine.

Your answer seems to amuse her more as she nods.

“That does sound like a name he would come up with,” she says.

You turn the tablet to face you again and delete what you wrote. Your fingers are quick to tap out another message.

Did you choose your codename?

Her smile falls a bit as she reads your question. “What did Rumlow tell you about me?”

It doesn’t take you long to delete your question and type out your reply.

Avenger.

“That’s it?” she asks.

You lower the tablet and nod. It’s not entirely a lie. Rumlow had spent most of his time preparing you for this stupid role. That meant filling your head with a bunch of random bullshit about fake SHIELD and real HYDRA. He trained you to remember your story. He did his best to polish off the grime of freelance and make you seem more refined. He rarely brought up Nat. And when he did, he never let you think about her for long.

“I guess we’ll need to get to know each other better after this mission,” she says.

More time with Nat? This day just gets better and better. Your fingers tap against the tablet’s digital keyboard again. When you lift up the tablet, you are very interested in her answer.

What did Rumlow say about me?

“You’re his pet project,” she says as her smile returns.

You frown. You want to somehow clarify that you are nobody’s pet project, but one of the buttons on the dash lights up and steals Nat’s attention. You watch as she turns off the autopilot and takes control of the Quinjet.

“We’re approaching our target,” she reaches up and flips a switch. “I’ll set us down somewhere close. With our stealth systems engaged, they shouldn’t be able to spot us.”

You turn your head and look out at the bright blue sky. While you love the quality time with Nat, you also need to come up with a plan for this mission. Rumlow’s coded orders had been clear. Kill Sikora. If Rollins had joined you on this mission, you wouldn’t have needed to do much thinking beyond when to kill your target. But Nat’s fantastic presence complicated things. You doubt that she’s part of fake SHIELD. Which meant putting a bullet in Sikora’s head outright wouldn’t go over well. Especially if your target decides to surrender.

Your plan starts to take shape within your mind as Nat guides the concealed Quinjet towards the ground. It’s a simple plan. Draw your target away from Nat and kill him where it is just you and him. It would ruin the foreplay. You probably wouldn’t have much time and would need to kill Sikora quickly. But you’d get to talk to Nat later which seemed like a generous trade.

The bright onslaught on sunlight fades as Nat sets the Quinjet down in a clearing surrounded by eastern white pine trees. Based on the data you had skimmed earlier, the abandoned storefront your target is operating out of is just north of your location. When the Quinjet’s engines fall quiet, you stand. You leave the tablet on your seat as you head for the cargo bay. You approach a metallic box bolted onto one of the walls. Your gloved fingers type in a code on the keypad fixed to the front of the box. The front panel unlocks and opens to reveal a small armory.

Smaller than usual. No fancy explosives. Your usual selection of guns has been paired down to one: a single black Glock. You suspect your limited selection is thanks to Rumlow. You figure this has something to do with your training, but you don’t really care. You’re more disappointed in how the gun feels in your hand. You miss your Beretta. You don’t feel the same without it.

You slide the Glock into the empty holster at your right hip and turn when you hear Nat enter the cargo bay. She holds the tablet you left behind. Her finger slides across the tablet’s screen, and you watch the way her head tilts slightly as she reviews the mission data. You imagine that she looked exactly like that whenever information on you ended up in her hands. Your smile starts to return as you grab the tactical knife left in the armory and slide it into place on your belt.

She turns off the tablet and sets it down next to her black duffel bag. She lifts her hand and speaks into her wrist. “Comms check.”

You hear her voice flood your helmet and you don’t want it to stop. When she looks over at you, you nod. Her smile threatens to break you. You want so desperately to say something. You want her to look at you like she knows you. Like she did before whenever she appeared on one of your jobs. But your mouth stays shut. You comply.

It’s quiet when you both exit the Quinjet. As you make your way through the cluster of trees, you can’t help but think back to your last freelance job in the middle of nowhere. The sound of gunshots ripping apart tree bark. The smell of sweat and blood on your target’s body. The feeling of her hand around your wrist.

You stop when you reach the treeline. Roughly fifty yards ahead of you is the bland backside of the abandoned storefront. The back door is unguarded. You don’t see any cameras either. It’s no wonder why HYDRA wants Sikora gone. The lack of security is almost offensive. It’s as if your target is inviting you inside.

“We’ll split up and sweep the area,” her voice is low and when you look at her, you nod.

Perfect. As long as you find Sikora first, this mission should be easy.

“I’ll take the upper floor while you secure the lower,” she says.

As you nod, you hope that you’ll find Sikora in the storefront’s basement. If you don’t, you don’t know exactly how you’ll get your target far enough away from Nat.

You both step out of the treeline and make your way towards the storefront’s back entrance. By the time you reach the back door and press your back against the wall, you notice that both you and Nat have drawn your guns. You bite your tongue to hold back a laugh at the thought that instantly springs to life within your mind. This must be the first time you both have a gun in your hand and you’re not pointing them at each other. Now would be a great time to take your helmet off.

Nat reaches for the door handle, and it’s unlocked. You decide that it’s your target’s inflated ego that left the door unlocked and not stupidity. Or a trap. You try not to let that last thought get you too excited as you follow Nat through the backdoor.

You enter a narrow hallway. Directly ahead of you is a wide open doorway that reveals a large empty room. Remains of what was clearly a counter mark the worn looking floorboards. Dark colored wallpaper peels from the walls. The room itself is lit only by the light that spills out from the hallway. Large, thin boards are nailed across the windows. Littered about the floorboards is trash, random dark wet spots, and the occasional clothing hanger.

To your right is a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. To your left is the remains of another door. You see the hinges, but the door that clearly once occupied the space is gone. Beyond it is another set of stairs leading down towards the basement. You turn to your left and start to descend the stairs. You hear Nat ascending the stairs behind you. You force yourself not to look back as you lift your gun and keep going.

Your footsteps are quiet on the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you find yourself alone in an empty room. The lights are on. Boxes and crates are stacked against one of the walls. On the other side of the room is another doorway, but this one still has a door attached to it. As you walk further into the room, you hear a loud thud shake the low ceiling. You feel a tiny spike of jealousy that Nat found her targets while you are alone in a basement. Another loud thud shakes the ceiling again. That lingering spike of jealousy flees when the door on the other side of the room opens.

You pull the trigger the second you see someone fill up the space in the doorway. You see the person drop and no one else comes out. You move towards the open door. One quick look down at the man dying on the basement floor at your feet confirms that they are not your target. You step over the dying man and into the room. It’s a small break room with a fold out plastic table that eats up most of the space. Sitting on the table, directly in the middle, is a small, square television. It’s on and playing an old western.

When you return to the dying man laying in the doorway, you find him dead. The man’s lifeless eyes stare up at you. His mouth is slightly parted. His hair looks greasy. He looks about as old as any average college student. The sounds of the western playing on the television fills up the quiet as you stare down at the dead man. The sounds of shouting pulls you out of your odd stupor.

You step over the dead man and hurry back towards the stairs. You quickly climb back up into the narrow hallway and start towards the stairs that would take you up to the upper floor when you see it. You are standing at the base of the stairs when you see a body falling. You see their arms first as they come up, and you see how their legs trip over each other. You notice a mop of dirty blonde hair right before it smashes into the first uppermost step. The body falls hard down the stairs with a series of sickening crunches. You take a few steps back when you notice the body picking up some speed. When the body finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, it rolls over once and stops.

Sikora lays at your feet. His neck is bent at a terrible angle. His blue eyes are wide open. You see a piece of bone poking out from his forearm. Your gun lowers at the sight of your target’s still body. You feel numb at the sight of it. No satisfaction. No sense of pride. Not even relief. You don’t know how to feel when you step over your target’s body and ascend the stairs. That strange feeling persists as you find Nat standing near a table. Littered across the floor are six bodies. You can’t tell if some are alive or not, but you feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. Nat doesn’t have a scratch on her. None of the bodies scattered across the room were a challenge for her and you just want to run up to her and kiss her and hug her tight because it makes sense. One piece of your life hasn’t changed. She’s still your friend even if you can’t act like hers.

As you walk further into the room, carefully stepping over fallen bodies, Nat closes up a black laptop that is sitting on the table. Her smile melts away any lingering numbness hanging on from seeing your target’s body.

“Good work,” she says. “SHIELD will be here in ten to clean up.”

You savor her praise before looking at the laptop again.

“Just a little side project,” she says after following your gaze. She picks up the black laptop and moves towards you. “You ever have bourbon from here?”

You shake your head.

“Then we’re making a quick pit stop before we head back,” she says.

You follow her, and you can’t help feeling like you are back in Ohio. It’s as if school is finally letting out and you two have the rest of the day ahead of you. You want this day to last forever. You’d rather her know it’s you, but if this is all you can have, then you’ll take it.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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majosullivan · 8 months

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Since it has been on my mind lately and I’m in the mood to ramble, I present to you: why I believe Lenore’s spectre is going to be a Phoenix/Phoenix themed.

Before I go more deeply into this, I want to cover the most agreed upon detail of Lenore’s possible spectre: Lenore having wings. This really seems like a slam dunk at this point. Lenore so far has had a clear association with birds, specifically ravens; with one of the Poe works she is based on being The Raven, her talking to and seeking out the Raven in Nevermore, the cane we see her using in her and Annabel’s memories having a Raven skull as the handle and her family crest having a pair of black wings a part of its design.

Additionally, there’s also the detail of Nevermore’s logo. Nevermore’s logo is comprised of a beating heart and a pair of black wings. Since Annabel’s spectre has a heart shaped hole in her chest, Lenore’s spectre having wings would make up the rest of the logo, with the logo symbolising our pair of deuteragonists.

Furthermore, there is also the scene with Lenore and The Raven, with him mockingly asking Lenore if she has a pair of wings under her blazer after she tries to stop him from leaving in episode 35.

Honestly, this panel might as well have a massive sign titled ‘FORESHADOWING’ in blinking lights attached to it when we take into account everything that we’ve pointed out. So, while it seems very likely that Lenore will have wings, why do I think she will be a phoenix specifically? With her connections to ravens, surely it make more sense for her to be a raven? Well, this is because of one word: rebirth.

Just to have a quick explanation for the basis, a phoenix is an immortal bird that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. Being associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, others that it simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Throughout the comic, there has been a lot of links to Lenore and the ideas of rebirth. Specifically, there are three examples where Lenore has gone through a death of some form, before being reborn/brought back to life in some form.

The first time we see this after the accident with the tree. With the death of Theo, who was seemingly the only person in Lenore’s life at the time who genuinely cared about her, and being locked away in the attic for years after being deemed as never being able to recover from her injuries, along with her parents no longer seeing her as any respectable use since they wouldn’t be able to marry her off, we see Lenore go through her first ‘death’. Forced to live a lifeless existence hidden away in shame, with her ripping away the wallpaper being the only real change that occurred during her time in the attic. All of this leads into first time Lenore is reborn/brought back to life when she first meets Annabel, which allowed her to be freed from the attic and form a genuine connection with someone in years. Lenore even says so herself, describing Annabel as the one who brought her back to life long before she died.

The second time, and the one that arguably has the most obvious link to the ideas of Phoenixs, is when Lenore faked her death to go after Annabel. Here we see her in the process of disguising herself as a man, before finishing her packing and setting the house on fire so everyone will assume she died in the fire and she can assume her new identity without suspicion. Here, I don’t think I have to go too in-depth to point how through her actions, Lenore arose from the ashes of the house fire as Leo Vandernacht, leaving her life as the disgraced daughter of the Vandernachts to burn away in the house fire, just like a Phoenix arising from the ashes of its predecessor (side note quickly but Lenore I swear to fucking god you better actually have a cousin named Leo or I’m coming through the screen to shake you like a maraca). The parallels here are pretty clean cut.

Finally, we have her actual death and her appearing at Nevermore. While we don’t know the full details behind Lenore’s and Annabel’s deaths, whatever they are only have the possibility to strengthen the links to rebirth that have been clearly shown from the start. The whole conflict in Nevermore is the competition for a new life. With Lenore’s death and her arrival to Nevermore placing her in a competition for a second chance at life, she has once again been placed into a position similar to the cycle of a Phoenix, with this time following closer to legends where a Phoenix simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Additionally, Annabel’s complete faith in Lenore can also fed into this. We see in episode 41, how no matter what awaits them, no matter challenges they have to overcome, Annabel has absolute faith that Lenore will find a way to get them out of Nevermore. Not herself or any complex plan she has, Lenore is the one who will ultimately be the key to their escape. Lenore is the key to their second chance at life, to their rebirth.

Speaking of Annabel, the way she describes Lenore in episode 66 can add onto this line of reasoning. During the episode, we see Annabel describe Lenore as ‘ash the moment we met’, before going on to talk about how all madwoman die at least twice. First off, describing Lenore as ash already brings her back to the idea of being a Phoenix, with Pheonix rising from the dead through the ashes of predecessor. Secondly, the idea of all madwomen dying at least twice in relation to Lenore is yet another link to the concept of a Phoenix, with them going through multiple deaths in their cycle of rebirth.

To focus on some of the smaller details, the colours associated with Lenore can also strengthen the idea of Lenore’s spectre being Phoenix themed as well. As we all know well at this point, in very Romeo and Juliet fashion, Annabel and Lenore have clear colours associated to them, with Annabel often dressing in blue, in addition to other cold colours, while Lenore often dresses in reds, in addition to other warm colours. Considering this and Lenore’s already clear association to fire, like Lenore’s spectre having wings, it seems likely that Lenore’s spectre will also have fire powers. Now, what is something that has wings and it linked to fires? That’s right, a Phoenix. This small point can be strengthen by what we know about Annabel’s spectre. Annabel’s spectre is freezing to the touch, which matches up with the colours associated to her. Since White Raven’s spectres are definitely going to parallel each other, this detail increases the possibility of Lenore’s spectre having fire based abilities, and as a result, increases the possibility of Lenore being a Phoenix.

While there are still loads of other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be going around, to me at least, Lenore’s spectre being at least Phoenix themed is definitely the strongest theory I’ve seen so far. If anyone else has any other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be, or if you have any other evidence supporting the idea that Lenore will be Phoenix themed, I would love to hear it!

#nevermore #webtoon nevermore #nevermore webtoon #lenore vandernacht #lenore nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #annabel lee nevermore #nevermore theories

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datesinredink · 1 month

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Yan turtles (rottmnt) with an m/c that’s allergic to reptiles/turtles? Idk I just think it would be funny (not Donnie trying to get m/c into getting injections to help the allergy-)

ANON I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BCIRBIFUNUIEH

Super duper sorry i ended up procrastinating really hard and i guess god took issue with that because he struck me down with multiple QAs and a Feelings crisis but the tests are over and I finally managed to sit down and finish Raph's part- seriously i struggled with him and mikey a lot but i guess it was kinda worth it in the end because Raph has an entire 110 more words to his part than the other three- hopefully it makes up for my lack of knowledge of his character. Enjoy!

Donnie

“My inspiration for this device was simplicity-”

Yeah you’re getting a hazmat suit until your allergies either magically disappear or he figures out some other solution

You’ll probably have to do a lot of tests, including possibly a blood draw but I’m no medical expert- since I headcanon Leo to be the medic he’ll probably end up helping too

After he finally puts the pieces together, he’ll start working with Leo to engineer a medicine to help suppress your allergic reaction, and maybe even be able to get rid of it entirely

Also anon you’re very right, you may be subjected to becoming the human pincushion of allergy shots while he figures it out. It’s safe. No it won’t kill you. Yes he made sure. Just, uh, maybe don’t ask your best friend their opinion on needles for a while….

In the meantime, he completely hates the current situation. He finally meets someone that he’s (mostly) fine with touching him, and they CAN’T TOUCH HIM without a HAZMAT SUIT. Just the worst. Awful times.

Normally, he’d have you around almost always, but, unfortunately, that’s currently not ideal.

Starts trying to keep things extra clean around the lair for you. Also everything that can be sanitized is sanitized. Good luck in the cleanliness prison after you get kidnapped later on.

The best about keeping distance, since he already wasn't super touchy before this whole situation. While he might tap you on the arm or something once or twice, it's nothing serious and you won't have a problem with him on that front.

Going back to the hazmat suit real quick, while it does do its job well, it's definitely not the most comfortable thing to wear, and you'll probably end up getting too hot pretty quick, so chances are you won't willingly be wearing it all too often. Donnie may occasionally force you to wear it, but otherwise you (usually) just... don't have to.

Leo

He’s the one who finds out you’re allergic. It was an accident he SWEARS. He only wanted to give you a pat on the arm when April first introduced you to them! How could he have known you’d get hives where he touched you?

At least he knows how to treat it. He managed to guide April through treating it, after which he sulked while rereading some Jupiter Jim comics.

Has a personal grudge against your immune system for daring to make you allergic to him. How dare your cells get mad about him.

When Donnie tells him that he might have “a fix, bro”, Leo jumps at the opportunity- oh thank god, he can finally hug you!

…Doesn’t mean he’s not super bad at focusing on actually working on it. Don’t worry, he’ll fix it eventually, just have a little patience.

Honestly, this is your chance to BOOK IT away from them, because none of them are as clingy as they will be after your allergies are cured/suppressed, which gives you more time to leave New York before things go from bad to worse.

Anyway, Leo’s about as clingy as he can be without physically clinging onto you for hours on end. Constantly hanging around you, like a ghost haunting their killer, except you’re not the one who kills people.

He might end up using your allergy to try and manipulate you away from his brothers. Mikey keeps forgetting to keep distance, Donnie’s suffocating and makes you wear a hazmat suit, and Raph almost treats you like a sopping wet cat that he has to take care of, so why not just stay with him?

As much as he likes to criticize Mikey for forgetting, sometimes, particularly early on, he gets a little too close, and your allergies flare up, and while he does genuinely feel kinda bad, he will exaggerate his remorse for sympathy from you. He genuinely does try and apologize for it later, and he probably portals you two somewhere nice and gets you a couple of trinkets you like or find useful.

Mikey

Absolutely heartbroken!

His love is allergic to him! This is awful!

2nd most panicked when they first find out. Is their new friend ok? Did they mess up?

If you have a low tolerance for pain/allergic reaction symptoms and cry a little he probably will too. High empathy, man…

He’s really understanding after everything’s resolved and they figure out you’re allergic to them. He tries his best to keep a fair amount of distance between you and him, but he tends to naturally be physically affectionate, so there may be a slight adjustment period. He really doesn’t mean harm though.

He occasionally tries to bring you something from the mystic city that he thinks would be safe- a small figurine, maybe a sketchbook if you also like doing art, if he manages to bargain for/steal a piece of jewelry, he’ll also give that to you.

As I mentioned before, Mikey’s pretty big on physical touch, but since that’s off limits (for now) he’ll try to show you affection in any other way he can think of

Mostly quality time. He likes to take you with him when he explores through the sewers/city to spraypaint a couple of blank walls, and he’ll probably get you to try it too, and regardless of your skill level he’ll tell you it’s great

After Donnie and Leo finish making the cure, Mikey squeezes the LIFE out of you- he doesn’t mean to practically strangle you, but he’s fairly strong and he got excited, so he does feel a little bad afterwards.

Will decorate the hazmat suit Donnie gave you if you let him. He'll put stickers on it that match his and draw fun patterns that may or may not relate to him in some way. Maybe the spots he has, or the face on his knee pads. It's pretty endearing, even if his brothers may occasionally glare at him. In Mikey's opinion, if they're really that jealous, they should add something themselves.

Raph

And the award for most paranoid goes to….

Ok but really, he’s the most overbearing about it. This probably isn’t a surprise, but it’s still something I've gotta mention.

You don’t really have to worry about Donnie making you wear the hazmat suit- he gets it, not a fun sensory experience- other than a couple stand-out occasions, but you will have to convince Raph fairly often that you’ll be fine without it.

To be fair, it’s partially because he also forgets not to touch you sometimes, and while he’s better about it than Mikey and most of the time Leo, he’s also self-aware and protective enough that he’d rather be safe than sorry.

If you’re having an allergic reaction, he’ll either get Leo/Donnie/April to help you, or go find the hazmat suit Donnie made him a while ago when Splinter got sick and then help you himself

There’s a chance he might not do great though, as he’s not always the best under pressure and tends to panic when the people he loves are hurt or in some sort of extreme situation, especially when it comes to you (seriously, he treats you like a porcelain doll), but you can be reassured that he’ll do his absolute best to make you safe and comfortable.

Feels terrible after, pampers you a lot after the ordeal. Every time, not just the first few.

If he wasn’t the one who caused it, then he’s definitely pissed at whichever of his brothers made your allergies flare up. He won’t kill them, and he won’t lose it and drop kick them into tomorrow (yet. If they ever intentionally trigger your allergies he might snap some bones) but there will be a noticeable irritation and tension for at least the next few weeks between him and them.

He’s super excited after Donnie and Leo finish the allergy shots! I personally headcanon him to be the second touchiest of the brothers (Mikey being the most touchy, of course) so there’ll be a lot more casual touch between you two after. Hugs, headpats, you get the idea. If you try to tell him to stop, he’ll be very upset, though doing his best to understand, he will try to respect your wishes.. Before going right back to it after a week tops. Sometimes he genuinely does forget, after all, he does have a fair amount on his plate, but sometimes he does intentionally wait until he thinks he can get away with it again before jumping right back to how things were before. He’ll vehemently deny it, but no matter what happens, you’ll likely never really get him to stop for an extended period of time.

#yandere rottmnt #yandere tmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt leo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #augh im so unhappy with raph and mikey's partsss #i shouldve known getting fixated on leo and donnie and forgetting about raph and mikey wouldve come back to bite me #<---- did not plan on writing fanfic when she started watching the show #sorry mikey and raph enjoyers i hope this was satisfactory #anyway i havent like #proofread this.#also none of my friends have ever watched rottmnt so im stuck with no one to check me on my characterization #pray for me

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ggidolsmuts · 1 year

Text

Guilty Pleasures - Dreamcatcher Gahyeon

"Damnit Gahyeon I've been here for 30 minutes already."

"Sorry sorry! The train was late, and it was packed and I had to wait for the next one," Gahyeon sneaks in the real reason at the end. "And I overslept."

"Ugh, are you this late to schedules? Why do I even put up with you."

"Because that's work, unless you're paying me to be here, this ain't work. And I'm the most good-looking person you know, now shut up and follow me." Gahyeon pulls you into Dongdaemun Fashion Town. You and Gahyeon cut an odd pair—a fashionably dressed yet fastidiously anonymous woman dragging a shabbily attired man around the shops, the two of you stood out for very different reasons. The two of you were rivals in school, but Gahyeon went on to become an idol, and you went on to become an office worker. You suffer each other's company begrudgingly: Gahyeon because you weren't a star-struck fool who asked her for favors, and actually gave her shit when it mattered. You because she stuck around, made an effort to stay in touch rather than fade away and into her celebrity life.

"So who are you meeting? Do you have her insta? Does she have any exes on her profile?"

"Don't they delete all of those?"

"They might just hide their faces, I want to see what they dress like, see what her type is."

"Oh, anyways no, a friend set us up, I just have a name and a pic."

"No college, no background?" You tell Gahyeon what you know, and with a few taps she brings up an instagram profile.

"Is this her?" You're left to wonder if Gahyeon might just be in the wrong line of work as she starts scrolling through the pictures.

"I think so? Looks like the photo."

"Damn, no guys, or at least guys that look like exes."

"Just pick what you think looks good then."

"Hmm okay, then let's go!" Gahyeon has you following her like a puppy as her head turns on a swivel, walking down the many rows of shops. Suits, t-shirts, outerwear, innerwear, the place had it all.

"This and this, try them together." "Do this one instead." "Try the black one again? It looked better than the navy."

It also happened to have sleek spaghetti tops, skirts, and pretty one-pieces.

"Hold on to these for me?" "How does this look?" "Wait here, I think I liked the other one better."

You swear by the time you exit the market at least half of it is Gahyeon's purchases, and that you're holding all of it.

"Omo, you're such a nice boyfriend, helping her hold all the shopping." An old granny comments at the two of you exiting the area.

"What?" "HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!" Gahyeon shouts loudly over you. "Some of it is his stuff too!"

"Aigoo, poor you." Gahyeon shoots a death glare as you kindly wave your hands at her.

"No granny, we're just friends."

"Do friends do that hmm? Have one person hold everything while the other one walks around like they own the place?" Gahyeon's flabbergasted, her mouth opening and closing comically as she slowly grows redder and redder.

"No no, this is me repaying a favor, she helped me pick some nice clothes!"

"Did she now?"

"Yes I did! Y-You shouldn't comment if you don't know anything!"

"Aigoo sorry, you know, kids these days, all of them are couples. Here, a little something for entertaining little old me." She pushes a box into each of your hands, and you nearly drop yours as you struggle to carry the bags.

"We don't have money," you say automatically, wary of being scammed.

"No no, it's just a little trinket, help you two grow closer together." Before you could thank her she turns around, disappearing into crowd, as quickly as she appeared in front of the two of you.

"Right— Hey!" Gahyeon grabs her bags from you, tossing the box into one of the bags unkindly before stomping off.

"Fuck it, I'll carry themself! Tch!" You watch her crash through the crowd for a little bit before switching to using two hands. You catch up to her quickly and take the shopping bags back from her.

"Come on, you just carry the bag with the box in it." Gahyeon continues to pout, and after some cajoling and a lot of dessert you finally see her off in a taxi, loading the bags into the back seat for her.

"Thanks, let me know how the date goes!"

It went well, we're having a second date next week! Gahyeon swipes away the notification without a thought—it only hinders her from the porn she's watching. She licks the same finger and slips it between her legs once more, your message a mere detour to her destination. A low breath slips past parted lips as she rubs small circles on her clit before pushing two fingers in.

The woman's legs are held open, held at the knees as her partner begins thrusting. The loud slaps of flesh are even louder in Gahyeon's ears. She is forced to stop watching the video as her eyes close, a soft groan as she reaches a peak—a weak one, but it'll have to do. A shower later she finally gets to looking at her phone again.

That's great, see, told you I could dress you well! Gahyeon's message lights up your phone screen, but you don't see it on your desk. You're too busy stroking it, reading smuts and watching porn. Your hand quickens and with a long exhale through your nose you spill into the tissue.

You don't get to her message until the next day.

*Days later*

Gahyeon's walking out of the shower, mostly dry. Something catches her eye as she towels her hair dry—the box the granny had given her. She had forgotten about it and left it on her desk unopened. Curious, Gahyeon flips it open and nearly drops it!

"What..." On the floor lay a simple dildo, innocuous and hopefully unused. Gingerly Gahyeon picks it up, examining it closely. She takes it to the bathroom and washes it before touching it more thoroughly. Why did the granny give her this? And didn't she give you another box, did she give you a dildo too? Gahyeon is lost in thought as the water continues to run over her hands and the dildo. Those thoughts turn dirty as she absentmindedly runs a finger up and down the shaft—fuck, how long had it been since she got laid? The dildo felt longer and thicker between her fingers as she got wetter and wetter between her legs.

Making up her mind Gahyeon cleans the dildo again before turning off the tap and heading to bed. The shorts and panties quickly come off, and Gahyeon spreads her legs, her breath catching as the hard tip of the dildo rubs over her slit—that felt too good already! The tip nudges left and then right, and it pushes her lips open. Gahyeon holds her breath and closes her eyes as she slowly pushes the toy in. Her pussy reacts greedily, swallowing the dildo and tightly squeezing every inch Gahyeon feeds it.

She curses under her breath when it's fully in, and immediately she starts pumping the dildo in and out of her, relishing in the satisfaction of being filled. Gahyeon's arm strains to saw it even faster through her, and the friction is enough to get her there. She plants her feet on the bed and lifts her hips, biting back a moan as she crests over the top, her pussy clenching around the dildo deep inside. She keeps herself plugged for a while longer, the last aftershocks of pleasure making her toes curl on the sheets. Eventually the dildo is extracted, and Gahyeon brings it to the bathroom. She feels the slick on the toy collect on her hand as she strokes it up and down—Maybe I'll keep it, she thinks to herself as she cleans it for the third time. Instead of putting it back in the box, Gahyeon places it in her bedside drawer. She doesn't think about it or take it out again for a long while.

*Said long while later*

I'm sorry, I don't think we'll work out, wish you all the best! You read the message with a sinking heart. You look at the clothes Gahyeon picked for you—all you can do is shrug and shut the closet. You notice an out-of-place box on the closet shelf. Right, that granny had given you the box, and you had simply left it there when you emptied your shopping bag. You open it, and on the list of things you expected to find, a fleshlight definitely wasn't on it. You wash it in the bathroom before placing it on the desk—what do you do with it?

"Fuck it..." you mutter, getting rid of your shorts. No better way to get over an unsuccessful match by stroking your worries away. You fire up the porn, but it is not needed at all. The fleshlight felt amazing, hot and wet around your shaft, and it seems to pulse with life, like a real pussy!

"Hnngh!" Gahyeon squeals as the dildo suddenly feels warm and fleshy inside her. She's still pumping it manually, but it seems to be moving with a mind of its own, getting deeper than she normally would. The intense pleasure sweeps through her body, and Gahyeon bites her t-shirt to stifle her moans. Her legs tense and quiver, and she's quickly rolling to an orgasm as the dildo seems to throb inside her, bigger and harder!

Then the worst happens.

"Gahyeon-ah, are you there?"

Gahyeon stills her hand, keeping the dildo firmly stuffed inside her.

"Y-Yes unnie?"

"I'm going to get some groceries, do you want anything?" Despite her staying still, Gahyeon feels the repeated thrusting of the dildo inside her, and she can't hold on.

"No it's— Ah!" Without the t-shirt to bite on, Gahyeon yelps before biting her lower lip. Her thighs close around her arm, trapping the dildo inside her. The orgasm rages through her, driven to violent heights as it seems to climax with her, throbbing against her clenching walls. Her abdomen seems to get warmer, and Gahyeon rolls over. Her feet kick wildly, and she screams into the pillow as she feels herself getting filled up, the impossibility leading to ecstatic insanity.

"Gahyeon-ah, are you okay? Can I come in?" The voice seeps into her consciousness from a mile away. The dildo has slipped out, taking its place above the wet spot on her sheets.

"N-No unnie, sorry, I stubbed my toe." Gahyeon wipes the drool from her mouth.

"Omo, does it hurt a lot?"

"It's fine, it's fine!" Gahyeon hastily replies. "Actually, can you get me some cola?"

"Cola? Okay sure, I'll be back later."

"Thank you unnie!" Gahyeon takes a deep breath as she hears the footsteps get softer and softer from her door. She grabs the dildo and examines it closely—it doesn't feel lifelike at all, and there's no moving parts, so how could it thrust into her? She dips a finger within herself, yet there's no sign of cum or any other foreign fluid, so why did it feel like she was getting filled up?

"What the fuck..." two people gasp simultaneously.

Across Seoul you're doubled over at your desk, having dumped your load into the fleshlight as it seemed to milk you with a mind of its own. No masturbation ever felt quite like this, like you were having sex with someone! You pumped the toy over and over until the pleasure finally ended. Only now do you remove it from your cock. It felt warm and wet earlier, yet when you look at your shaft, there was nary any lubricant, no slick, and yet you had definitely felt it!

You stumble into the bathroom and wash it clean. Fingers in the fleshlight confirm that there is no motor, no battery, yet it was definitely grasping and clenching around you, seeming to orgasm right before you did. You're too drained to think about it, and you leave it in the box again.

You don't throw the toy away however, and neither does Gahyeon.

The two of you reach an understanding with each other, not that either of you were aware of it—using the toy at certain times felt really fucking good, specifically when you two were both using it at the same time. You two assumed that the toy had some special function at those times, and so it became almost a routine to masturbate then. There were times when it didn't work, when Gahyeon was abroad on tour—timezones threw it off, but neither of you made the connection.

There was the nagging fact that the granny had given you both a box, but neither of you wanted to bring it up with the other person. How could Gahyeon ask you about the dildo she got? How would you even bring up the fleshlight with Gahyeon? The indulgence of the toy became a guilty pleasure for both of you, something intimate that should be kept at arm's length otherwise. The two of you remained blissfully oblivious about each other's nighttime proclivities until one road trip.

"Aish Gahyeon, we're not going to make it in this jam! How are you late on Lunar New Year's eve? You still had schedules?!"

"No I just overslept my nap okay? Blame our families, why do they have to live so far from Seoul!" The two of you are stuck in what could be called "traffic", although that requires some movement of cars. As far as you can tell, you have moved about a meter in the past hour, and the sun is already setting.

"What does the navigation say?" you groan and ask Gahyeon.

"Uhh, 3 hours."

"Fuck, we're gonna miss dinner."

"Yeah... Sorry." You bite your tongue, deciding not to further cuss out Gahyeon for making you miss your dinner with the family.

"It's fine, let's just see how far we get, then figure things out." You continue tapping on the steering wheel, but it doesn't make the cars go any faster, and an hour becomes two, and then two and a half. You make your decision, swinging across several lanes towards an exit.

"What are you doing?!"

"It's too late, we might not even make it before midnight. Just tell your parents you'll come in tomorrow. Let's find a motel or something to stay for the night, it'll be way less jammed tomorrow morning."

Gahyeon lets out a long breath and sighs, "Want me to text your parents too?"

"Yeah, thanks."

You manage to take the exit off the highway, and Gahyeon directs you to a motel she found on her phone.

"Room for two?" The concierge asks.

"No, two rooms please, just for the night." You ignore the weird look from the concierge and look at your phone, responding to your parents' message.

"Of course, here are your keys."

"Thanks." The two of you go to your neighboring rooms, but before you can slam the door in frustration, Gahyeon asks quietly.

"Do you want to do dinner together? Might as well." She's right, not like you have anyone else to eat with.

"Sure, might as well," you sigh. Dinner was a sullen and quick affair, the two of you a lonely duo in the otherwise empty fast food joint—the only place that was still open.

"What time should we head out tomorrow?" Gahyeon asks you on the elevator up to your rooms.

"7 am? Is that too early?"

"No, I won't oversleep, promise!"

"Good, I'll leave you here otherwise." You wouldn't of course, but just to scare her into actually waking up on time for once. Gahyeon sees through it easily though, offering you a hug.

"Liar, have a good night, and happy new year I guess."

"Happy new year, night." You sigh and flop on the bed. You check your messages again—more pics of the feast you should have been eating. Aimlessly you scroll through your phone, until you hear something you really, probably, shouldn't have heard.

"Mmm..." Gahyeon moans softly. She felt terrible for oversleeping, frustrated at herself for making you late, for making you miss your family dinner as well. She needed relief, so she's sprawled out on the bed, pushing the dildo into herself.

"Ah..." In addition to it being something you shouldn't have heard, you really shouldn't be getting hard at listening to Gahyeon get herself off. But you're too aroused you can't bring youself to put on earphones, so you reach for the fleshlight instead to work off your stress—might as well make the most of the "distraction".

"Nngh!" Gahyeon lifts off the bed suddenly as the dildo is "active" again. She checks her phone quickly—it's outside of the dildo's normal “schedule”, but she's not going to complain as it throbs and penetrates her delightfully. Propping herself against the headboard she sits up and plants her feet on the mattress. Gahyeon's toes curl and grip the sheets as she plunges the dildo into her with more purpose. Now she's going to get fucked.

You groan under your breath as you pump the fleshlight over your shaft. It is tight and wet, even more so than usual—surprisingly it is "working" at this time. Gahyeon's moans get louder through the wall, and you stroke it even faster, even harder.

Gahyeon's biting her shirt again, and she's starting to slide back down the bed as the pleasure overwhelms her. The dildo is particularly active, striking her powerfully deep, even faster than usual.

"Hmmmm!" Her hips lift off the bed in orgasm as she's driven to her first of the session. Gahyeon's body seizes up in pleasure, and her arm is rigid, keeping the dildo plugged firmly in her body. It seems to keep thrusting, and Gahyeon shuts her eyes and bites down on her shirt further.

The fleshlight tightens around you perfectly in time with Gahyeon's deep moan, and it urges you to your peak. You hear Gahyeon panting and gasping through the wall, seemingly riding out her own intense orgasm, and you squeeze the fleshlight so tightly you might break it.

"Yah! Mmmmm, mmph!" Gahyeon yelps as the dildo continues moving. Normally one orgasm would be enough, and the dildo would "orgasm" too. Little did she know that you are extra-motivated from her moans, and you last longer than your normally do. Gahyeon has to twist into the pillow, moaning loudly into it as she cums again. The sound waves make their way through the wall, and it becomes unstoppable waves of pleasure in your body.

"Fuck!" Your moan is short but loud, and you finally explode into the fleshlight.

Gahyeon doesn't hear your moan, too lost in pleasure as the dildo seems to finally "orgasm" too, going rigid before throbbing wildly inside her. The familiar warmth of a creampie, imaginary or otherwise, makes her sigh as she goes limp on the bed.

Separated by a thin wall, the two of you come down from your orgasms, toys thickly coated with bodily fluids. You eventually sneak out of your room with fleshlight in hand, looking to quickly wash it in the communal bathroom. You then go for a shower, and as you finish up, you run into Gahyeon leaving her room, and you hurriedly pocket the fleshlight.

"H-Hey."

"Oh it's you, umm hey. Have a good night!" Gahyeon blushes, and she's hiding something behind her back. She hurries by you, and though you don't see what she's holding exactly, you turn to see her placing a box on the sink—the exact same box you have, the one the granny gave you!

A crazy thought forms in your head, and you had to ask Gahyeon. You wait to hear her return to her room before jumping up and knocking on her door.

"Hey, are you sleeping soon? I have a question." Gahyeon peeks through the gap in the door.

"Not yet, come in." Gahyeon sits on the bed, dressed in a large t-shirt and shorts underneath. "What's up?"

"So umm, I happened to see the box you were holding earlier." Gahyeon's eyes widen and she blushes. "Is that the box the granny gave us last time?"

"Y-Yes? I was just using it to hold my makeup."

"Can I ask what was in your box?"

"My makeup!"

"No, when she first gave it to you. Was it a... An adult toy of some sort?" Now you're blushing with her. Gahyeon one-ups you and blushes deeper, nodding.

"Okay, so it wasn't just me. Listen, don't freak out, but does it feel really good sometimes, when you use it?" Her eyes widen in shock, how would you know that?

"Don't kill me, but I overheard you umm, using it just now, did it feel really good then?"

"Yes," Gahyeon replies hoarsely, her throat suddenly dry. No way, no fucking way.

"Okay so I, mmm, I was using mine too, just now." The silence hangs in the air, the implication clear.

"No, not possible. Bullshit."

"I know, I guess, but—"

"Get out, I'm going to sleep."

"Gah—"

"Out, I'll see you tomorrow." You sigh and get up from your chair.

"Okay, good night." You return to your room and bang your head against the door. That conversation went about as well as you could expect. Now you're just left with a burning curiosity—is the fleshlight connected to Gahyeon's toy? Were you "feeling" Gahyeon?

Little did you know that the same question was burning a hole in Gahyeon's mind too, and she tossed and turned as she tried to sleep. What, or who was she feeling? Was it you, no way, right? She didn't want to think about it, to continue using the dildo worry-free, but she couldn't help it, especially as she stared at the box across the room.

It was almost a little too much guilt in the term "guilty pleasure", and so you are surprised but relieved when Gahyeon wakes you from your sleep, rapping the door loudly.

"Who is it?" you mumble sleepily.

"Me, I want to come in." She barges in as soon as you open the door, and you see she's holding a dildo. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"The box, the toy." You hand her the box, and she takes the fleshlight out. You can't read Gahyeon's expression, and she's holding it so tightly you fear she might just throw both toys on the ground and smash them.

Gahyeon's more nervous than she lets on, but she keeps her voice steady and tosses you the fleshlight.

"Let's use it, let's find out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I need to know. Are you going to be able to use it if you don't?"

"I... No, same. Okay, how do we do this?"

"I-I don't know," Gahyeon admits, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Maybe we should just face away from each other?"

"Okay, I'll sit here then." Gahyeon turns to see you sit in the hotel chair, your back turned to her.

"Don't turn around, I'll- I'll take off my shorts." You hear the rustle of clothes, and silently you slip off your own boxers as well. "I'll go first." The slight breath she expels is more than enough to drive your imagination wild.

"Is it in?"

"I thought I should be the one asking you that," Gahyeon jokes shakily. "Go ahead."

"Okay, putting it in now." You groan at the wetness enveloping you, but is nothing compared to the erotic whimper Gahyeon makes. It is pointless for you to ask her if she feels it.

"Turn around," she orders you quietly.

"What?"

"I don't believe it, turn around, I need to see it."

"I'm not wearing my boxers Gahyeon."

"I know, please, I just need to see it." You settle for an inbetween, grabbing your discarded boxers and covering yourself best you can. You swivel the chair around, taking in Gahyeon—her t-shirt hides most of her body, but it fails to hide her smooth legs. The fabric bunches up at the very end, unable to hide the fact that her hand is between her thighs.

"Here." You push the boxers down your thighs, showing off the fleshlight over your cock.

"Move it— ah..." Gahyeon moans when you do as she says, giving the fleshlight one pump. You feel her moan, the toy clenching around your cock and getting wetter. She's bent over in pleasure, her long hair tickling her thighs.

"T-There, enough?"

"No, I need to see nngh— feel you move it, keep going." Slowly she shifts one leg, and then the other, on to the bed. Her hair still obscures her vision, but your gaze is unobstructed. Underneath her shirt you can see the dildo slowly moving in and out of her, copious coating of collecting contentment conclusive confirmation of her condition—close, so close! Soon Gahyeon disappears from sight as you close your eyes to relish the feel of her pussy clenching on you. The two of you silently masturbate, pumping fleshlight and dildo over and into your bodies.

"Fuck!" "Gahyeon!" The two of you harshly whisper into the room, and it snaps you out of it. You two look straight at each other, eyes wild and needy. Only one thought is in your mind.

Fuck Gahyeon.

The toys are tossed aside as you launch yourselves at each other. Your body weight means you land on top of her, and in an instant Gahyeon's grabbing your shaft, lining you up. Unreserved moans leave the two of you as you plunge straight into her. Her fingers grip your arms tightly, and her desire is clear.

Fuck me.

Her hand grabs your ass needily, trying to shove your dick into her like a dildo. Your hand is on her butt, squeezing and groping it, trying to use her like a fleshlight as you pull her towards you. It is less sex and more mutual masturbation the way you two are treating each other, as a tool for maximum pleasure.

Gahyeon is growing a taste for your meat in more ways than one—she's biting on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood. The dildo was good, but this real dildo is ten, no, a hundred times more intense! She came on the first thrust, and then the third, and then the seventh, and then she loses count.

The fleshlight felt more amazing than ever before, and you thrust madly into it. Gahyeon's cries feed your arousal, and you're pounding into her, pulling her up against you to stroke yourself faster. Her legs hook around your thighs, and her nails dig into your arms—she needed this just as much as you did. You never wanted to stop, but your body has its limits.

"Ah!" Gahyeon's voice cracks as you unload into her "fleshlight", flooding her with cream. She grabs on your dildo tightly, milking it to further that sensation of warmth—she finally feels real and thick cum coating her walls.

You collapse on top of her, and you are greeted with bare skin. It smells nice, and you bury your face in it, kissing and sucking on it. You feel lips on your neck too, and you groan in response. When your heartbeat finally stabilizes, reality sets in.

What the fuck did you just do? Who the fuck did you just do?!

You try to get off Gahyeon, but she holds you close, holds you in her.

"N-Not yet." She slips out from underneath you and gets on all fours. It was a sight to raise the dead, a sight to revive your spent erection—Gahyeon's ass presented in front of you, your load seeping out of her, A visible handmark is on a cheek, from where you grabbed her ferociously. She doesn't turn back to speak to you, instead taking off her t-shirt and burying her head in the pillow.

"Use me... Get us off."

Gahyeon's head is still in the clouds as you push into her from behind. How many times has she been in this position before, on all fours as she tried to shove the dildo deeper into herself? Yet her hands are free now, free to pull on the sheets as she lets herself get penetrated over and over.

This "dildo" is so much better! she moans to herself—she pushes herself deeper into the pillow to muffle her moans, in denial of everything she's experiencing. She doesn't really want to acknowledge the fact that it is you doing it to her, giving pumping her full of ecstasy. The dildo was supposed to be just a toy, and you are supposed to be just her friend, not her fuck buddy or lover. Yet here Gahyeon is, creaming herself all over your shaft like never before, letting you shove your cum deeper into her. It's so filthy it's good.

She prays you don't hear her squeal when you press yourself against her back and your hands find her peachy perky breasts. Fuck, no dildo ever felt her up like that! Squeezing and pinching and pulling at her chest, Gahyeon's careening into another orgasm, making you grow harder, ready to burst.

Through her climax Gahyeon feels you get deeper into her, far deeper than the dildo has done before. It's no longer mutual masturbation—you're humping her, having sex with her, fucking her now. Heat wells in Gahyeon's core, eager for you to reach your peak, she needed to know you felt good, that she's making you feel good, just as much as you make her feel good. Your tip bumps against the entrance to her womb, and she surrenders.

He's making me cum again!

Gahyeon finally moans your name, admitting the fact that you, not the dildo, are the one giving her all the pleasure in the world. It is the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard—your stamina goes to zero, and you're firing everything you have left into her. The two of you freeze in place, your hands still squeezing her tits, kneading them like her pussy massages your shaft. You line her walls with ropes of seed, and only when you relax does Gahyeon go limp, falling forward onto the bed with you closely behind. The two of you breathe heavily, exhausted and drained. Bodies tangled together you fall asleep almost immediately, too tired to even process what just happened.

You wake up the next morning to a loud voice message from your parents.

"Yah, I thought you're making it for lunch?! Are you on your way yet?" You check your phone—it's 11 am!

"G-Gahyeon!" You hastily remove your arms from around her, but she grabs them and draws them back around her.

"Mmm, just a little longer..."

"Gahyeon we have to go!" you hiss. She snaps wide awake upon recognizing your voice and throws your arm off her.

"Uh... Uh..." She's speechless, holding up the sheets to cover her body. She blushes when she sees her clothes strewn all over the floor.

"We should er, clean up, I'll see you downstairs in half an hour." You face away from her, and hastily she gathers her belongings and runs back to her room.

The two of you are a disheveled pair when you check out of the motel, and the final stretch back home is deathly silent.

"Listen—" you start as you reach Gahyeon's place.

"Thanks for the ride, let's talk soon okay?" Her glance tells you she did not want to talk about it right now. “Happy new year.”

"Yeah, happy new year."

Your parents fuss over you, stuffing you full of food, and the relatives visiting are a welcome distraction from Gahyeon. It is merely a distraction though, as you stop in front of Gahyeon's place mere days later to drive her back.

"Aigoo, thanks for driving Gahyeon back, are your parents well?" Gahyeon's mom and dad greets you warmly.

"Yes they are, thanks for asking, I hope you are well too!"

"Gahyeon hurry up, don't make him wait!"

"I know I know!" She dumps her suitcase in the back before taking a seat in the back. Well, she would have, until her mom slaps her on the hand.

"What is he, your chauffeur? Go sit in front! He'll get bored driving back by himself with no one to talk to."

"It's okay, she doesn't have to—" But her dad is already opening the door and shoving Gahyeon in.

"Have a safe drive back!"

"We will, bye!" Gahyeon's parents disappear from the rear view mirror as you speed away. She takes her mom's words to heart and eventually breaches the silence.

"Did you have a good new year? Are your parents well?"

"Yeah, thanks, you?"

"Yeah, it was good, you saw them, they’re doing good."

"Yeah."

You stop at one of the many traffic lights on your way back to Seoul, and you take a deep breath.

"Can we talk about what happened?"

Gahyeon nods, and between the traffic and the lights, you two spend a long time talking.

*Weeks later*

Your phone buzzes, and the message prompts you to check your phone. It's 2 in the afternoon.

Hey, you up?

it's 2 pm, of course I'm up

call?

Gahyeon calls you, and you find the fleshlight before picking up.

"Are you busy?" she asks.

"No, why would I be busy on a weekend?"

"It's still Friday here." Right, she's on tour again.

"What time is it?"

"Dunno, like midnight? We just finished a show."

"Shouldn't you be asleep then?"

"That's why I called you didn't I? Video?"

"Sure." The screen flickers on to show Gahyeon's bare face, her eyes already drooping. She smiles sleepily when she sees you.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself, you look like you're already sleeping."

"No I'm not!" she opens her eyes wide in defiance, but as soon as her head hits the pillow again they close a little.

"Fine, are you ready?"

"Mmhmm."

"Putting it in." The two of you gasp in pleasure as you bring the fleshlight over your cock.

"You're wet."

"Well yeah, was trying to get one off before bedtime, but here we are. Hnngh slowly!" She whines as you pull the fleshlight out too quickly.

"Oops sorry! How's the tour?" you catch up with Gahyeon, watching her body rock slightly as she slowly plunges the dildo into herself offscreen.

"Good, fun, long, wish I was back home." You're slowly moving the fleshlight over yourself, the two of you having lazy sex from across the oceans.

"That sucks, how many more days?"

"A week I think, then I'm back."

"Cool, can't wait." You miss Gahyeon's slight blush, your eyes closing as she grips you tighter.

"Y-yeah, can't wait, now shut up and do me." The two of you move your toys more needily, and the call devolves into soft moans, quiet pleads of "Right there!" and "Yes!" You watch Gahyeon bite her lower lip, stifling a loud moan when she climaxes. Across timezones you feel her clench around you, and you grunt and cum into your toy. For your benefit Gahyeon keeps the dildo in her until you finally open your eyes again.

"Feel good?" she asks, almost mischievously.

"Yeah, you good?"

"Wonderful, thanks for the help."

"Of course, have a good night Gahyeon."

"Thanks, good night oppa."

The call ends and you go to wash the toy once more, questioning again what sort of twisted relationship have you gotten into with Gahyeon.

She gets back a week later and immediately drags you out shopping.

“Did I really just let you bribe me with food to carry your bags?” you mutter as Gahyeon drops another bag on your overladen arms.

“No, you let yourself let me bribe you with food to carry my bags, thanks! Oh, that looks good over there!”

"Hi there! Are you two a couple?" You and Gahyeon freeze in place, but thankfully it is not any granny, but a regular salesperson.

"Ah no, we're not," you answer for the two of you, stepping in front of Gahyeon before she could explode at them.

"My mistake, I'm so sorry, I thought—"

"What if we are?" Gahyeon interrupts the salesperson from behind you.

"Eh? Oh, well we just have a promotion for couples, it's a couple set, you get good food and it comes with matching cups that you can bring home with you. I thought maybe you two would be interested."

"We are then, shall we, oppa?" Gahyeon blinks her eyes cutely at you. “Remember I’m paying, so I choose,” she adds, threatening you adorably.

"S-Sure." You roll your eyes and let Gahyeon drag you away. When was the last time getting free stuff went wrong for the two of you?

You look at Gahyeon smiling back at you and your heart skips a beat—maybe nothing has gone wrong yet after all, but your life has certainly been turned upside down.

A/N: Happy lunar new year! Spent time traveling and with the family, so didn’t have much chance to write.

This is one of those rare ideas where I don’t even know how I came up with it, in what world does “magically connected sex toys” make sense, it doesn’t even pop up in JAV or hentai! Anyways, hope it worked well, somehow made it a little fluffy at the end too, thanks for reading!

#smut #dreamcatcher #gahyeon

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