Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz
Ps. I love your writing!
Word Count: 8314
i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!
anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.
contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever
---
The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.
Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.
For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.
You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—
And suddenly they aren’t.
He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.
You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.
The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.
All you can think is ohhhh, shit.
---
Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.
What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.
Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.
Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.
But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.
You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.
---
You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.
The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.
The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.
You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.
Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”
You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.
“You look like you just drank petrol.”
“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”
Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”
“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.
“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.
He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.
Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”
A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”
“Copy. Going to second deck now.”
Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.
It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.
Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”
Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”
“Negative. Start looking for another route.”
On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.
“Any bright ideas?”
You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”
Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”
As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.
And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.
Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.
Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.
Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.
Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.
It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.
As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”
“Yeah, Gaz?”
“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”
Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”
“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”
Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.
With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”
Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”
Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.
For the pretty girl.
“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.
---
Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.
It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.
Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.
However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.
You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.
Except for tonight.
You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.
Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.
Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.
Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.
“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.
Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.
Abort, abort.
You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.
Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.
“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”
There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.
“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”
He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”
You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”
He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.
Then he takes a step back, and another.
“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”
Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.
You have got it so bad.
It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.
You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.
But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?
And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—
I wouldn’t mind it, though.
That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.
Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.
His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.
“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.
Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.
You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.
His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”
You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.
The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.
But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.
He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.
“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”
God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.
So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.
But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.
“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.
Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.
---
You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.
Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.
That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.
It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’
‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’
He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.
You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’
Skull emoji. Question mark.
‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.
‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’
Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’
‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’
Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.
You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’
Nothing.
For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.
Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.
‘WHAT’
The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.
Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.
Nearly.
Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.
That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”
Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.
Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.
You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.
And it dissolves the second you open the door.
He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.
It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.
He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”
Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”
Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.
But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.
Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”
No. “Yes.” Please.
You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.
You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.
He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.
“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.
He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”
Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.
His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”
Right. No way to misinterpret.
You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.
You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.
But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.
Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.
“Oh,” he says.
Oh.
Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.
And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.
He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.
And for a moment, you let yourself hope.
Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”
You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.
Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
Holy shit.
You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.
Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”
A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.
“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”
He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.
You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.
Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.
All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.
You furrow your brow. “What?”
Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.
Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.
Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.
“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.
Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”
You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.
You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.
He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”
Good god, what don’t you want?
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”
He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”
You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”
He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.
He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.
“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”
He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.
He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.
But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.
In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.
Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.
He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.
When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.
Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.
Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”
It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”
You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.
His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.
Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.
“Ghost,” you gasp.
He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.
Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.
If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.
Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.
Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.
You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.
Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.
“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.
It’s too much; it’s not enough.
He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.
And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.
It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.
You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.
Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.
You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”
Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.
You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.
“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.
He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.
Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.
The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.
Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.
You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.
He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.
How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.
You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.
“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.
You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.
“Thought you were heading out,” he says.
“Only if you’re going with me.”
One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.
God, yeah you do.
---
Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.
Once.
Twice.
You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.
So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.
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If All of the Kings Had Their Queens on the Throne
Pairing: King Valkyrie x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, hooking up, flirting, first meeting, fingering, cunnilingus, strap-on, strap-on blowjobs, dirty talk, praise, calling Valkyrie Sir, marriage proposal (as a joke... or is it)
Word count: 1.5k
A/N: Been on my mind since I saw that scene with her in a suit.
You were always weak for a woman in a suit. It saw sexy, powerful, majestic, breathtaking. But Valkyrie in a suit? Was she actually a goddess? Did she gain that status and you somehow didn't hear about it? If someone told you so you would be inclined to believe it just from how she carried herself when she walked.
But the way she looked at you, the way she smiled at you, scanned over your body, undressed you with her eyes, just the smallest press of her hand on your lower back or upper thigh made your pussy throb. Nevermind the sweet nothings she whispered into your ear while playing with the zipper of your dress.
"Have you ever slept in a King's bed?" She breathed against the shell of your ear, making your hips buck against the leg she had slipped between your legs moments before.
"No." You wondered how your voice sounded to her right now. It was a bit higher pitched then normal. Your focus was on maintaining your grip on her shoulders rather than controlling your voice.
"Would you like to?" Her soft lips brushing against your ear made you shiver more.
"I don't think you need to ask but I appreciate that you did." Somewhere between kissing her and needing to breathe you ended up pressed against the wall of what you assumed was her bedroom. You probably parted a few times before that but it was such a blur in her horny brain that it might as well not have happened. "Is it smart to leave your party early? I'd hate for rumors to start up."
Valkyrie rolled her eyes as her hands sneaked under your dress, your legs spreading automatically. "I'm not someone who worries about rumors. I'm a King, there's gonna be gossip about me no matter what, they might as well involve beautiful women."
Taking you by the hand she lead you into her bedroom. There was... a lot of weapons in there. Fit for her, she might be a King but she was also one of the strongest fighters in the realm. But you didn't have time to ask about all the weapons or the stories behind them as you found yourself pressed against the door once again and Valkyrie mouthing and biting at your neck.
You would have enjoyed her kisses more but she took them lower, lowering to her knees with a smile on her lips, "A King on her knees for you. Aren't you a lucky one?" She asked as she placed a kiss against your thigh. Since your legs were already parted for her all she needed was to lift your dress up a little, "Be a darling and hold this for me." You couldn't refuse her offer when she looked at you like that, her soft eyes so full of desire. "What a good girl."
Your hands shook a little as they held onto the dress. You had trouble looking down at her as she wasted no time pulling your underwear down and licked a path up your pussy, tapping at your clit. Her tongue prodded and poked, exploring every inch of you, pushing in between your folds to taste as much of you as she could. Unable to keep your hands to yourself you bit the fabric of your dress to hold it up and pushed Valkyrie's head closer.
The teasing was nice but you weren't exactly in the mood for it when you had such a breathtaking woman between your legs. You spread your legs a little more hoping to entice her somehow now that your mouth was occupied.
She'd never dream of denying a lady pleasure that she could provide, "You want more baby?" She pushed her middle finger up past your entrance, just the first knuckle, "Want this?" You nodded and lifted one leg to her shoulder, giving her better access to your pussy, "So needy. Maybe something a little bigger? I have more than just weapons in here." Her lips wrapped around your clit and sucked as she moved her finger in and out, letting you flutter around her each time. "I have a lot of toys. What you feel like? Since you're so tight maybe a nice strap would loosen you up."
"God, yes please." You mumbled as best as you could with your teeth still clenched around the dress. Valkyrie hummed against your clit as she loosened up her tie. Would she use it on you? "Please sir."
"Sir? I see you're a kinky one. Not that I mind, I'm much of the same." Her finger curled inside of you, the unexpected pressure causing your whole body to shake. "I've got you, let go for me." You couldn't believe you were actually coming on her face, her fingers and that she, the King, was lapping it all up. She hooked one hand around the leg you had over her shoulder, keeping you balanced against the door until you caught your breath. "Can you make it to the bed?"
"I... think so sir." You lost the dress and heels in the process, and almost lost your footing as well. Good thing you were sitting on the soft bed when you turned around and looked at Valkyrie and got an eyeful of her breasts, abs and biceps all at once. "Fu-" You lost your voice when you saw her hand spreading lube across the length of a dark blue strap on poking from her pants. "Hold on, you had that on the whole night?"
Valkyrie shrugged, "Just the harness. Something told me I was gonna get lucky tonight. I'm so glad I was right."
Tingles spread all over your body, making your nipples hard and your pussy ache again. "I'm glad too." You started to turn around, ready to be pounded from behind but she grabbed your hips and guided you to lay against the pillows. The lubed up strap felt a little cold on your pussy but it was a nice sensation.
"I want to see your pretty face." She praised as she pressed the tip against your hole, "And I want to see how well you take my cock. From this angle I can see it all." Her rough hands pressed against your thighs to keep them open for her eyes to roam from your face to your cunt uninterrupted.
You wanted to wrap her legs around her so badly, but you settled for pulling her down a little instead. She was all to happy to comply and kiss you as she started moving to sink the strap-on inside you. They were slow, easy, dragging thrusts until you felt her bottom out.
"Ready?" You nodded and whimpered loudly at the roll of her hips, out and then in, each time faster, harder, filling, fucking, pounding, ramming into your sopping wet pussyhole. The only thing you can hear other then the wet noises your pussy makes is the equally quick smacking of skin and Valkyrie's occasional chuckle. Her hands pulled you down towards her, encouraging you to meet each one of her thrusts and you did so without hesitation. "Knew from the moment I saw you that you were perfect for me."
She had her eye on you for a while then. Learning that made both your heart and your pussy flutter. "I'm honored."
"No. I am." From your breathing she can tell you're close again, so she eases up a little, smirking when you can't help yourself and start chasing her cock, "That's a good girl, fuck yourself on my cock. Yes, that's it. So fucking good."
Unable to form any words that would make sense you just let out a series of moans and, "Fuck, fuck, oh fuck..." You felt your breath hitch and came from her next thrust, body pulled taunt like a spring.
"Oh Gods. Marry me pretty girl." Valkyrie mumbled as she kept fucking the strap-on into you faster, chasing her own orgasm. She finally let go of your thighs in order to lean over and hug you close, chest pressed together and her breathy moans in her ear going from fast, then hitched, and then relaxed as her pleasure peaked and then ebbed away in your arms. "Fuck me."
"You just did that to me sir." You joked against her neck and smelled the scent of sex and her perfume, a bit like leather and wood. "But I'm not ready to marry you just yet. I'm not that easy of a woman."
"Ah... I didn't assume... that was a joke of course." It was funny to see her backpaddling so hard on it. Then again considering her position of power maybe she was under the impression that you'd do it out of some sense of obligation and obedience. "We only met a few hours ago, it would be weird to... but we could go on a date. There's a lovely little tavern here in New Asgard, my personal favorite, they have the best drinks."
Before you could reply she pulled back, taking the toy with her. "I'm okay. Yes, I would like to go on a date with the King. And have a repeat of this if possible?" You whispered that last bit but seeing as she was just a bit away, wiping the strap-on clean she heard you.
"We will definitely be doing this again." Thank fucking Gods for that because you were far from getting enough of the handsome warrior. In fact you might just be in love with her after all.
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sweets! part I
ethan landry x bimbo!oc [winnie adair]
summary: the blackmore students go to a costume party and ghostface comes back.
warnings: nsfw implications, mentions of murder
a/n: chapter one finally <3 i hope you all enjoy!
masterlist
“Hey, Ethan!”
The boy looks around the room, eyes landing on the smaller girl. Her short dress clings to her body and she has a little garter around her left thigh. It has a small heart on it and the band squeezes the fatty limb so it could fit. She’s covered in red -- her dress, the garter, her lips, and cheeks.
“Ethan!” she calls again. He blinks a little, snapping out of his little trance and smiling at her. She giggles, pushing through a few people to make her way next to him. Her bangles clap together as she bouncily walks over, and he wonders how those giant hoops are even comfortable weighing down her ears. “Do you like?” she asks, finally in front of him. She does a little twirl for him, Ethan’s eyes snapping down to the bottom of the dress for the split second her back is turned to him.
“Very nice,” he says, nodding in approval. She giggles and looks at his costume, furrowing her brows a little at it. She looks up at him, confusion written plainly across her expression.
“I think I’m pretty obviously Betty Boop, but what the hell are you?” she asks, “A knight?”
“No-- Kind of. It’s the Brown Knight,” he explains. The girl scrunches her face, both unimpressed and still confused. “Chris Hawley? Murder Party?”
She shakes her head and giggles, “I have no clue what you’re talking about, dork.”
He smiles a little at the nickname. Usually he would feel a little hurt by the jab, but she says it so endearingly that heat rises to his cheeks immediately. Her name is called by some girl in the distance and she’s quickly whisked away, but she makes sure to turn around and wave at him as she disappears into the crowd.
“Not happening,” Chad says, walking up behind Ethan. The curly-headed boy turns to his roommate who’s shaking his head. “You stay away from her with your little puppy-dog eyes, alright?”
“What?” Ethan asks with a small, nervous chuckle. Chad shakes his head, pointing at Ethan.
“I know your tricks, alright?” Chad says, a little harsher. Ethan’s eyes widen momentarily, shaking his head.
“No, no, no,” Ethan says, “There’s no tricks, I swear. I’m just--”
Chad’s stern face fades into a smile, the boy leaning over with laughter. He looks up at Ethan, but he only laughs harder when he sees the other boy’s face.
“You should see yourself right now, man,” Chad laughs. Ethan anxiously joins in on Chad’s laughter. “Don’t worry, Landry, I’m not gonna hurt you or anything. Jesus, you looked terrified.”
“I kinda was,” Ethan mumbles, just loud enough so only he could hear it. Chad claps Ethan’s arm, shaking him a little bit.
“I’m just playing with you,” Chad says, calming down. “But seriously, stay away from her, Landry.”
“I will, I will,” Ethan says, hands up in surrender. He drops his arms back to his sides and tilts his head, “Why? Are you two…”
“No,” Chad says, shaking his head with an amused smile, “I just have to look out for her because nobody else will.”
“I’m back!” Winnie says through a sing-song voice . She peeks around Chad and he wraps an arm around her.
“Hey kid,” Chad says, looking down at her. He glances back up at Ethan, shooting him a look.
“And I brought you boys gifts,” she says, holding two shot glasses out to them. Ethan looks at Chad for permission and the bigger boy nods at him.
Ethan takes the small cup, “Where’s yours?”
“I don’t drink alcohol anymore,” she says, shaking her head. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle with a wink, “But I do drink cranberry juice.”
Chad furrows his brows, narrowing his eyes at the girl, “Excuse me?”
She looks up at him innocently, “Huh?”
Chad shakes his head, “Nevermind.” Winnie looks at Ethan for an answer, but the boy quickly looks away from her. Chad lifts his cups, “Hey, cheers to the dynamic duo of Hortense Tower, third floor, room 315. And Winnie.”
“And Winnie!” the girl cheers, her bottle tapping their shot glasses. She takes a sip of her juice and watches the boys. Chad downs the shot with a slight grimace, and Ethan immediately spits it back into the glass. She giggles at him, offering him her juice to wash it down. “Oh, man. Time to start making moves. Yeah, get you out there. Introduce you to some girls!” Chad says, nodding to a girl in a Harry Potter costume, “What about her?”
Instead of looking at the dancing girl, he looks at Winnie. Her eyes are locked onto the girl Chad is looking at. Her face is stoic, void of any emotion. Then like a switch she smiles, looking up at Ethan. He quickly looks over to the girl he should have been looking at the entire time.
“She’s gorgeous,” he says. He watches Winnie in his peripheral, her blinking is rapid for a moment and she forces the smile to stay on her face. Was she jealous?
“Great. Ask her out,” Chad says.
“No, I can’t,” Ethan chuckles nervously, glancing at Winnie momentarily. She’s now on her phone, clicking on the Instagram logo without a care for what was happening between the boys.
“Ask her out! Ask her out!” Chad chants. He looks at Winnie, “Tell him, Win.”
“What?” she says, angling her phone at her chest and looking up at them.
“You gotta have confidence,” Chad says, emphasizing the last word. He backs up to look at Ethan, “Plus, look at you, man! You’re a snack! Practically an entire meal all on your own.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! You’re Ethan Landry,” Chad says, leaning an arm on Ethan. He turns to the girl, calling out to her. Ethan whispers Chad’s name, trying to stop him, but there’s no point. “My friend here, he’s a snack, right?”
She shrugs, her face not showing any sign of interest. She turns back to her friends who shake her head and laugh with her. Chad laughs at the girl’s reaction a little.
“What did that mean?” Ethan asks.
“No, it’s good. It’s good,” Chad says.
“What?”
“It’s not bad. There’s room for improvement!” Chad says.
“Well I think you’re a snack,” Winnie says, bumping Ethan with her arm. He looks down at her with a smile, but his next words are lost when he sees her lips wrapped around another sucker. It’s red, matching her costume, and her lipstick is staining the base of the stick. She licks the candy, bringing it back into her mouth.
“Thank you,” he breathes out, responding to the wide-eyed girl.
“Hey, big guy, you’re needed,” Anika says, popping around the corner to look at Chad. Chad pats Ethan’s chest, following Anika away from where they were.
“Come on,” Winnie says, taking Ethan’s hand into her own. She follows Chad, keeping a small distance between them. They settle in a doorway, watching Chad confront a guy on the staircase with Tara. Winnie puts herself close to Ethan, her back against his front. She looks up at him, popping the lollipop out of her mouth. Before she can say anything Chad drags the guy down from the staircase. Winnie gasps and Ethan wraps his arm around her, pulling her backwards as he steps out of the way.
The two boys push each other back and forth, shouting at one another. Their shouting ceases when Sam makes her way into the room, putting herself between them.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m just gonna tase you in the balls real quick,” she says, putting the taser exactly where she said she would. The crowd all gasps or grimaces, shocked by the scene in front of them. “Don’t ever lay hands on my sister.”
“Sam. Are you fucking kidding me? You’re stalking me now?” Tara says, approaching Sam. She shakes her head and walks off, pushing through the crowd. Sam follows behind her sister, and the rest of the group scrambles behind them.
“Wait,” Winnie says, grabbing Ethan’s arm. He slows down, falling behind the group with her. She pulls the hat that, in the haze of chasing after the arguing sisters, Anika gave to her off of her head. She tiptoes, messily placing on top of Ethan’s curls. “I really like you.”
“I like you too,” he says. She giggles at his words, looking down at her feet. She looks back up at him with her big, brown eyes.
“I’ve just been having a lot of fun with you since I transferred here and--”
“Hey!” The two look over at the voice, a girl throwing a drink at Sam. “Murderer!”
The two groups get into a small argument, but naturally fades with the growing distance. Chad, Mindy, Anika, and Tara walk off. Sam stays where she is, fixing her top. Winnie wraps her arms around Ethan’s, sticking close to him after the outburst.
“Hey, I have tissues if you want tissues,” Ethan says as he approaches Sam. He pulls them out of his pocket, counting the pieces of soft paper. “I have, like, three tissues.”
Winnie giggles, but Sam seems less than amused.
“You are aggressive,” Ethan laughs. Winnie rips the final piece of duct tape off of his sweater and giggles.
“I’m just trying to be helpful,” she says. Somebody pounds at the door heavily and the two look over, as if they can see through it to the culprit.
“You two better not be fucking in there,” Quinn shouts. The two let out hushed laughter, being quiet to worry the girl. “If you two are having sex on my bed I will throw up.”
“One second!” Winnie shouts. She rushes over to her discarded purse, grabbing her lipstick out and motioning for Ethan to lean down.
“What are you--” he whispers, but then the pigment is being rubbed on his lips. She grabs a tissue from Quinn’s nightstand, rubbing the red around his lips to smudge it and doing the same to herself.
“Are you guys actually having sex on my bed?” Quinn exclaims, her voice a little higher now. The doorknob rattles as Winnie looks over her work on Ethan’s lips. She perks up as an idea comes to mind.
“May I, uh,” she pauses, trying to find a nicer way to ask, “Can I kiss your neck?”
Ethan’s eyes widen, taken aback by the question. He quickly forces a calm demeanor that isn’t fooling anyone, nodding and leaning his head to the side. The girl presses messy and quick kisses to his neck, leaving a mix of smudges and clear kiss marks.
She discards the messy lipstick tissue into her bag and grabs his hand, leading him out the door. Quinn’s eyes widen as she looks between the two. Her mouth falls open a little and she stutters, mouth opening and closing.
“Chad, your friends had sex in my bed!” Quinn exclaims, marching over to the living room. Winnie and Ethan follow behind closely, earning widened eyes from Mindy and Anika. Winnie shakes her head and rolls her eyes to signal it was fake, and the other girls nod, but continue to play along. The three continue through the house, making their way to Tara’s room. “You two better tell your frien-- Oh,” Quinn says, surprised when she sees the proximity of Tara and Chad. Winnie and Ethan widen their eyes, then smile at each other. “Did I cock-block you?”
“What did you just say?” Tara asks.
“I cock-blocked you,” Quinn says.
“No,” Chad says, still not looking at the doorway.
“I cock-blocked you, didn’t I?” Quinn asks.
“Immediate no.”
“Please stop saying the word cock,” Chad says, finally looking up. He quickly looks away from Quinn, his gaze falling on Winnie and Ethan. Their fingers are still intertwined, both of them covered in red lipstick. Winnie shakes her head, but Chad ignores it. He says a quick goodbye to Tara, walking out and towards the pair. Winnie squeals, pulling Ethan to run across the home. They make it to the living room and Winnie puts Ethan behind her.
“Chad it’s a joke,” she says, “No killing my friend, please.”
“I’ll kill him if I want--”
“Murder has struck two students from Blackmore University…”
The announcement grasps the attention of everyone in the room. All five teens perk up, looking at the TV. Mindy and Anika scramble for the remote, while the other three stand there for a second, too in shock to react.
“Go get Sam,” Winnie says. She looks up at Chad, “Sam! Now! Go!”
“Right, yeah,” Chad says, walking towards the door.
“Tara!” Winnie calls, making her way over and swinging the door open.
“What?” Tara asks, looking up from her phone with faux-annoyance. She observes the fear on her friend’s face, and the playful negativity wipes away, worry taking its place. “What?”
“News,” Winnie says. Tara immediately shoots up, both making their way to the living room. They watch the announcement in horror, Sam joining the group at some point.
“Jason Carvey and Greg Bruckner.”
“Holy shit, that’s that chode from our Film Studies class! The one obsessed with Argento,” Mindy says. Winnie sighs, squeezing Ethan’s hand tighter for a second.
“...various Ghostface costumes, a character popularized by the Stab movie franchise.”
The group falls quiet for a moment, all looking at one another when the familiar name is mentioned.
“No,” Winnie cries quietly, trying to push herself further against Ethan.
“Pack a bag. We leave in ten,” Sam says. A small argument ensues between the sisters as Chad kicks out ‘cute guy.’
“Are you okay?” Ethan asks quietly. She turns around in his lap, her legs now on the side of him. She twists her body the rest of the way to face him. That’s when he sees the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, dragging some of the black mascara down with it. Her lip quivers for a second and Ethan feels lost for a second, unsure of what to do.
“I can’t do this again,” she whispers, shaking her head. Ethan nods, pulling her into a hug -- the only thing he really can do. Mindy shoots him a suspicious glare, but doesn’t interfere with the moment. She cries into him for a minute, pulling away to wipe at her tears as she steadies her breathing.
“You three, back me up here,” Sam says, looking at the other ex-Woodsboro residents.
“It is a little bit…” Chad starts.
“Close to home,” Mindy finishes.
“Yeah, Tara,” Winnie shakes her head.
“That doesn’t count, Winnie thought the maintenance man was gonna kill her the other day,” Tara says.
“Chad and Mindy still agree that this is not a coincidence, Tara,” Sam says. Tara turns to Quinn, asking for help from her dad. She gets on her phone immediately, announcing that she’s calling him. Simultaneously, Sam’s phone begins ringing from the table. Everyone jumps a little, and Winnie hides herself in Ethan’s neck.
“Who is it?” Tara asks. Sam doesn’t answer her question, instead hitting the decline button.
“Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?” Ethan asks.
“You gotta keep up, my dude,” Anika says, “If Pooh bear can read the situation, you should be able to too.”
Winnie pulls away from him, “Can you walk me home? I don’t want to go alone.”
“Yeah,” Ethan nods, “Let’s go.”
The two gather their belongings and say their goodbyes. Chad and Mindy watch them carefully as they leave, peering out the window until they’re no longer in sight. Once they’ve created some distance between them and the building, Winnie reaches for Ethan’s hand.
“I’m really scared, Ethan,” she admits.
“I know.”
“I can’t go through this again. I barely survived the first time. I can’t… I can’t.” Her final words are said through a sob, the emotion shaking her entire body. She stops where she’s standing, hiding her face behind one arm. Ethan does the only thing he can, again, and pulls her into him.
“Hey, listen to me,” he says, squeezing her body close to his. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You don’t get it Ethan,” she says, crying harder, “It doesn’t matter that you say that! If Ghostface wants to kill me they will. They won’t stop till-- Till they’re dead or till they win.”
“Look at me,” Ethan says. He puts some space between their bodies, but keeps his hold on her arms. She looks at him through her tear-filled eyes. He holds her gaze for a moment, the quiet blanketing the moment. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
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Things that went through my mind while watching this episode:
--Gotouge must had been in A Mood when writing these chapters, and the animators were probably like, "sweeeet! I love weeks like this!" with those silly and simple scenes of Tanjiro Being a Dork feat. Kotetsu, feat. Kotetsu/Haganezuka/Kanamori, feat. Genya, feat. Nezuko, feat. Nezuko/Muichiro.
--but then partway through they probably dragged themselves back to more detailed serious work like Hantengu dragging himself to work. Sniffle, sniffle, fine, they expect so much out of us, fine, here's all the bone and muscle fibers of Karaku taking shape from a head still falling through the air.
--Speaking of animation details--the glow on Muichiro's eyes as he runs through the dark forest? Nice. So nice to see him using a sword modeled after the one which his "ancestor" used, even if he did steal it off a doll modeled off his "ancestor." (Side note--wouldn't it be fun to see the Tokitou twins with inherited memories?)
--Also, I am pretty forgiving of the CG fish (of anything, I was impressed). They didn't totally meld with the 2D environment, but for what Gotouge gave them to work with, they moved them around in a pretty satisfyingly believable way.
--So anyway, back to this first round of Tanjiro being a dork, I love the range of emotion we get him in this episode, when he gets to relax and just be a teenage boy. SWORD, COOL!! I can has it? I no can has it. Panic-and-protect-the-child mode. Haganezuka-san was working hard for meeee? Panic-and-protect-the-child mode. Haganezuka-san said not to peek. You think I can go peek? Friendship senbei! Tooth. I'll bet I can figure out how to braid Nezuko's hair like Kanroji-san's! Zzzzz. Oh, hahaha, Tokitou-kun, surely you'd never attack me in my sleep! Now I can go peek on Haganezuka-san like I was totally going to anyway even though he told me not to. Hmmmm. Oh, wait, what, that's a demon, nevermind--
--It's just so nice seeing him be some annoying random guy sometimes instead of just The Eldest Son.
--So, Haganezuka-san. It's not just that he was physically training himself to smith a better sword for Tanjiro, but he in fact had already made a new one, but he didn't feel it was good enough. Perhaps he spent some of those nasty letters in his initial outrage at seeing the chipped sword, but then after being scolded for making something that would chip so bad in the first place, he felt dissatisfied with the sword he tried to make better, and maybe some of those "I have no sword for you" letters were just a way of expressing "I suck at this (because I am a perfectionist)"?
--More Haganezuka-san: He was essentially raised by Tecchin because his parents couldn't handle his fits when he was a child (which is very, very sad), but he practices a sword polishing technique that has been handed down through the Haganezuka family (and in real life, sword polishing is recognized as a skill totally separate from smithing (though smithing does involve some preliminary polishing stages), so I love that a later Taisho Secret shows him doing finger push-ups because yeah, he's gonna need those fingers ready for a lot of the detail work in the polishing process). While I would also love to see "inherited memories" explored more in Haganezuka, this more likely means that he learned from the father who essentially abandoned him. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in that workshop.
--But also... this three day polishing process which has killed people for how extreme it is. Tanjiro, if he says not to bother him, please, don't both him. Have you learned nothing about the risks of upsetting Haganezuka-san? And this is of course not endearing you to Genya, who at this point still has every reason to find you annoying. You keep giving him reasons to dislike you, too.
--Classic Muichiro-Nezuko Head Tilt
--I wonder if Kotetsu lured Nezuko away with toys so that she wouldn't interfere with Kotetsu nearly killing her brother
--But also, mad respect to Kotetsu, he really was doing his best against that fish
--Might I just say, that little gasp Muichiro has when he remembers Tanjiro's words? So elegantly subtle in the sound design.
--Interesting that Gyokko does not appreciate the flesh of the swordsmiths, even though eating strong people would presumably be nutritious. Hard to digest? Maybe not as nutritious as a Breath-using Pillar? But also, what with "Kakushaku-no-Ko" culture among those who use fire, perhaps all their work with fire (which demons show a distinct dislike of), or more directly with the metal of Nichirin blades is part of what makes them distasteful?
--My favorite Hantengu form is his basic sniveling "woe is me, I'm so weak" old dude form, because it's so ironic. He is the Zenitsu of demons.
--And bam, we already have his full set of four! That didn't take long at all. Also, Tanjiro is now back in The Eldest Son mode and Nezuko is in oh-yeah-she-is-A-DEMON mode, that didn't take long either. Oh, and Genya has already sustained what should be a fatal injury. That also did not take long.
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@loturaweek2023 Day 6: Wardrobe Updates Welcome!
“My father never wanted anyone to go there. He says their customs were…” Allura trailed off.
“My father also wanted it left entirely alone, but that was because it was a world he couldn’t conquer, and never even came close.”
Allura chuckled, then turned her attention back to her advisor. “Coran, why do you know about their customs?”
“Nevermind all that!” Coran shouted, with something that could’ve sounded faintly like… embarrassment from the older man. It made Lotor and Allura turn to each other with discreetly raised brows. “Now, Zarkon was cautious of this place for good reason, the inhabitants are most assuredly dangerous when they decide to be, and there’s merit to Alfor’s… hesitance, as well. Their culture has very strict dividing lines across gender, age, class, wealth—which is not the same thing as class—vocation, marital and dating status, and even orientation. ALL these things are indicated from how a person dresses!
“These people have very little sexual dimorphism, being a lobster-like race—though without the pincers, I always did wonder what exactly made them so “lobster like”—anyway, so if somebody is wearing a nice blouse and a skirt, that person is a woman, no questions asked. Likewise, if someone is wearing pants, you can call that person “lady” all you like, these people are only going to think they’re a man! Royalty is indicated by headgear—and you must never be caught out of the house without some kind of headwear. In your cases, since you are princess and prince, Allura’s tiara and some sort of band for Lotor should be sufficient. If you were going for gentry, you’d need a tophat of some sort. Cap, band, headscarf, bandana, anything would work really, but to go bare-headed is far worse than walking around bum-naked!”
Lotor held Allura’s hand as they sat and listened to Coran’s increasingly specific lecture on fabric, materials, patterns, cuts, styles, and even shoelaces (apparently, stolen shoelaces were something of a code?), Lotor’s thumb stroking idly over her dark skin, and she leaned her head against his shoulder (which was a very good height for head-leaning, in her opinion). This all seemed far too convoluted. She understood why her father had sworn off the place, if going around without his armor was the only way to indicate that he wasn’t hostile.
It meant Lotor would need to go without his armor, too. “Will you be alright?” Allura asked softly, while Coran went off on a tangent about filigree.
“I am… not enthused by the idea,” he admitted, eyes on Coran’s frantic waving. “But so long as they do not grow hostile, I’m sure I’ll survive.”
The requirements of this system’s dress code meant, of course, that altogether new outfits would need to be tailored. Allura had no such thing pre-prepared, and Lotor had spent all of his adult life in armor and underarmor.
(Coran, interestingly enough, had attire of his own, perfectly fitted and requiring only slight alterations to denote his age. Hm.)
“It’s all a little… extravagant,” Lotor mentioned, seeming almost hesitant as he observed the thick fabric of his surcoat and gold embroidery throughout the cloth.
“Well, we are royalty. You heard Coran, we won’t look the part if we don’t dress per their rules.”
And so Allura kissed her paramour on the cheek and gathered her clothing up to go change. She slipped into the shift (lacey, despite the fact that no one but her would even see this), then corset, stockings, underskirt, overskirt, skirt cape, long sleeved blouse, vest, epaulets, no wait cape first then epaulets, low-heeled shoes, gloves, and then jewelry. Woof! It weighed as much as her armor did, and had none of the cooling functions. Oh but it did have so many pockets.
And so Lotor kissed Allura back and took his own clothes to change. Undershirt, boxers, stockings, pants, corset, shirt, surcoat, cape, second cape that was smaller and made of fur (oh, but, it made his shoulders look gorgeous in a way he’d been attempting to capture for millenia, maybe there was a point to all this), boots, belts, gloves, and jewelry. And, the last piece, a borrowed relic that did not belong to Lotor and he wasn’t quite sure he was worthy of: Alfor’s ringlet.
Allura nearly cried, when she saw him wearing it. He stood a little straighter.
“Nothing, nothing,” she said, swiping away at budding tears as he approached her, words of concern crouched in his open mouth. “It’s just—you look very handsome,” she said.
His hand came to rest on her elbow, and she looked up at him with wet eyes that shone brighter than the very birthplace of the stars.
“And you, more lovely than the dawn,” he said gently, and pulled her closer to press his lips to her brow.
The two gathered themselves, a moment, both looking radiant in their splendor, soft emotion passed between them. When Allura’s face was once again set and Lotor had drunk his fill of the view of her, they returned to meet up with Coran, who looked downright jaunty with his tophat and cane.
“Ahhh, you two make quite the sight! Now, I have some old codes from ten thousand years ago. No telling if they still work, but time moves slower where we’re going so, let’s give it a try!” he announced zealously, plugging in something or other into the command console of the castleship.
“Hello?”
“Hello! This is Coran of Altea, seeking passage to a landing bay,” he greeted. “Two are with me, Prin—”
“Well well well, if it isn’t ‘Long Dong Wimbleton!’” the man on the other end greeted jovially.
“WE DON’T NEED TO CALL ME THAT!”
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Goodbye, S&B Genya!
Siege and Storm- Chapter 2
This time it is Genya, who earned the position of honour, acting as Alina’s babysitter. Last they saw each other properly, Alina treated her abominably. Unfortunatelly, Genya doesn’t seem to remember that, or she’s so desperate for companionship she doesn’t mind, or worse- mistakes it for affection.
I love Genya’s teasing. It’s her way of lightening the atmosphere, distracting Alina from her negative moods. She could come across as uppity bitch, except she never really means it badly.
The worst thing about toxic people in our past is missing them.
Alina wants to know, if Genya was her friend, but was she hers? We always saw Genya being the giving side of their relationship, Alina did exactly one (1) nice thing for her. How little’s enough for Genya to call Alina friend? A bit of attention, not even a shoulder to cry on, because the moment Alina’s forced to face her “friend’s” reality, she shames and abandons her for own comfort and love interest.
Are you sorry for someone else’s actions you had no control over? But then again Alina likes to feel responsible for Malyen’s decisions, so it’s only fair to expect the same from others.
Huge fan of Alina’s pose of wise and experienced know-it-all. She knows better, because someone else told her. It’s been so long... like few weeks. The Darkling’s what, not who. Baghra’s words are automatically the truth. And the Darkling’s only concern is power, because why would anyone do anything, right? (Plus he’s evil and evil people like power!) That’s the scenario that fits Alina’s worldview, and it’s just so much easier to keep an eye on interpretation, than change your mindsets.
Alina’s thinking rarely goes further than a step ahead. No wonder whole speech the Darkling gave in the Fold didn’t leave any trace in her mind. Novokribirsk’s destruction is immediate effect. That’s where it ends for her. Why would anyone cause something so horrible? For their ego! (Reminds me of saying in Czech- Podle sebe soudím tebe.- something like “I judge you by myself.”)
There’s also the issue of Schrödinger’s Novokribirsk- when both the size of the inhibited area and its destruction kept changing through the books. Even with that on mind, Alina sounds pretty delusional.
No! Don’t bother Alina with these questions! She doesn’t want to think about it!
A few soldiers from the First Army made it back...
Conveniently silenced, I suppose. Wouldn’t want anyone to know the bright new Sun Saint’s a murderer and a traitor...
How many people had been aboard that sandskiff? Thirty? Forty?
Sixty at least, but nevermind... Alina feels sick? Wow, I’m sure those dead are relieved you’re not feeling well. Certainly helps with their situation. ... and that’s the difference between “doing what you have to” and being a monster, isn’t it? At some point you should make sure you mention how bad you’re feeling...
I’d sacrificed those people for Mal’s life, for my freedom, and in the end, they’d died for nothing.
Malyen’s life 96 %
“freedom” 4 %
Why was it all for nothing? Whose fault is that? It’s not about bad luck or circumstances, but (Malyen and) Alina’s stupidity.
No! Why would you say that?! You’re talking to a traitor, deserter, who doesn’t give a crap about anything but herself! How is this the same person as the one few lines earlier, asking about the skiff?! Some character consistency, please?! If Genya tried to comfort her with “You did what you thought/believed you had to do.”, I’d let it pass, but this way?!
Alina's conctantly doing her best to upset Genya. For trying to comfort her.
harsh bark of laughter ... yanked my hand away... She looked down at her lap, pleating and unpleating the folds of her kefta.
Loud, abrupt noises and actions trigger nervous tic in Genya. She turns defensive.
Something about this passage doesn’t sit well with me. As if the King were some minor antagonist, not a fucking rapist leech. As if Genya should’ve considered him as a choice.
So, Alina thinks Grisha can just freely emigrate?! Start a new life somewhere else? This sounds like they’re just visiting Ravka for holidays...
How much does Genya know about the pogroms?
Ahahahaha... We all serve someone. Grisha are always Crown’s property, their uniform doesn’t free them from service!
Protected? Do you mean possibly not beaten to death by an angry mob, but allowed to die on front? Favoured as in eating well and better supplied, because their general cares? But realizing that would require Alina to take interest in other people’s lives...
Earn the right to wear red? It’s NOT a fashion statement! She was a part of Queen’s household! The Darkling needed to get her out before changing her kefta! The only way to take royals’ toy away from them is to make sure they’re no longer in position to make you regret it. There’s no red kefta for Genya with Lantsovs at helm!
Once again, Alina’s list of priorities is just astonishing!
Genya’s already re-written here. She doesn’t conveniently mention the Darkling gave her the chance to send the letters later. What’s this Genya’s play?! Why blame him, denying her own agency?
“You decide,” he says. “I’ll have the letters brought to you.”
“You kept them?”
“Post them. Give them back to her. Do whatever you think best.”
I watch him closely. This feels like some kind of trick. “You can’t mean that.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, his gray eyes cool. “Old bonds,” he says as he gives the horse a final pat and pushes off from the fence. “They can do nothing for Alina but tie her to a life long gone.”
The paper is starting to fray beneath my fingers. “She’s suffering.”
He stops my fidgeting with the briefest touch of his hand. His power flows through me, calming, the steady rush of a river. Best not to think where the current may take me.
“You’ve suffered, too,” he says.
...
I think of Alina’s too-thin fingers gripping the edge of the sheet, the hope she can’t hide in her pale, expressive face as she writes out the tracker’s name.
I open the black wood box, and I feed the letters to the fire, one by one. It hurts, but I can bear it. Because I am a doll, and a servant. Because I am a pretty thing and a soldier all the same.
In The Tailor, Genya thinks the Darkling’s testing her somehow. I’d argue he took it as an educational opportunity. Genya’s one of his most promising spies, he’s teaching her to make tougher choices, counting with her for higher position with greater responsibilities that would require making less palatable decisions. Even as an ordinary spy, she’d need to lie to and hurt people she personally likes.
Because friendship with a girl, who takes and takes and takes, but never gives (except for that ~one~ moment) should always come before duty, vengeance and better life for everyone.
Also love those moments, when Alina admits the Darkling’s right somehow, but doesn’t let it bother her, just keeps going on...
Wow, I almost feel bad for her. If only Alina got her head out of her ass and gave ~anyone~ a reason to care about her...
Once again, huge fan of choice of words...
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Ring-Bound Notebook
Hey! Yeah, uh- you! Before you proceed, this written work may contain:
blood, torture, prolonged captivity, multiple whumpers, whumper-turned-whumpee, amputation, multiple failed escape attempts, immortal whumpee, potential re-living trauma??, impalement, phrase repetition, slight rescue / recovery whump at the end, suicidal ideation / thoughts
Vanté Ramirez, Vesker Faithern and Fletcher O'Harris belong to my wonderful mutual, @er0s-1s-whump1ng / @paranoia-exe!! go check him out!!!!
—> —> —> —> —> —>
Looking down at the bloodied notebook he'd resented for so long stuffed into his bedside table, Rayan sighed. He swore to never re-read the notebook, reluctant to live out the years of captivity he went through, but.. he just couldn't handle it.
Vigorously snatching the notebook up, he flopped down onto his bed, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping bandaged arms around them. He despised how the damned thing felt so right in his hands; it fit in his grasp perfectly, cold and familiar.
He'd never admit it, but it took him a while to even start the first page, let alone open the notebook itself. He just stared at the cover, at the stickers — worn down with time, scratched or even peeling and ripped— caked in dried blood. His dried blood.
But eventually, to his own dismay, his finger clasped tighter around the notebook, and with strangely baited breath he flicked open to the first page. It seemed as though a nice little trip down memory lane was in order.
Zayn never exactly had a purpose for a notebook. Ring bound with multiple stickers he'd collected during their childhood stuck onto the cover, he just didn't know what to do with it. The useless thing was just.. laying around; plus, he had a diary of his own now. Esrana told him to give it to "the thing in the basement". And her reasoning behind giving it to Rayan? It was because both of them were useless. Great.
"Hey. I've got this for you. Es told me to hand it to you since I don't need it. It'll keep you occupied!" Rayan distinctly remembered Zayn telling him that before setting the notebook down in front of him, his soft Welsh accent ringing pleasantly in his ears.
Alas, Zayn handed it to Rayan during one of their visits, along with two pens. One's ink was in black, the other was in blue, since the former didn't know which colour he preferred. Looking back, it seemed to Rayan that he preferred blue, and the black pen he must've used to doodle and scribble in the margin of each page or wherever else he could fit it.
They promised to give Rayan new pens whenever they ran out and, as usual, he stuck to it; not once did Rayan see even a hint of the ink on either of the pens running dry.
The first few pages were worn and torn, some having been ripped out entirely. The ones that weren't were filled with notes in Zayn's unusually neat script about god knows what — from his time in school to his mother and Esrana, from simple reminders to full paragraphs of rambles. Rayan didn't have the heart to judge them, even now.
A couple pages after, and it was the start of Rayan's own ramblings. Oh, how Rayan dreaded this moment.
He set the notebook down in his lap, evergreen eyes skimming over the pages.
Date: ?
Time: ?
I don't know how this is meant to benefit me. Sure, the notebook's nice and all, I like it. I don't know. There's not much I can write in here, since my captivity isn't very special. I guess I can just I think nevermind. I'll just ramble about fuck all.
I hate this place. I can hardly sleep because I keep hearing footsteps from the floor above this fucking basement. I don't know how many of them there are. I know about the guy with the bat, and the one who keeps staring at me and who I've never really seen blinking yet, and the girl who's Zayn's sister. That's all. I swear there's more of them, though.
I can't be sure. But, at least Zayn gives me food and also gave me a blanket and some pillows so I can sleep. Sure, the ground isn't comfortable, but I can somewhat lay on the pillows, which is good enough. Totally not as if my back hurts already and this is just making it worse. Totally not. Why am I even mad at Zayn?
I'm gonna try and sleep. Emphasis on try. Everything hurts.
"God's sake.." Rayan mumbled hoarsely, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had to admit, that one wasn't all bad. But, he knew worse was to come.
He flicked over to the next page.
Date: ? sometime in October (Zayn told me)
Time: ?
There's more of them. It's- this is ridiculous. Fucking Ezra???
I can't believe he'd side with them. Hell, I don't know what to say anymore. Fuck this shit.
I also keep getting hurt by the bat guy; their names Foster, apparently. I don't wanna explain what they did with that stupid fucking bat of theirs, other than they hit me somewhere on the back and it really hurts because they screwed fucking nails into the bat. I hate this.
I don't even know what I did wrong.
Rayan scoffed. "'I don't even know what I did wrong', my ass.."
His attention turned to the next page. A little more blood was splattered across the paper, and there were obvious signs he'd been crying when he wrote this.
Date: ?
Time: ?
Everything fucking hurts. More and more of them keep coming down and torturing me and hurting me and I'm just sick of this shit. I can't get even a moment of fucking peace anymore. What did I do?
He was surprised how short this one was. He couldn't remember why he had cut it so short in the first place.
The next page.
Date:
Time:
Oh my god. Oh my god. Fuck. He- Holy shit.
I can't even fucking what the fuck. It hurts so bad. Fuck. Okay. I need to calm down.
Oh, no.
Rayan flicked to the next page with shaking hands.
Date:
Time:
Writing this whilst Zayn bandages me up. I'm so tired. So much has been going on.
Madir, he. He cut off my fucking leg. I had tried to escape by attacking Foster and getting out of the basement, and I was so fucking close when Madir got me (Madir's the one who keeps staring. I don't know what his problem is). Then.. I don't even wanna remember.
The torture's been getting worse. Esrana threw me out a window at one point. They've also found out that, despite me being immortal, I can somewhat die if they slit my throat. They keep doing it, and from what I understand they play some sort of game where they compete and the winner is the person who keeps me "dead" for the longest. So far, I think Ezra has.
I should've never started killing people. I've already served my time in prison, and now this? I don't deserve this I think I deserve it, though.
Next page, and this time Rayan had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from tearing up.
Date:
Time:
There's so much blood. The floor is stained with it, my restraints are stained with it, Hell, even my bed. Thankfully, Zayn let me out of the restraints so I can write.
I swear, this is the only thing I can rely on to not lose my fucking mind. The smell of blood and.. other stuff is intoxicating, I hate it. I hate this. I hate Esrana, and Foster, and Zayn, and Madir, and Ezra, and Fletcher— God, fucking Fletcher! We were friends! And now he just watches me waste away here?!
I've felt too sick to eat and sleep. I don't care anymore. I doubt people even remember me. I hope Maddie's okay. And Vee. And.. I don't know. Who do I have?
I'm gonna try and escape. I can't walk, given my leg from the thigh down is missing, but.. whatever. I'll manage.
Next page. This one seemed more recent.
Date:
Time:
It didn't work as well as the other times. There's a fucking- I don't what it is, but it's stuck in my other leg and practically keeping me impaled and pinned onto the floor. It hurts so bad.
I've given up trying to fight by now. I just want to make it stop. I wish I could die. I wish I never existed. I wish I never began killing people. I wish I could kill myself.
I deserve this.
Rayan's spare hand ran over his prosthetic leg, sighing. He never realized how much he himself had suffered. It all felt unreal. It's why he thought about it as if it were just a story, or a silly nightmare. Everything was silly at this point.
He flicked past the other pages, skimming through them, until one near the end of the notebook caught his eyes. Reading cautiously, he placed his chin on his hand and couldn't help but notice his handwriting was more neat. And no blood was splattered on the page.
Date: 26/10
Time: 3:26 PM
It's my birthday! I forgot how old I am. I'm in the hospital right now, I think. It's a long story, but I'm alone right now, save for Maddie sleeping and Vee idly talking to me. I've got plenty of time.
The Survivors got arrested. I escaped from the police - they scare me, okay? I thought they were gonna hurt me - and went to god-knows-where. I stayed homeless for a time, occasionally couch surfing or staying at a new friend's house. She's called Evelyn. She's nice.
Anyway. Maddie and Vee eventually found me, and took me home and then (after seeing how shitty I looked) took me to the hospital instead. It's been a funny couple of days, especially with me learning that these doctors don't want to hurt me and that the things being put into my body won't harm me, but.. at least I'm free. They're gonna get me a prosthetic soon.
I get to see Vesk again. I get to see Theo. And Maddie's fiance, Vivian. Maddie's reluctant to invite me to the wedding, since she knows I need time to recover, but I can tell she really does want to.
Something feels wrong, though. That I don't deserve to rest. I keep imagining restraints around me. I keep hearing them laugh. I keep.. nevermind. It's fine, though.
I don't think I'm gonna be sharing what's in this notebook. It's better to keep it a secret. I don't want people worrying about me more than they already are. Especially Maddie.
Maddie's waking up, I think. I'm home now. I think. I'm gonna be okay now. I think. I don't know. I hope so.
Rayan suddenly glanced up as he heard his bedroom door creak open, squinting up at Vanté. He was a mere silhouette against the absurdly bright hallway light. The notebook slammed shut.
"Hi, Vee." They both grinned.
"Hey," The demon responded, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly in Rayan's ears. "Mum's called you down three times, cause we're going out for dinner today. She said you can bring Tadhg if you want to, too. You coming?"
He chuckled, getting up with a soft groan and setting his notebook down, grabbing a jacket as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be down in a sec. Is this—" he gestured to his outfit— "too flashy?"
"Of course not," Vanté waved off his question with a smile. "It's perfect."
"Oh, hush."
Both of them couldn't help but laugh. Vanté's diamond eyes glanced downwards, noticing the notebook. "What's that?"
"Huh-? Oh, that?" Rayan chuckled nervously, quickly shoving the book under his pillow. "Just a uh- a thing."
The demon didn't respond directly, but gave him a knowing smile. Rayan had an inkling the demon had experienced something similar to what he himself was feeling.
Before the silence could get more uncomfortable than it already was, the demon grabbed the immortal's hand and dragged him out of the room, earning a surprised laugh from the latter. "Come on, lazy ass. Don't bother getting platforms, it's a long walk.
"Awwhh, we're not driving there?"
"It's not that bad, kid."
"Hey- I'm not a kid!"
"You are to me!"
They both laughed. Maybe life wasn't that bad after all.
—> —> —> —> —> —>
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Lex Luthor
“Kon, you left her alone with Luthor?! Of all people, you thought he was the best choice?” Tim is on the verge of pulling his hair out.
“Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”
`
“Didn’t he unleash killer robots in Metropolis last week?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, Dad is good with kids. ”
`
“Kon…” Tim stares pleadingly at his partner. “I love you so much, but Bruce is going to kill me.”
“Tim, I think you’re reading into this too much. It’s fine. And it’s not like Dad forced her into plans for world domination. He didn’t with me. Mercy assured me that she’d keep an eye out on them too.”
“I really hope you’re right.”
~~~
“Your youngest daughter is charming, you should bring her along to the next gala,” says Lex offhandedly mid-conversation.
The glass in Bruce’s hands almost shatters from the shock. What? Since when?
“A bright child, you must be very proud of her.”
“Yes, yes,” he says dazedly. Did Medea acquire another supervillian as a tutor and neglect to tell him?
`
The conversation bounces in his mind and he passes through the rest of the gala in a daze. The drive back to Gotham goes by in a blur.
“Medea. You know I love you very much, right?” he says, the moment he sees her back at the manor.
She gives him a strange look. “Dad? Is everything alright?”
“And we’ve had conversations about not keeping secrets,” he continues. “You’d tell me if you acquired another tutor on your terms, right?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Well, there is something.”
“What happened?” He sits down next to her. "I promise I won't be mad.”
“Look, I know I didn’t do well on my last quiz, but I promise, I’ll do better on the next one,” she says earnestly. “Tim’s been helping me already.”
“Wait what? No, I meant Lex Luthor.”
A puzzled look appears on her face. “What about Lex? Why would he be tutoring me?”
This time it’s his turn to be flustered. “Well…I…” He flounders for words. “Nevermind that, but why does Lex Luthor think you’re so charming? I wasn’t aware you had met.”
`
“Oh. He sort of babysat me a few times.”
“What? When?” His eyebrows go higher and higher as Medea lists the various times. All which corresponded to Justice League emergencies or ones for the Titans. “And he hasn’t–” he trails off weakly.
She shook her head. “He’s quite nice.”
`
Lex Luthor, nice. They don’t really belong together. Bruce doesn’t voice that out loud, instead, he says, “Really?”
“Yeah.” As if unsure what to say at the silence between them, she adds, “Did you know he wanted to run for president?”
“I don’t think he’d be a good fit.”
Medea hummed in approval. “I know, I told him the same. He’s nice and all that, but it doesn’t really seem like he’s a good fit. Personally, I think Ms. Talia could do the best job.”
`
“I could see that.” And he did. Talia had always a knack for managing and directing things.
“Lex thinks so too.”
~~~~
It seems harmless and after a visit or two as Batman, Bruce gets enough reassurance that Lex has no dastardly plans to harm Medea or to involve her in his plans.
For such a ruthless businessman, he seemed the opposite when dealing with children. Bruce supposed that everyone had their sides that they hid away from work.
`
So he didn’t think too much of it. And he does bring Medea along to the next gala that Lex attends.
There may have also been a precedent with Wilson. Loathe as he is to say it, he thinks he can imagine Talia’s voice if she caught wind of him not allowing either to interact. “You’re burning bridges, Beloved.”
`
Though he wonders if he should have kept a closer eye on Lex when Medea corrects him. “That’s only phase one,” she mutters, passing the gauze to Alfred. “The other parts get a lot better.”
The others exchanged a glance – confused, puzzled and shocked.
“Medea?” he says carefully. “What do you mean just phase one?” He took back everything he thought about Luthor not involving her in his plans for world domination.
She glanced up to send him a look that seemed to ask why he didn’t understand. “Because it is?”
“Please explain.”
`
What follows was a plan so convoluted that only Lex could have come up with it. Bruce doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh at the fact that Medea is able to follow along.
It almost makes….makes Luthor sound like a hero of sorts. An anti-hero perhaps.
`
“So you’re telling me that he has all these evil plans…that will end with city destruction,” says Stephanie slowly.
Medea nodded.
“The places destroyed are deep in corruption.”
“Yep.”
“And because his confrontations with Clark always end with destruction, the city is forced to look into the matter and start anew.”
“Exactly. It’s like…” Her eyebrows furrowed together as she tried to think of the word. Medea snaps her finger when it comes to her. “Like charity work. Yes, that’s what he said.”
`
“Charity work,” echoes Tim in astonishment. “Charity work.”
“Is it bad that I kind of support this?” says Stephanie. “Bruce, why don’t you do this?”
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Snively fic! Another real quickie scene. This one is probably the furthest in the story. Snively has found himself growing closer with a few villagers. (but only a few ;))
Rosie drew forth a large cookie from the basket and pressed it into his hand. "Sweets make everything better."
He took a grateful nibble. "One of these days, you're going to lace these with posion. Just biding your time."
She chuckled and drew out another cookie for herself. "I wouldn't trust myself not to mix them up, dearie."
Dearie. Sometimes he truly thought she was going senile.
They ate the cookies and Rosie brushed off her hands. She reached into the basket again. "I have something else for you."
It was a gray hoodie, slightly oversized for his frame.
He took it wordlessly.
"You might feel more comfortable in that. I'm working on a coat for you too."
He stared down at the gray cloth. "Um. Thanks."
She smiled. "You always seem so flabbergasted when someone does anything nice for you."
He didn't say anything. It's not 'flabbergastion', he thought. What was the deeper motive? Why the fake graciousness?
She read him. "Most times, folk just like being kind to each other. My folk, at least. That's all there is to it. Now, try it on, so I can see how it fits!"
He pulled the hoodie over his head. His body almost seemed to sigh. His skin covered, his scars hidden.
"I do know a way you can repay me," Rosie said.
Snively groaned internally, wondering if he should give the hoodie back.
Rosie continued, with a hopeful smile. "Sally said that you said the Acorn Library hasn't been destroyed. Is that true?"
Well, that's easy. "It's true."
Rosie clasped her hands together, her eyes starry. "Truly?"
"The books, the artwork, things from the museums... it's down there. Er...in the vaults. Way under the city." He fiddled with the hoodie strings. "Anything outside was decimated though. I suppose you know that."
"The books...the paintings were saved?" Her voice cracked slightly and those starry eyes were starting to flood.
Snively nodded, shifting uncomfortably. And then Rosie lunged for him. He squealed as her arms wrapped him in an embrace. His body went utterly stiff, playing dead in the jaws of...affection?
She sniffled, patting his shoulder as she drew back. "I'm sorry, dearie. You nevermind this silly old woman."
"...Um. All right." Strange tingles traveled his skin. He could still feel the cage of arms around him...alien, unfamiliar. He rubbed his biceps to alleviate it.
She wiped her eyes, her smile becoming sad. "It's like you've never been hugged before."
No, no. He tried to slam the door on his own vault, the things he wished he could destroy. Memories. Julian had hugged him as a child. Julian had loved - pretended to love.
"Who needs it?" His voice lashed out like a snake. "Stupid, sentimental slop."
She put a hand to her mouth and he hunched his shoulders into the hoodie she'd give him. The thing she'd made for him. He reigned his anger back, swallowing hard.
"...Sorry," he whispered.
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OC Headcanons: You wear their accessories
~ Rika Moriarty ~
Rika likes to wear several rings on her fingers. She owns quite a lot of rings along with a few pairs of earrings. It's rare to see her without her accessories, but she does take them off in a few occasions. It's usually when she trains with her dorm mates or when she prepares desserts, she does value her accessories and look after them.
So when she offers to make you one of her desserts, you take the chance to tinker with her rings. Most of her rings are silver or black in color, since she does make the effort to make it look good with whatever outfit she wears. You don't often see her wearing extravagant rings with precious stones and gems, but you figured that it didn't exactly fit her style. When she finally tidies up the kitchen and serves the dessert, she goes to look for her rings, not even noticing them on your fingers.
" Have you seen my rings? I could've sworn I left them at this exact spot..." She mutters, and you chuckle with how worried she seemed to be. Rika's amethyst eyes scan the counter as a pout begins to settle on her face.
" Did I misplace them? Or have I just forgotten where I put them again? Where is it-"
" Rika, look!" You call out, making the girl turn to face your direction. You'd be a liar if you said her pout wasn't adorable, but the relieved smile that blossomed on her lips was far more enchanting.
" With how small my hands are, I'm surprised my rings could even fit on your fingers..." She chuckles, and you can't help but smile at the blush the decorates her cheeks.
" If you want, I can let you borrow them. I have other rings too you know"
" So long as you give me an actual ring soon" You tease, hoping to get a reaction out of her. But Rika only tilts her head to the side, visibly confused by your words.
" But they are actual rings?... Forgive me but... I do not understand what you meant..."
" Nevermind..."
" W-what-"
~ Aster Aeris Holmes ~
A black choker can easily remind one of Aster. The accessory is very noticeable with how he leaves a few buttons open and how he doesn't wear a vest or a tie in his school uniform. The male also wears piercings, but with his hair framing his face, it's quite impossible to tell that they're there; unlike the choker that you could easily see around his neck.
It's a peculiar accessory, to say the least. You even wonder how Aster manages to wear it all day without feeling uncomfortable. That's why when Aster had taken it off before he went off to take a quick shower, you immediately take it and decide to give it a try. However, you didn't take into account how difficult it would be to put the choker on. It takes you a while, and you didn't even notice Aster walking up towards you.
" What do you think you're doing?" You flinch upon hearing the teasing tone of his voice. A chuckle leaves his lips as he approaches you, his eyes set on the choker that you were attempting to wear.
" Need some help?" He asks you teasingly, to which you respond with a huff.
" N-no!" You exclaim. Aster only snickers as he reaches out his hands to help, paying no attention to your yelps as he smirks down at you.
" There you go~ you made it so difficult with all your squirming though" The male says with a content smile on his face. You let out a sigh of relief when you realized he secured the choker around your neck quite nicely. Then again, it felt quite loose, but you wouldn't want it wrapped around your neck tightly either.
Aster lets you savor the quick moment of peace, the calm before the storm before a dangerous smirk blossoms on his lips once again. And so the male hooks in his finger between your neck and the choker loosely wrapped around it, then pulling you close until you can feel his lips on yours.
" You're so fun to tease, doll"
" Y-you bastard!"
" Heh"
~ Valerie Rosetta Adler ~
Valerie owns a wide collection of jewelry, many of which are expensive and undeniably eye-catching. But most of the time, she settles for a nice pair of earrings, and she seems to have a perfect pair for each and every occasion. Stud earrings, clip on earrings, dangling earrings, hoops, even ear cuffs, she has quite the variety in her collection.
But don't think for a second that she is greedy with her collections, if anything else, she wants you to try them on. That's why you now find yourself sitting in front of her vanity table, with makeup palettes and jewelry boxes scattered around. For today, you are your girlfriend's precious doll to be adorned by the highest quality jewelry and clothing.
" Ooh, which one would you like to try first?" Valerie asks with such an enthusiastic tone that you can't help but smile as well. She takes one of the jewelry boxes from her vanity table and shows you its contents. Earrings of many types made of various materials fill the box, all of which are arranged neatly for display.
" Though, I'm sure all of them would fit you nicely. That's just how naturally beautiful you are, my dear" She chuckles, even more so when you blush because of her comment.
" Well... How about... Your favorites? The ones you wear the most" You tell her. The woman looks at you with wide eyes, pleasantly surprised by your answer.
" That's quite sweet of you, my darling. But oh well, since you asked so nicely~" Valerie hums. You watch as she takes out a pair of earrings from one of the jewelry boxes, the embedded gemstones immediately catching your attention.
" This one's my favorite, it's simple and yet so elegant. It goes well with my uniform, don't you think?" She shows you the earrings, and sure enough, it's one of the pairs you'd often see her wearing around the school.
" Oh? I didn't notice that they were clip ons" You mutter as you examine the pair of jewelry on the palm of her hand.
" Mhmm~ now then, let's put them on you, shall we?" Valerie hums. You let her do her thing, staring at the mirror as you do. It's quite cute, you think to yourself, how small moments like these can always be so romantic and enjoyable when you're with her.
" And there you go" She turns your head, letting herself get a good view of you with her earrings.
" So, do I look good?" You chuckle, looking up at Valerie with a soft smile.
" Oh my darling, you don't just look good, look beautiful!" Valerie giggles, and so you do too. Yet your laughter dies down when Valerie falls silent. You then feel Valerie's thumb caressing your cheek, and the only thing you can hear from yourself is a mess of flustered stuttering as your girlfriend leans in close to you.
" You are beautiful..."
" Valerie..."
" My sweet darling, why don't you show me more of that cute expression, hmm?"
~•~
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It's unknown how many times today the doorbell to Sayaka's house in Saitama was pushed today, but it seemed like it would go on at least once more. Alerting the residence, the matriarch of the family stood and answered the door, finding a delivery man there holding a large box covered with colorful wrapping paper.
"Sayaka Miyuki?" The gentlemen asked, to which the woman of the household nodded, prompting the deliveryman to hand her a clipboard with a piece of paper on it. Knowing the whole routine, Sayaka put her signature at the bottom of the paper, before handing it back to the man who handed the box to her, before bidding her farewell.
"Another present, love?" Lola asked as Sayaka hauled the box inside, placing it down. Truthfully, the box wasn't as heavy as expected.
"Yes," Sayaka answered, sighing. She didn't mind all the gifts that she had been receiving. Really, she loved them all; it was just embarrassing to know how many people were going out of their way to make her feel appreciated. Sighing again, she grabbed a pair of scissors and tore the tape off the top of the box, before pulling the covers of the box up. She peered inside and looked at what was inside.
In one of the corners of the box was a much smaller box; a jewelry box, to be exact. Pulling it out, Sayaka opened it up and her eyes grew wide as she looked at what was inside of it:
Inside were a pair of gold rings, one small and one large. Adoring each ring was a butterfly, the symbol of the Saitama Division team. Slipping the ring on her finger, Sayaka was shocked to see that it was a perfect fit for her finger. The smaller one couldn't fit, but she thought to Yoshiko. Could it fit her? ...It was something to think about, at any rate.
"Ohhh," Lola said, looking at the ring. "Got a secret admirer I don't know about, love?"
"D-don't be silly!" Sayaka said, blushing at her friend's teasing. Ignoring the model, the single mom looked at the rest of the gifts inside the box and pulled out a slightly larger box that was inside of it. Pulling it out, she pulled the lid off and looked inside.
Inside were a trio of different-colored kimono robes. They were long enough to cover one's legs and feet, but still daring enough that it got the message across to a partner.
"Ohhh," Lola said, looking at one of the robes. "These look nice! Think I could borrow one, love?"
"Uhh... maybe," Sayaka said, as she looked at one of them. They were certainly pretty, but she didn't know if she'd ever wear one. It wasn't risqué or anything, but it might send the wrong message if anyone other than her friends saw her wearing this. ...But then again, who would see her wearing this save her friends and daughter?
Shaking her head at such thoughts, the birthday woman pulled out the last gift inside of the large box. Picking it up, she could tell it was a bottle of some sort. Pulling the wrapping paper off, she looked at what was inside of it.
It was a clear bottle of colorful purple liquid. On the front cover, it read, 'Original Butterfly: Botanical Liqueur'. It certainly looked interesting, and Sayaka can't recall ever seeing a colorful liqueur like this before.
"Please tell me you are opening that tonight," Lola asked, eager to try some.
"We'll see," Sayaka smiled as she placed the bottle off to the side. Sighing, she was pleased that that was the last gift in the box. She had wondered though, who had sent her all of these gifts. Checking one last time inside, she noticed a note at the bottom. Reaching down, she pulled it out and read it:
'From Okinawa Division, Happy Birthday!'
'P.S. Those robes I bought were strictly for you. So do not, under any circumstances let that wanna-be model wear them! She'll lower their value! Thanks!'
In Okinawa Division...
"The little message really wasn't necessary, Miss Rose."
"No, but it did get the message across. Haha!"
"...Women..."
“On second thought, nevermind, I’d rather not catch anything if that bimbo was the one who bought them. Who knows what she could have done.” Lola scrunched up her nose in disgust, extenuating her point by moving away from the kimono robes.
Sayaka laughed nervously in response and set the letter aside, “Oh come on, Lola. Be nice, it’s a lovely gift, the Okinawa team are very sweet for doing this for someone like me.”
Lola merely rolled her eyes, “Uh, duh. You’re literally the best person ever, anyone you says otherwise or dont see it are dumb, blind, and deaf. Anyways, what I’m really interested is this.” She grabbed the bottle of liquor and made her way to the kitchen. “Can’t celebrate your birthday with getting the tiniest bit of shitface, I’ll be waiting.”
This time, Sayaka laughed wholeheartedly as she followed her friend into the kitchen.
Thank you for the gift!
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ONE / Nineteen - Security Breach
Why do they even have that Ticket?
James: Jesse you can’t be serious can you? This was meant to be a surprise and now? This is totally not how I imagined that would work. Honestly….
Jesse: James How the fuck was I suppost to know?
James: You were not, how could you, how should you? It was a surprise. For all the work. As a thank you and last time to spend with my best pal.
Lucia: I don’t want to interrupt anything but, like, we can still go there. Why make this scene James, it's pointless you know that. Yeah your plan didn’t work, oh what wonder. Let’s get there and party like it’s the last night we have. Drinks, music, food all on me!. Common bitches lets move it!
Lucia is right, there is no need for a fight. Sure that would’ve been a great surprise but hey. Though, I still wonder how the heck Jesse got one of those. Both of us got dressed in our fancy glittery fits before going to the bus. I will admit, our outfits look different. In other words, we catched many eyes. Jesse and I in some dark purple shimmering outfits and Lucia with bright orange and pink colours and this giant feather boa. We kind of look like Lucia is our pimp and we’re just some toys to waddle around her. I mean, it’s more odd considering that Jesse and Lucia are almost the same height but sure. It didn’t take long and all three of us arrived at the nearest station to the club. I don’t think anyone would be able to miss the club. It’s the biggest building in miles, lights everywhere and a giant garden. They really didn’t lie when they said it used to be an opera house. People. Everywhere you’d looked there have been people. Some in groups, some alone but everyone was chilling. And, to my surprise, the three of us haven’t been overdressed at all. Most of the people wore some sparkle stuff, which was nice, but also many wherethere in casual stuff. I have never seen such a diverse place in terms of looks. But my mood got bad when I noticed the line. A never ending line in front of the club filled with people of any shape and colour.
Jesse: Oh gosh, we will stay in line for like, forever. I did not know that a club with that name would be so much of a hype to be honest.
Lucia: Oh my god, are you. Nevermind. Look, we have me, and you for some stance, just follow me.
We followed Lucia on the way to the bouncer. Typical one. A big and chunky man with lots of muscles in a suit and sunglasses. Kinda scary if I might add. Lucia made eye contact, swung the golden ticket in front of them, and then pointed towards us. The bouncer moved aside and within five steps all of us were inside. The interior is much bigger than the outside would tell. There is a massive glass dome in the middle as well as bars, people and music everywhere. Like in the city, they have signs pointing to the variety of locations and music styles. Not gonna lie, standing here feels surreal
Lucia: NOW WHO’S READY TO PARTYYYYYYYYY
With a graceful walk Lucia strutted down the entry line directly towards the bar, again fiddling around with her ticket and whispered something that I did not understand.
Lucia: Here ya go bitches, have a drink.
Jesse: What exactly is that?
Lucia: Ugh booooring. Just drink it already. I promise this will boost you sooo much.
James: You know what, fuck do I care. Give me that glass.
Lucia: Here ya go. Don’t spill it.
It didn’t take long for us at all to adapt to our current location. Lucia and Jesse danced at the middle of the stage in the most erotic way friends can dance together while still booking like casual friends. I for myself am not so good with dancing, so I just looked around and got familiar with the club itself. I walked up the stairs into the second floor where I spotted, yet again, three different dance floors as well as up to seven individual bars. I still can’t really believe that I am in this massive thing but, I will not be the one crying about the most awesome night I have. Maybe it doesn't come across like that, but I really love tonight. I know I may not be dancing as much as you expect people to do, especially in a club, but I noticed that I get my happiness from seeing other people's happiness. I got to the bar and got another drink, though I noticed that without the ticket I kinda have to actually pay for that stuff. Ugh it’ll be fine. I grabbed the drink, paid the bartender and braced myself along the railing, looking down the dome onto the main dance floor. I do say, it’s great to see Jesse and Lucia together. They have a vibe I could’ve never imagined for them. Sexual but also close, same kind of drugs, you name it. It was then when I noticed that Lucia was only left in her hotpants and bikini top and Jesse with, ehm, I think that’s part of Lucias outfit they have covered their private part with. Well I couldn’t care less. That's just them and to be fair they do have the body to show it.
I looked around. Behind me was the floor seven, which provided more of a synthwave music kind of style. Left to me was the kpop corner that’s been blasting the newest songs of Korea nonstop and on my right I can see the smoky hip hop area. They are partly on the balcony so the smoke actually runs out of the Club. And of course, people. Every single floor is filled to the prime with people. It’s not stuffy, there is still enough space to walk around. Across me was the big glass door that led to the balcony. The door was open, and you could see the garden. I decided to move and swung my hibs around till I arrived on the opposite side of where I was. Ah finally, fresh air. I stood in the middle of the balcony, breases to my left and right side like I’d be ready to take off. I haven’t felt like that in such a long time, the feeling of being free, being happy, being … me. I noticed small tears on my cheek before I carefully brushed them off. I again looked around the garden. It’s a giant garden with a massive tree in the middle. Some people were smoking, others just standing by them. Some people were making out in the bushes alongside the walkways. I do think those are rose bushes so happy sexy time for them. The only calm thing was the river behind the garden. As I said, this thing is massive. And even though there are my types of music, the outside is pretty much sound proof. The only thing I hear is the Hip hop music on the side. Life’s truly magical sometimes.
Huh? Who’s that?
I just noticed a dark figure, like a shadow on the other side of the balcony, starting to glance towards me. I don’t know how long they’ve been standing there but it kind of creeps the heck out of me. I turned back inside only to look back at the garden. That’s when my phone started to ring.
Discord call
Jesse: THE FUCK WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY?!?
James: Jesus, you don’t have to scream. I’m one floor higher on the balcony.
Jesse: ARE YOU OKAY??? THERE HAVE BEEN PE- WH-. [...] YOU KNOW?
James: Yeah I’m fine, just some creep staring at me. Stay where you’re at. I am on my way.
Jesse: JAMES NO
I closed my phone. Bet Lucia and Jesse had a blast, if Jesse has a moof like that. I walked towards the stairs to go down, slowly ensuring that the person wasn't watching anymore. I don’t know who that was but I’m sure it’ll be fine. When I came down I saw people, like many people. More people than ever. I spotted Jesse and Lucia and ran towards them.
James: Jesus what happened?
Lucia: Apparently there has been a security breach. Hundert of people were flooding the dancefloors within seconds. The bouncer tried to defend the club but with no chance at all.
Jesse: Don’t call them people, those are addicts. The Beast and Prey has a strict no drug besides alcohol rule, that’s why the bouncers are that aggressive sometimes. The guys in here are selling drugs to everyone, just sticking them in their pockets, robbing people, you name it.
Lucia: I think we should leave.
James: Yeah you’re right, seems like all hell broke loose.
As we exited the club, we noticed a variety of people chucking stuff towards us, not only us, but everyone who is getting out of the club. Bouncers were storming the club non stop trying to pull people out of there. In the sure distanz you were able to hear the sound of the police. I just hope everyone is save and sound, however, maybe that creep who stalked me was one of them? How could it be that I got to know nothing of what was going on downstairs? Guess I’ll never figure that out I don’t need to though.
All three of us arrived around Midnight. To my surprise, Sarah was still up. Of course the news made a fast circle so she asked us if everything was fine. After checking all our pockets we decided to call it a day. Lucia wanted to go home but I convinced her that that is not a good idea. Luckily, she agreed and stayed over the night. Tomorrow will be our last day together. After that day it is me, and me only.
I can’t wait for that
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After I binge watched doctor who I remembered when they introduced Jodie as the new doctor and social media lost its mind because the doctor couldn't be a girl. But after seeing her (and falling in love) I realized presenting feminine fit so much better with the doctors loving, empathetic and caring nature. Like watching a girl play the doctor just felt so right?
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Gentle Touches (Dainsleif, Xiao)
“In which he tries to convey himself in the most gentle of ways.”
Even the average bystander could pick up the fact that Dainsleif was not the physical type, and if anything, should you wish to keep your own safety, it was best to keep your distance.
Except for you. After all, you were no bystander--you were a part of his story, and he was part of yours. If he was the danger that everyone was wary about, you were the risk not many people would take.
Although you weren’t like most couples, it was evident to anyone that the two of you held each other dear, should they look close enough. The way he matched your pace on gentle strolls through the woods, the way you were always so patient with him, knowing what he wanted to convey, and the way your gazes softened held an air of warm benevolence, taken straight from a fairy tale.
When no one was looking, it was when your love languages truly blossomed. It was also when he’d deftly weave his hands out of his gloves, bringing them to your soft locks and gently combing through them. Though he was unfamiliar with the act at first, your approval led him to even start humming Mondstadt’s folk songs, as small birds chirped away in the small woodland clearing where you two rested.
He wonders how the world could be so peaceful--resting beside a tree with you, with almost no worries. It fuels his determination against the abyss, for a world where they could finally be rid of once and for all.
“Dearest?”
“Yes?”
Dainsleif’s words were caught in his throat, for the sunset’s rays left such an ethereal blessing on you. He trudged on however, opting for a simple response. “Nevermind.”
You simply smile. For you knew what he wanted to truly say. So, you gently rub your thumb on his palm, before leaning onto his arm and closing your eyes. “I love you too.”
From the many years he has lived through, he’s seen many expressions that humans shared. The lantern rites he’s frequented in particular has him seeing all sorts of signs of affection.
He’s seen couples hold hands, a gesture of romantic love. He’s seen friends laugh together, a sign of platonic love. He’s seen a mother send a lantern off with her children, familial love in their eyes. He’s seen all sorts of love at this point, yet he yearns to truly experience it.
Despite his exterior, there were many things he longed to try with you. They were subconscious, a product of his touch starved self, yet they were there nonetheless. Chewing at him like crystalflies in his stomach, the love he sought after was similar to almond tofu--but that was merely a measly substitute compared to you.
He wants to be held. He loves how you caress him. He adores when you both visit the sunset at Jueyun Karst, unbeknownst to the prying eyes of the other adepti watching their vigilant yaksha learn to love for the first time in eons. Even they get an inkling of how much Xiao is fond of you.
As soon as your hands meet each other, he gets addicted. He squeezes them out of reassurance, he traces each vein with curiosity in his eyes, and he never forgets to play with your fingers. They fit so nicely with his, to the point where he misses them whenever the two of you part ways.
For Xiao, your touch would wash off the blood and karma that stained his hands, and that was more than enough for him to hold off the pain for even a little bit.
One faithful night in Wangshu Inn, Xiao presents you with a ring. Should you look close enough, you could see the small qingxin petal that he entombed inside the imperial jade.
“It’s an adepti amulet. It will keep you safe,” he says.
But amulet or not, you knew you were in good hands no matter what. After all, all you needed to do was to say his name.
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Down the Hall
In collaboration with - @screechesincoherently
Masterlist
Last chapter | Next chapter
Words - 1687
Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, NSFW 18+ Content, Thigh riding
“I wasn’t even going to ask you to come tonight.” Sadie said as Y/n walked into her room.
“I live to surprise you Sadie.” Y/n said, sitting herself down on her roommates bed.
“Are we counting this as one of your five this year?” Sadie asked, looking through her closet for something that Y/n could wear that wasn’t jeans and a t-shirt.
“Does this count in your opinion?”
“Not at all, I think the only parties that count are the ones that I have to drag you to.” Sadie said, throwing a couple pieces of clothing at Y/n.
“Why? I’m actually willing to go to a party for once and you say it doesn’t count.”
“I’m only going to make you go to five parties this year. Whether you go to any more voluntarily is up to you.”
“Whatever. Are we sure these are going to look good on me?” Y/n asked, skeptically holding up the combination that had landed in her arms.
“Yes, especially if you add this.” Sadie said, pulling out a blazer.
“I feel like I’m going to look ridiculous.” Y/n murmured, examining the skirt and crop top that Sadie had thrown at her.
“You’re going to look hot. Now– go change, we should leave within the next hour or so.” Sadie said, pulling together an outfit for herself.
As Y/n pulled on the top, she examined the articles on her body in the mirror. She couldn’t help but imagine him behind her again tonight. The air felt thicker as the image of his lips brushing against her skin flashed through her mind.
She found herself thinking of all the scenarios that they could end up in throughout the night as they drank more and more. Her fingers trailed along the bare skin between the top of her skirt and the crop top, wondering how many marks could be left in their place.
“Are you ready yet?!” Sadie yelled from her room.
“Just about to do my makeup and hair.” Y/n replied, walking into her bathroom.
“Nothing too heavy, you’re gonna be sweaty from dancing tonight.”
“Who said I would be dancing?”
“Me.”
“I’m not a good dancer though, we’ve established that.” Y/n whined, applying minimal makeup to her face.
“I’m sure whoever this mystery man that you’ve been fucking around with won’t mind if all you can do on the dance floor tonight is grind.” Sadie teased.
“Bold of you to assume he’ll be there.”
“If he isn’t, we’ll find someone else. You might be surprised to find out that despite your lack of social appearances, there’s quite a few men on this campus that wouldn’t mind jumping your bones.” Sadie said as she walked into Y/n’s bathroom.
“Jesus Christ– why are you like this?”
“Like what?” Sadie asked, walking up behind her and playing with Y/n’s hair, trying to decide on a way to style it.
“Nevermind.”
–
The party was in full swing when Y/n and Sadie arrived, the two familiar faces at the door had Y/n borderline ready to turn and walk away, but they caught sight of her before she could get the chance.
“Look who decided to make an appearance.” Sam yelled, running down to meet her and Sadie at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey Sammy.”
“You look great.” He said, flushing a brilliant shade of red as his eyes ran along her figure.
“You do too, very pledge casual.” She said, gesturing to the black t-shirt and form fitting jeans he was wearing.
He stood for a beat too long with his jaw slacked.
“You gonna stamp us, or are you gonna start to drool?” Sadie said, snapping Sam out of his trance.
He shook his head slightly, reaching the stamp out towards the girls.
“Sammy?” Sadie mocked as she and Y/n walked into the house.
“He’s Jake’s little brother, I met him a couple weeks ago, nice kid.” Y/n explained, rolling her eyes at Sadie’s tone.
“Mhm. Drinky time!” Sadie sang as she skipped towards the kitchen.
“Finally something I can agree with you on.” Y/n said, trudging along behind her.
She was two steps behind Sadie, so by the time she had made it into the kitchen, Sadie already had two shot glasses ready for them.
“Tequila?” Y/n asked, reaching for one of the glasses.
“Won’t know until you drink it.” Sadie said, giving her the glass and clinking it against her own.
The two of them downed the alcohol, and Y/n had discovered that it was in fact tequila– that had been mixed with what she suspected to be vodka.
“Another one?” Sadie asked, already pouring two more.
“Do I get a choice in this?” Y/n asked in return, having her original glass forcibly replaced with a new one.
“I guess not.” She said, raising the glass before downing it, feeling the horrid mix burn it’s way down her esophagus.
“‘Atta girl. Keep this up and you won’t have to worry about not being good at dancing.” Sadie said, taking the shot glass from her and turning around.
“Now take this and go enjoy yourself.” Y/n was confused at the speed of Sadie’s drink making, and wondered if the alcohol was already affecting how fast time was moving for her.
“What is–”
“It's rum and coke.” Sadie said, pushing Y/n out of the kitchen.
Y/n took a sip as she made her way further into the house, coming to the realization that it was mostly rum in her cup.
“I’m surprised to see you here. Would’ve expected you to be at home studying like the good girl you are.”
“Got bored of the books. I’m considering this my reward.” She said, turning to see him leaning against the wall.
He looked like an asshole, in all the right ways.
“Are sunglasses necessary?”
“Not at all.”
“You look like an asshole.”
“And you look–” His eyes grazed down every inch of her body, like he was trying to commit it to memory.
“And I look?” She asked, raising her eyebrow at him.
“Like Sadie dressed you.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Not at all.” He said, repeating his statement from earlier.
She took a sip of her drink, her eyes not leaving his.
“Dance with me.” He said, kicking himself off of the wall and putting out his hand for her to take.
“I don’t dance.”
“Well that’s too bad, you’re doing it anyways.” He said, grabbing her hand and turning her around, leading her to the large group of dancing bodies.
“You gonna guide me?”
“Gladly.” He said, pressing himself against her back, his breath fanning against her ear.
As she felt one of his hands meet her hip, she leaned back into him, allowing the alcohol to consume her.
She reached her hand behind her to hold the back of his neck, pulling him closer into her.
Her nails lightly grazed the skin at the nape of his neck, eliciting a low groan from his throat as he involuntarily dug the pads of his fingers into her hip bone.
The rhythm of the music took over, feeling him move her hips against him as his lips grazed over the skin below her ear.
Y/n swallowed the last of the contents in her cup before letting it fall to the ground beside them, allowing that hand to sit on top of his own. She pulled it off of her, taking a step away from him and turning to face him
She had a smirk on her face as he looked at her with his brows furrowed in confusion, but it didn’t last long as he realized she was leading him away from the crowd of people towards an empty hallway near the back of the house.
The moment they were alone he took advantage of the situation, pinning her against the wall and dropping his head to her ear.
“If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask.”
He let his lips wander from below her ear to the spot where her shoulder met her neck
“But that’s no fun.”
His hands found their way to her hips once more, pressing her as close to the wall as she could go.
“So instead you wanna have fun in a hallway?” He asked as he pushed his knee between hers, spreading her legs for him.
She tried to push herself down to get some contact with his leg where she wanted to feel him the most, but he caught onto her movements, his hands tightening on her hips to still her. She groaned out of desperation, watching as he raised his head up to look at her, a mischievous smirk overtaking his lips.
“Eager much?” He said brushing his leg against the insides of her thighs.
“Can you blame me?” She asked, watching as his jeans brushed against her bare skin.
“Good girls are patient.”
“And I said I was done being good.”
“Your body’s saying otherwise.” He whispered into her ear as he ran his knee up against the wall between her legs until he hit her core, drawing out a breathy gasp from her.
“Please.”
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the music.”
“Please!”
“You’re pretty when you beg.” He said pulling her hips forward against his leg to create friction.
“Oh my god.”
He held her still against him, waiting for her to say something else.
She stared at him, waiting for him to make the next move.
“You like that?” He asked, pressing her hips harder onto his thigh.
She nodded her head, expecting him to continue moving her.
“Do you want me to continue?”
“God— yes.” She said, her voice breathy and drawn out as she pressed her head into the wall behind her.
“Beg for it baby.” He commanded, holding onto her as he backed towards the nearest door.
“God— please—“
His hand touched the doorknob, waiting for her to finish her plea.
“— please Jake.”
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In The Endzone (2)
Pairing: College!Footballplayer!Bucky x reader
Chapter 2 Series Masterlist
Summary: You’re just the girl who plays the trumpet in the college band at the games, what does the handsome quarterback want to do with the likes of you?
Warnings: Hints of angst
You were nervous. Who wouldn’t be nervous if they were about to get lunch with Bucky Barnes? Taking a deep breath, you headed to the café. You spotted Bucky leaning against the wall, his eyes focused on his phone as he scrolled through social media. You didn’t really want to bother him, but as you got closer, he saw you and smiled.
“Hey, doll.” He said pocketing his phone before looking you over. “You look amazing.”
You felt your knees grow weak. How was he such a smooth talker? “Thanks. You look handsome.”
He ran a hand through his hair before licking his lips. “You’re too kind, dollface.”
He then held out his arm and you shyly linked your arm with his. He grinned at you and led you to the pizza place. You were trying to hide your excitement, and subtly checked him out as you walked. His hair was a bit fluffier today, and he was wearing a pair of fitted blue jeans. A white t shirt screamed against his chest, and his letterman jacket completed the look. It was definitely easy to fall for his looks.
He held the door open for you as and you could feel heat crawl up your cheeks as he looked at you softly. You followed him to a table, and he sat across from you. After you decided on a pizza to share and getting your drinks, Bucky sighed and propped his chin against his hand.
“So, I imagine this is like your hundredth date since you’re such a beauty.” Bucky said before sipping his drink.
You shook your head. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but this is my first date since high school.”
Bucky’s eyebrows rose and he felt his stomach twist a little before pushing it aside. “Well, I’m glad I asked you then. You got an ideal date? I’d love to take ya.”
You felt like your heart would explode. “R-really?”
He chuckled. “Of course! Who wouldn’t want to hang out with a pretty dame like you?”
“Okay, well, I’ve always wanted to go stargazing with someone and just geek out about space.” Your face heated up as you saw his soft expression. “Sorry, it’s dorky.”
“No, I think it’s cute.” Bucky responded as he smiled. He loved space, what were the chances that you loved it too? He fought the urge to stop what he was doing and come clean to you. You seemed like a nice girl, but he really wanted that money, so he decided to just stick with it. “We could make it a weekly thing. Saturday stargazing dates.”
“Y-you actually want to hang out with me?” You asked in disbelief.
He wet his lips and laughed. “You’re a wonder, doll. And I’m going to show you how you should be treated.”
You smiled at him. “Well, thank you, just promise not to fall for me too hard.”
A fully belly laugh bubbled out of him. “What’s that supposed to mean, doll?”
You clasped your hands together and shrugged. “N-nevermind. So, what’s your ideal date.”
Bucky’s blue eyes locked onto yours and he beamed. “Stargazing.”
~~~~~
You slipped on Bucky’s football jersey with a smile. You and Bucky had been dating for two weeks and it has been amazing. He was a perfect gentleman and super sweet. You grabbed your trumpet before going to find Wanda. She was warming up on one of the bleachers and you joined her.
“Hey girl! Looking good!” Wanda said as you laughed.
“Thanks, Wan.”
“That quarterback boyfriend of yours has put you in such a happy mood. You need to hook me up!” Wanda said as she eyed some of the players as they were doing some warmup drills. “Like Vision.”
“Or you could just talk to him yourself.” You suggested before playing a few scales.
“He’ll notice me eventually, I’m sure of it.” Wanda said staring at Vision as he ran across the field, as if staring at him long enough would make him go talk to her.
You pat your friend on the back. “Me too.”
More people started to file into the bleachers and you, and Wanda joined the band and started to play some music while the people were waiting for the game to start. You and Bucky made eye contact and he waved at you before making a heart with his hands. You made a heart back and he took his starting position for the kickoff.
The game was a rollercoaster of emotions and you even found yourself cheering loudly when Bucky got in a few interceptions and tackles. You guys won and the crowd erupted into screams of celebration. You and Wanda started to make your way down to meet up with the team so you could all go celebrate.
Bucky entered the locker room with a relived sigh as he took off his football helmet. Zemo sat beside him and clapped his back.
“You did great out there, Barnes.”
“Thanks.” Bucky breathed as he took a gulp of water from his water bottle.
“You really convinced me you actually liked her for a second.”
Bucky frowned. He wasn’t talking about the game. Bucky wasn’t going to admit it, but you were funny and cute, and he was somewhat looking forward to your dates. “Yeah, well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
Zemo shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll actually triple the money if you do meet the parents and date her for 2 extra months. And you dump her on her on the day before her birthday.”
Bucky thought about it for a second. He had gotten through these past couple of weeks just fine but dumping you the day before your birthday seemed a bit harsh. “I don’t know. That seems a little cruel.”
“Come on. Barnes, don’t be such a coward.”
“I’m not a coward and fine, I’ll do it.” Bucky said as he aggressively untied his cleats.
Zemo clapped him on his back again. “Atta boy.”
“But I do have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why her?”
Zemo laughed. “She’s just a nobody. What will it hurt?”
Her. Bucky thought, but he just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Alright. So, we have a deal then?” Zemo said stretching out his hand.
Bucky grasped Zemo’s hand tightly as he shook it. “Deal.”
~~~~~
“Hey, doll.” Bucky said before kissing your cheek. “Ready to go celebrate?”
“You bet.” You said as you pulled him in for a hug. “Are we going to the diner with the team?”
Bucky rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Actually, I was hoping we could stargaze tonight, just you and me. Something a bit calmer.”
“Sure!” You chirped. “Sounds great.”
Bucky stopped his truck and took out his keys before grabbing the blankets and pillows. He set them up bed of the truck before you both climbed in. Once the both of you got settled, he listened to you as you geeked out about some of the stars. His heart clenched as he looked at you all excited and full of light. He tried not to imagine how that would change if you ever found out what he was doing. You went silent after and while and you both just gazed up at the stars in awe.
“What’s on your bucket list, doll?” Bucky asked breaking the silence.
“Huh?”
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you. “You know, things you want to do before you die.”
He saw you grow uncomfortable for a second before you covered it up and shrugged.
“I don’t know. Random stuff, I guess. Catch a butterfly. Ride a motorcycle. Dance under the stars while on a boat on the open water. Kiss in the rain. It’s cheesy stuff I know, but it’d be nice.”
Bucky hummed in thought. They weren’t big aspirations, but they spoke volumes to him as he thought about them, and how he might be able to help with some of them. Or maybe he shouldn’t. It would probably turn something good into a bad memory after he broke up with you.
You turned on your side to get a better look at him. “What about you? What’s on your bucket list?”
He smiled at you. “I don’t really know either. Become famous. Skydive. Own a mansion. Stuff most people want.”
You looked back up at the stars. “I guess you’re right. Most people would think my bucket list is weird.”
“N-no, doll. That’s not what I’m saying. Besides, why be like everyone else?” Bucky said adjusting the pillow under him. “And for the record, I think your bucket list is amazing. Just like you.”
You looked back at him. “Really?”
“Really.”
His stomach twisted again, and he wanted to scream. What he was doing was wrong. So wrong, but he didn’t have the courage to stop now.
ITE Tags: @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer
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