#who thinks like this. like moment of clarity who fucking Talks Like This.

[butchdykekondraki]

this is So specific but kondraki reminds me of this one fucking customer i had like 2 years ago at my old job who used to fucking come in every single day at 4 in the fucking morning in the same outfit until one day after like 3 weeks he comes in in a different outfit and naturally i was like "? why the sudden change" and he looked me dead in the eyes and went "husband left me." and so because i didnt know how to respond i just went "OH. im. so sorry." and he FUCKING CUT ME OFF to go "no its okay i stole his truck". im not elaborating on that i just think hes the type to steal someones truck for breaking up with him and also wear the same fucking clothes for 3 weeks straight

#[ren] #i like how you can tell when my mania meds where off cause i start saying the most like. insane shit ever. #who thinks like this. like moment of clarity who fucking Talks Like This. #alright. anyway. moment of clarity over. this guy also never fucking tipped me on account of him being the tip. which. okay. slay. i guess. #<- which. really is also soo kondraki. to me.

[mareestoermers]

i think we are all forgetting something when we talk about how toxic patrick, tashi, and art are — or when we decide one is “worse” than the other. they all have moments of seeing right through it, seeing each other’s toxic behavior for what it is, and STILL want and need each other in this possessive, envious, visceral way.

1. in the way beginning, tashi is clearly flirting more with art than patrick, and patrick is visibly annoyed. art sees right through it and even challenges him like “okay, let’s leave”, and has this little smirk on his face because he knows patrick won’t give up on tashi.

2. tashi immediately sees the visible tension and love between art and patrick, and literally orchestrates their first kiss. she sees right through their repression, and even calls herself a “home-wrecker” but still entangles herself with them, especially patrick because he’s clearly the better tennis player at that point and that is tash’s ONLY true love. tennis. that’s what she desires most in him, and patrick knows that. he even calls her out on it in the dorm room scene. but they have this mirroring fire in each other that neither of them can give up, not until patrick breaks the balance and bails — tashi’s injury is literally a metaphor for the balance shattering between all three of them when patrick leaves her.

3. before this, patrick sees right through art trying to break them up, and even admires that quality — maybe even feels smug and flattered because art is jealous and feels left out from both tashi and patrick. patrick has known this all along, we saw it in the “tick-serve” scene, where he even swears to tashi he won’t tell anyone but he still tells art, who is desperate to feel a part of them and patrick wants that, too — even keeps that close intimacy with art that we see in the churro scene (swoon swoon swoon).

4. haven’t you noticed that arts desire to be great is only ever tied up in patrick and tashi? how he needs to beat patrick to win tashis affection, how he needs to win in tennis so that tashi can live through him, how he lives up to his potential in the ending only because tashi and patrick push him to it, in their little fucked up ways? he knows this — he even admits that he’s playing for tashi, that he knows she’s living through him. he even admits he’s playing a fucked up little game with patrick when they’re in the sauna. yet he still does it. again, he knows what’s happening, sees right through them — still does it, still loves them.

5. when tashi calls patrick to come pick her up he knows it’s not just to tell him to throw the match — and despite how she battles him about it, they still have sex in the car, because he already knows. he’s so fully aware of her and her game and he’s so willing to be caught up in it, the same as art.

just some examples of how they all have moments of clarity and agency and yet they still choose to be entangled in one another because they’re all fucked up in their own, individual ways, and they’re all living through each other for their own specific needs. arts is to be seen as worthy, as great, but only through their gaze. tashis is to have the career that was stolen from her. patricks is truly to be in love and in lust with both of them, because we even see that from the beginning that tashis love alone will never satiate him; it has to be arts love, too. that scene in the sauna when he thinks he’s lost it from art is the most sad and fucked up we ever even see patrick. on top of tashi asking him to throw the game — he’s so defensive of arts feelings.

in short this is an actual love triangle (and i would go as far as to see it as a polyship). you can’t erase one without the whole thing unraveling, and you can’t say one character was the “worst” without picking apart the motivations and pointing to the fact that their bad behavior was never a secret or left unchecked.

even at the end, patrick signals to art that he slept with tashi — art knows and they still have that intimate completion at the end, all three of them. art living up to his potential and embracing patrick fully (id argue this could even be a metaphor for embracing his bisexuality), patrick having both tashi and arts affection again, and tashi playing a phenomenal tennis match through her little white boys — in such a visceral, emotional way that she cries out like she did in the beginning and the last frame is her smiling.

in a fucked up way, they all get what they wanted out of each other.

#challengers #challengers spoilers #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig #zendaya #mike faist #josh o'connor #luca guadagnino #text post

[shotmrmiller]

i always see 141 with the sex pollen trope

but how do you think they'd be to reader who's the one infected with sex pollen???👀👀👀

johnny offers his cock up instantly. whatever you want- he can give. he's been wanting to sink his teeth into you for ages. depravity, like a dog who's finally been given the bone that's been dangled in its face for too long.

kyle says no, no. it wouldn't be right by you, you're not in the state of mind to mean your consent. but then the way you whine his name has him beelining to you and you're getting debauched. forget about leaving the room, he's fucking you until the reason you can't think straight is because of his cock and not that silly pollen.

i like to believe that simon would taken great care in helping you, but only if you ask for him. he's not imposing himself on your person otherwise. he'd be tender, delicate- afraid to break you as if you were made of glass. maybe in a sudden moment of clarity, you goad him. 'this all the big boy got in him? fucking me like some virgin?' RIP to you and your hole. you will be remembered.

and price would say he feels responsible— as captain of his crew— that he should be the one to fix this mistake. and he's real nice about it, running his hands over your skin gingerly, til he sheathes himself into your cunt, and it's over. he's nasty in how he takes you, knees by your ears with his full weight behind each jarring thrust. he also doesn't stop talking filth that would have even simon apple cheeked if he heard it. best part is that he's completely unrepentant about what he said after the fact. he will look at you straight into your eyes and give you a wolfish grin ㅤ ᵕ̈

[artdcnaldson]

Has reader ever just had a "i have to get out" moment in the changeover universe?

Like art is trying to talk to her after sex and shes just staring at the wall re thinking her decisions.

They are very toxic and i know the reader has feelings for them so i think art would have been very smothering ir clingy if reader made any atempts at going out with another circle of friends and distancing herself

(im sorry i over analyse many situations 😭)

Anon… i love u <3 I love this messy main character bc i too would throw away my scruples for this man.

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Toxic situationship, manipulation kinda, mild angst

Summary: You say something you shouldn’t. It messes up the fucked up equilibrium that you and Art had found in whatever you could call the relationship you had together.

FEBRUARY 2007

For Valentine’s Day, you got Art a teddy bear and a box of chocolates. He got you nothing. He wasn’t your boyfriend, so you didn’t know why you were upset about it, but you were. It stung like a fresh wound, one you could never just let be.

The two of you fucked, because that’s what you always did. The feeling of his mouth on yours, warm and tasting of mint, almost made you forgive him for not getting you anything. He called you beautiful, let his hands trace your body reverently, made you cum once, twice before he pulled you into his lap and let you sink onto him.

His forehead was against yours, breath coming in pants as you rode him, bodies pressed so close it almost felt like making love. Maybe that’s why you said it— the words tumbling out like a prayer.

I love you, Art.

He was tense, for a moment, brows furrowed slightly, before he kissed you and laid you onto your back. He pulled another orgasm from an impossible place within you, one you didn’t know existed. He came, messy on your thighs, and rolled over onto his back.

It was quiet, and you felt so far away from him. Your fingers brushed against his hand, testing, but he pulled them away and stood to redress. It was so quiet that you could hear blood pumping in your ears, like an ocean.

”You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” was what he finally said.

Your lip wobbled, just slightly. And then tears pooled on your lashline. “Sorry,” you said weakly.

“It’s fine.” But you had a sinking suspicion that you’d really fucked up. He handed you a towel, and you cleaned yourself up as best as you could while fighting frustrated tears.

”Are you leaving?” You asked. He was standing in between yours and your roommate’s bed, like he hadn’t quite decided yet. You pulled on a tee shirt and underwear and gave him a pathetic, pleading expression. ”Don’t leave, please. I didn’t mean it. We can watch a movie.”

He acquiesced, and let you cling to his side pathetically after you pulled out a portable DVD player. You split a pair of headphones and watched The Royal Tenenbaums.

Halfway through the movie, clarity hit like a lightning strike. Or maybe it was more like a sinking feeling of dread— of being neck deep in quicksand before you realize you should be crawling out.

You couldn’t keep doing this. Because Art was a dream, really. Handsome, and talented, and smarter than you’d expected him to be. And he was so sweet, when he didn’t realize that he should’ve been discouraging your affection. Or maybe he liked it, but only when it was quiet and he didn’t have to acknowledge that what he was doing was wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t wrong and it was all your own fault for wanting someone who made it clear they weren’t emotionally available. Maybe you were pressuring him into something he didn’t want and it was all unfair to him too.

It didn’t matter. It was fucking killing you.

When the movie ended, he stretched and said he’d see you in class. You nodded, smiling the sad smile of a dog unknowingly being left at the pound.

Once the sadness faded, it was replaced with a molten resentment, an anger at him and yourself over your time being wasted. He still sat next to you in class, sneaking peeks of your notes, but you ignored him as best as you could. Days passed, then a week. You started to feel human again.

A couple weekends later, you ignored the text he sent asking for you to join him at a mixer the tennis team was planning on crashing. You ignored the follow up too.

You wound up at a party on the opposite end of campus with a few girls from the service org you were in. You flirted with a new guy, felt like maybe you were worth more than a casual fuck buddy.

So the sight of him sitting at your door when you finally stumbled home was the last thing you wanted to see. All sad, slumped against your door.

He scrambled to stand, expression filled with longing. “Don’t be mad at me,” he pleaded. “I missed you so fucking bad these past few weeks. Felt like I was going crazy.”

Your heart skipped, and hammered against your ribs. You wanted to reach out and kiss that sad, longing expression off his face. You wanted to tell him to leave. It was all very confusing.

“Don’t say that, Art, please,” you said weakly, lips turning down into a frown. You tried to sidestep him, to get the keys into the door, but he pulled you against his chest.

He smelled so nice— like cologne and cinnamon gum. You gave a pathetic sigh at the warmth of him, wrapped all around you. “I missed you,” he repeated. “It’s like a part of me has been missing. I wanted to talk to you so badly, to kiss you, to watch boring movies with you.”

Annoyance and longing bubbled hot in the pit of your stomach, you had to force yourself to push him away. “You just missed having a cheerleader you could fuck whenever you felt like it.”

He frowned. “That’s not true.”

”What’s my major? What’s my favorite place on campus?” He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply through his nose. “What’s my favorite movie?”

“How would I know that?” He asked, resignation flat on his features.

You rolled your eyes. “Because I tell you about it all the time. Because I’ve taken you there. Because I made you watch it. Twice.” You finally got into your room. When you didn’t slam the door, you realized that you were aching for him to follow. You wanted him to be near you, even if you were seething.

When you turned to face him, you hated that even though you were incredibly mad, you still wanted him to just prove you wrong. To convince you that you were being crazy and he was innocent and the only problem was you being a weirdo about your feelings.

God, he was so pretty. And he looked so sad.

“I’ll try to be better,” he said. “I’ll take you on dates, and buy you flowers, and give you what you deserve.”

But you’ll never be his girlfriend. You knew it, deep down. Even as you caved and gave a sweet, sad little nod. He was across the room, holding you against his chest as you felt annoying tears slipping down your cheeks. Tears of relief, of frustration, of resignation.

“I’m not Tashi,” you said when he pressed his lips to the crown of your skull. It was annoying that he had the power to quell all of your uncomfortable emotions with a single romantic gesture. He pulled back and met your gaze, and you softened. “I know she’s always been your first pick, and I don’t blame you, but I’m not ever going to be her, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

Something passed over his expression, briefly. “I know you’re not.” It was more of a lament than it was an attempt at comfort. “I’m not waiting on anything.”

His lips trailed down, along your jaw, at the corner of your mouth. He pulled back, looking at you expectantly. Are you going to let me?

Your lips parted softly as you kissed him with lips that tasted wet and salty. It was chaste, and sweet. He pulled back and ran his thumb along your cheekbone. “Let me hold you until you fall asleep? Please?”

It was hard to stay mad at Art Donaldson, even when you knew you really should.

Thank you for reading! If you have any requests in the Changeover universe, or otherwise send me an ask :)

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fanfic #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #my writing

[ma1dmer]

Call of Duty - Vladimir Makarov NSFW

the first time I went on a date with a slavic man my mother turned to me and told me "I didn't immigrate, for you to be going out with Ivan from the village" anyways, here is ivan from the village

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): surprisingly he talks, he'll go on and on about the small things in his day to day, his shitty day, the things he's seen since he last saw you, his plans for the future ,especially if you speak his language, in the darkness of your room pressed against each other naked like that, he almost opens up to you

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he loves legs, he is a man who can appreciate a good high heel to elongate them, loves fucking you in the tights and heels combo, very particular about them too, he sees you walking around in a skirt with a slit up the thigh and heels and he's pulling you to him, asking if this is his present

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): in the heat of the moment he's so into the idea of cumming on you, messing up that pretty face of yours or leaving his mark on you in a way, but the second that post nut clarity hits he is absolutely disgusted, quickly throws something for you to clean up with while wiping his hand

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he is a bit of a masochist, its just one of those things he'll never admit and you better not bring them up at any point in any conversation, but it gets him so riled up when you have the balls to slap him back, he doesn't encourage your behavior outside of very specific moments in the bedroom though, it's rare for him to actually allow it, but you can immediately tell when he's in one of those moods, he'll be lost in the feeling of you wrapped around his cock and suddenly yank your hand to wrap around his throat and growl at you to go on

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): a man with a lot of experience, mostly anonymous hook ups here and there, so it's tough to get him to get used to an actual serious commited relationship, but it's nice, he won't complain with having someone to always warm his bed or wait for him to come back home

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): the basics, on your back holding your legs as he fucks you, he'll kiss your forehead or cheek growling filth against your sweaty skin, if you turn away from his kisses he forces you to look at him, gets very petty about that

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): serious and very very intense

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): all natural, not particularly hairy but he doesn't do anything to it, he always smells very very strongly of cologne as well

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): not exactly romantic, if you keep him content and his bed warm, he spoils you outside the bedroom, that's his way of showing he cares and his commitment to you, but he keeps his distance in general, he is a greedy greedy man, he wants your full attention but won't give you his unless he is forced to do so

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): before he thinks of jacking off he first texts you, if you don't answer his texts, he calls you, asks you if you are busy, not really caring for any answer other than "no, my love, what do you want?" ,he'll be stroking himself through his pants as he asks you to come over or tells you he's about to pop in for a bit, if you happen to be busy he'd rather take a shower and wait for when when he can next see you again

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): power dynamics, impact play, choking etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): he keeps his private business behind closed doors, can't stand the idea of other men ogling you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): a short skirt, high heels, red lipstick, play a bit of dress up for him, he's a simple man who can still enjoy the simple pleasures of life

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): he does not share, he gets angry with you when another man looks at you, can't even comprehend the thought of bringing someone else in the bedroom, if you even suggest it, you are out, he's gone, and he's fucking every single woman within a 100 mile radius as revenge

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): loves receiving, he is not particularly gentle with it though, he likes things very specifically so he orders you around or straight up moves your head like his personal fleshlight, he also enjoys having a finger or two in him while you give him head, won't talk about it outside the bedroom, but always lifts his hips up or straight up moves your hand to his ass when he fucks your mouth to let you do your thing

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): rough and fast, he'll take his time to prepare you but once he's inside he's almost single mindedly chasing his own pleasure, you have to keep up with him and take matters into your own hand, enjoys the show greatly

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): not a big fan, if he is at work, he is at work, you don't intrude during that time and he hates nothing more than an impatient brat

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): not really, he likes things very particularly done, its difficult to convince him to do something new, he's not unmovable but if you insist too much he gets stubborn and will keep denying you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): it really depends on the context, how long since he last saw you? how pent up is he? after a success or a failure? how generous is he feeling that night? is he spending the night or needs to fly out in a couple of hours? everything moves with his schedule

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): he's quite possessive and very self absorbed, he doesn't like the idea of you using them by yourself when he's gone, but can definitely be convinced with something he can control for you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is pretty straight forward, isn't so much a tease as he has a bit of a mean streak, he enjoys the little jump you make when you think he's gonna spank you ,but instead he just gently cups your ass or thighs, will smirk and ask you if you are scared of him or something, tells you to relax and stop being so tense, even though you have legit reasons to be worried

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): grunts and groans and a lot, a lot of dirty talk, especially if he sees it gets a rise out of you, you'd expect him to be quieter but no not really, he makes these deep guttural grunts as he fucks you and curses up a storm, especially in russian

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): he is a pussy slapper, he eats it with precision and great enjoyment, but he's so mean about it, will coo at you in russian when you flinch at his touch

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): average length but very thick with a slightly thinner crown, very hard to adjust to

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): very average, it's common to send you off with a wave of his hand if he is busy, but when the need arises in him he does expect you to drop everything for him

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): this man is a little spoon, he will never admit it or ask, but every night he turns his back to you and expects you to hug him at some point

#call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #makarov smut #makarov #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov #vladimir makarov smut #vladimir makarov x reader #modern warfare #modern warfare smut #modern warfare 3 smut #modern warfare 3 x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #cod smut #cod mw3 smut #.writing

[nilsavatar]

DAY 31 - A/B/O

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST, SMUT in the end, love bites, rubbing, sexual tension, olfactophilia (they both turn on by smelling arousal/pheromones), P in V, manhandling, oral (f receiving), face fucking, fingering, praising, cursing, pet name (ma’uniltı`ranyu - my dreamwalker), rough, knotting, dirty talk, overstimulation, edging, strangers to lovers, first time (first heat, loss of avatar body virginity), begging, difference in power (alpha-omega dynamics), soft-dom Neteyam (mention of marking, possessive behavior but he’s kind and caring), Jamie Flatters cameo. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: Living in the body of an avatar is not as simple as one might think.

Little note: OMG! You have no idea how happy I am to have finally finished this fic. It has been on hiatus for so many months that I thought I would never publish it. The more time passed, the more the pressure to write something worth the long wait increased. I rewrote it so many times, but it never seemed good enough, and the editing was exhausting. I hope with all my heart not to disappoint your expectations. Please be forgiving: this is my first Omegaverse. Thank you🥰

If you would like to be tagged in future fics, please write it in the comments. I will be happy to add you all💕

Word Count: 7,6k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Aubree’s knowledge as a xenobiologist fell short in front of the challenges of living as a dreamwalker among the Na’vi.

The presence of a secondary sex was fascinating, fictional in the eyes of a human being, accustomed to a binary system. But on Pandora, things were way different. The natives displayed their primary sex (male or female) from birth, and their roles in the clan were influenced by signs that emerged during puberty. Alphas, predominantly men, possessed a massive physiognomy. Tall, muscular, strong-willed, controlled in character, yet predisposed to irascibility. Betas were the largest group, with an equal proportion of females and males, and the most human-like. Omegas, mostly women, were known for their petite and delicate build, along with a calming demeanor.

When she arrived on Pandora, she had no particular expectations of what her avatar’s designation would be. Still, no one would ever have considered a potential alpha looking at her features. Aubree was a spitfire who was unlikely to be pushed around and knew her stuff in professional terms. Someone who won’t let you get away with nothing. However, her dainty physique and conflict-avoiding tendency were clear indications she would be an omega (or beta at best). The moment she connected with the hybrid, clarity rained down on her like a burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Her own body erupted in a chorus of sensations, each one clamoring for attention. It was as if every nerve ending had awoken from a deep sleep, demanding to be felt. The omega within seemed to mold itself to her presence, wrapping around her with the natural warmth of a long-lost sibling's affection. Its voice, like a lullaby, soothed tenderly in her ears, caressed her senses, evoking a bittersweet nostalgia. It had waited for her for a lifetime, patiently biding, though she felt as if it had always been there; their destinies entwined for eternity. The connection felt familiar as if it had always been an integral part of her existence, hidden deep within her soul, longing to be seen. A joyous reunion with her inner essence, theirs, rather than a discovery of something new about herself. As her eyes fluttered open, the blinding white light of the hospital room assaulted her vision, her first instinct was to cry. Overwhelmed by the pent-up emotions that had been building within her.

Yet another factor played a role — a negative note. The recognition wasn’t exclusive to her; everyone around her, from the very moment she had awoken as an avatar, had sensed, smelled what she was. And this made it obvious why omegas often experienced such a designation as a condemnation.

Alphas’ attentions may be... excessive.

From a human perspective, Na’vi were naturally intrusive. The concept of personal space between the two species was totally at odds; they were prone to be close, to touch each other, to smell each other. A fundamental part of their socialization techniques. Aubree could have learned to tolerate it as a cultural trait if her alpha-designated colleagues didn’t engage in the same behaviors. They couldn’t help themselves.

“It’s the pheromones,” said matter-of-fact Max, not having any other scientific explanation. Studies on the subject were stalled. Without a vomeronasal organ connected to the brain, or terrestrial examples to refer to, they couldn’t describe the phenomenon. The only thing palpable to both of them, equally inexplicable, was that her wake was inviting. Alphas were almost reduced to a primal state around her. “You should talk to the Tsahìk about this,” Aubree mentally berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. Who better than the Tsahìk, the spiritual leader of the clan and the highest authority among healers, to provide her with the answers she sought? And maybe even help in dealing with the symptoms.

*

The healers’ tent wasn’t large. Quite the opposite, it was indeed small. The room appeared even tinier with the disorganized heap of things stacked on top of each other in a jumbled mess, creating the feeling it could burst at any time. An imminent threat to be fair. However, under scrutiny, one could discern an order in the distribution of the items. To her right, tools of various types and sizes covered the entire wall. To the left, on shelves arranged by color, were terracotta jars filled with powders and ointments. Some were large, others tiny; some had regular shapes, others were bizarre, tongued, or angular. Engraved on the bottom of each were symbols. An early form of writing, considering the People were still oral.

A little further down, the counter ran around the entire interior of the room to the nearest post of mattresses where sicks could rest. Behind the cupboard was the massiest shelf of all. Ampoules, mirrors, rolls of cloth, baskets of bandages, needles, and flowers stuffed somehow. That place was a unique contradiction, ranging from manic order to disturbing chaos. Despite the dimness and the oppressive atmosphere, the tent also emitted a serene, welcoming feeling, akin to the mystical aura of a shaman’s lair.

But one not was out of place. Post-its here and there written in… English? What were post-its doing in the Tsahìk tent? They were so out of context.

“I see the human touch doesn’t go unnoticed.” Aubree gasped, more at the dull sound of something heavy being moved across the counter than the surprise itself. A woman emerged from the myriad of baskets scattered across the floor, placed one on the wooden shelf, and emptied its contents. Her hair, just above her chin, was straight but messy. The tswin, displayed in front of her chest, obscured the huge needle that hung from her slender neck. At every movement, the beads of the intricate shawl that covered her shoulders and breasts jingled, as lively as a child’s laughter. A streaked cerulean complexion set off lemon-yellow irises fixed upon her like those of a cat.

How old was she? Her face appeared youthful, almost adolescent, yet her eyes betrayed wisdom and worldliness far beyond her years.

“You must be Aubree. I was waiting for you to show up.” It seemed as if the healer’s pupils flickered at the sound of her name. The avatar stepped forward. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Kiri te Suli Kireysi’ite, Tsahìk of the Omatikaya.” Acting on impulse, she extended her hand, but when the young woman didn’t shake it, she hastily corrected the gesture into the typical bow of greeting and reverence. She looked amused.

“No need for formality here. We are the same age and are both researchers. We have more in common than you might think.” A smirk curved her plump lips as she put her fists on her sides. “To what do I owe the glee of your visit? I suppose you need to ask me something.” Her sudden remark made her jolt. The Na’vi woman stopped arranging the shelves and turned to look at her with anticipation. “Well?” “I wouldn’t know where to even start. It’s something I don’t fully understand,” she confessed. “Is it related to your dreamwalker body?” She nodded. “But humans cannot help you.” It wasn’t a question, but the scientist nodded anyway. Kiri drew a smile and disappeared behind a curtain that separated the room from the next one — a laboratory. After several minutes, she reappeared with a small box full of tea filters. “Have one in the morning and another in the evening. It’s a suppressant; it will quell your pheromones.”

Aubree blushed furiously. How…?

“I might be just a beta, but your wake is so strong that it knocked me out for a sec. I dare not imagine the effect you have on alphas.” “Not pleasant.” “Much too pleasant, you mean,” she chuckled. “Be careful not to abuse the drug. You wouldn’t want to find out about the side effects. And remember, it is a temporary remedy. Useless on the verge and during estrus.”

Estrus.

The idea hadn’t crossed her mind at all when she accepted her Ph.D. and joined the AVTR Program. She was so thrilled to pursue her dream she would have accepted any job proposal. And who was she to deny she had always felt a fascination about natives? Na’vi estrus cycle was highly articulated and varied by secondary sex designation. Beta females, like humans, had a menstrual cycle and were potentially always fertile, exhibiting no visual, behavioral, or olfactory signals announcing impending ovulation.

Quite a different story for omegas and alphas.

The former went into heat three times a year, about four months between cycles, and could last up to seven agonizing days in the absence of a partner to care for them. This was their peak fertility period. The latter rutted once a year, and the length of the inter-anestrus was unpredictable. In mated pairs wasn’t uncommon for one’s heat to trigger the other’s.

“What should I do when it happens?” “Well, the most natural advice would be to spend it with a playmate, preferably an alpha, as theirs are the only pheromones that have a calming effect on omegas. There is no risk of conception for those who are not mated, so as long as your kuru’s are not entwined, let go.” “Mm, alternatives?” “Lock yourself in a shelter until it ends, away from everyone. But that is the least desirable option. It’s terribly painful to face heat alone.” “I could stay disconnected as long as my avatar is in this state.” “Risking dying of dehydration and starvation in the meantime? Or worse, that some alpha will have fun at your expense?” Kiri hastened to say, noticing the scientist’s horrified expression. “Yes, it has happened, and I assure you that the physical memory of the trauma remains, even if consciousness was not present.” “But I’ll still have to log out myself. My human body needs care, too.” “All the more reason you should find someone to look after you, and quickly. Your first heat is approaching.”

As if that were a small thing.

“My intuition tells me you’ll be fine. Now go. And drink your infusion.” She was about to leave the tent when one last question left Aubree’s lips: “How will I know I’m in heat?” “Oh, trust me, you’ll know.”

She was so absorbed in Kiri’s words that she didn’t even notice the hungry glances she was catalyzing. Especially that of a distinguished man wearing a feathered cloak. The young Olo’eyktan followed her figure as she made her way back to the human outpost until she was swallowed up by the thick undergrowth.

“She doesn’t have a mate if that’s what you’re wondering,” a voice to his left exclaimed. As he turned, he came face to face with the Tsahìk, whose penetrating stare revealed a cunning expression that hinted at a deeper understanding. “I don’t see why this indiscretion of yours should interest me.” “Mm, I don’t know. Seems like she caught your interest.” “Hard to ignore with the trail she carries.” A corner of Kiri’s mouth twitched: Neteyam had just been trapped in the net. “She’s not the first omega with such a scent passing under your nose, but you’ve barely noticed the others.” The young man’s back straightened. “What's your point?” “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

Neteyam’s gaze was again lost in scanning the spot where the avatar had vanished, lost in a thousand thoughts. Unaware of the bright, wide smile that now graced his sister’s beautiful face. The satisfied smirk of one who sees three moves ahead.

*

Upon entering the research division’s canteen, some may have felt as if they stepped into Goldilocks’ fairy tale. Everything in there was big, big or small, small, except for the stove and tables, which were set at an intermediate height so that both avatars and pilots could use them.

Aubree stared at the teapot brewing the concoction Kiri had given her; her nose stung by the pungent yet fresh smell of nettle wafting from the spout. Carefully, she poured the liquid into a cup without straining — Ingest the leaves — and drank it. Immediately, her throat burned and a tremendous itch seemed to want to tear it open.

Shit, even worse than anticipated.

She took a seat on the plush sofa, its velvety fabric enveloping her frame. As she pressed play on the remote, the screen flickered to life, casting a soft glow on the dimply lit room. Her eyes followed the vivid images of a movie for distraction, but her mind was eaten up by the searing prickle that intensified with each passing moment. The discomfort became all-consuming, shielding her from the outside world, as if the itchy sensations had woven a barrier around her, isolating the woman in her own thoughts. She was oblivious to her colleague’s presence until he sank into the cushions beside her. His arm hung weakly on the backrest, almost brushing against her shoulder. But it was his sudden loud snort that jolted her back to reality. Aubree jumped as she turned to her right and found Jamie. His left knee wedged into his opposite ankle, his foot dangling in her direction. His head rested an inch from the wall, eyes half-closed in a drowsy state.

“You look tired.”

The guy let out a low, rumbling laugh in his typical mumble before replying that he felt like a bulldozer had run over him. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, evident in the strain it put on his distinct British accent. She surreptitiously watched him, taking in the details of his avatar that closely resembled the human it was created from. His gaze remained the same, although his blue irises had now turned a striking shade of yellow. His lips and teeth mirrored the original, except for the canines. When he smiled full-mouthed, two dimples appeared on his cheeks, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners, as if they were smiling, too. His slightly protruding incisors gave his face a boyish charm, contrasting with his strong, masculine features. He radiated a sense of gentleness.

That last remark had the same effect as lightning illuminating the night. They were conversing freely, as they would have if they were humans.

An alpha and an omega.

Aubree had gotten into the habit of avoiding alphas as much as possible when she was in this body; head down, shy look, walk fast. Never within nose reach. But Jamie did not lose his cool in her presence. He didn’t sniff the air greedily. His gaze didn’t become insistent as it passed over her face. He didn’t moisten his lips endlessly or clench his jaw and fists as if to keep himself from jumping on her. Nor did hold his breath and make excuses, running for his life as he was wont to do.

The suppressor was working!

The success of the next days was enough for the unknown estrus to recede into the background, in the darkest and most hidden place in her head. Who could blame her? Her life was finally back to normal. After all, her avatar's first heat couldn't have been so terrible, could it? Just stick to this simple recipe and everything will be fine, repeated as a mantra.

Remember, it is a temporary remedy. Useless on the verge and during the heat.

Time passed, and days turned into weeks. The taste of the medicine became more tolerable as her throat grew accustomed to its piquant flavor. Even if it wasn’t, the end justified the means. Aubree took the doses with obsessive precision, but after a few months, she noticed the effects wearing off, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it began.  The first warning came in the form of mild dizziness when she logged in, accompanied by a lingering feeling of fever. Then, her appetite waned, alternating with sudden bouts of hunger. Finally, twinges settled in her iliac fossae. She chalked it as harmless PMS, nothing she hadn’t already experienced. Most importantly, not a cause for alarm regarding her host’s performance or health; the hybrid was fully functional.

Wait a minute. Premenstrual syndrome?

As she walked down the hallway leading to the medical area, her mind wandered back to her last period. Her forefinger swiftly navigated the tablet, selecting the calendar app she used to track her menstrual cycle. She was still a long way from the start of the next one, a full two weeks, right in the middle of her fertility window. Maybe I’m ovulating. The symptoms she had been going through lately aligned with that assumption. Breast sensitivity, a slight increase in discharge, heightened lubrication, and libido.

This would have been enough to reassure her, if not for the steady, soft beeping coming from the hospital room, serving as a haunting reminder. Her stare roamed beyond the glass, taking in the circle of Link Units surrounding a pair of desks in the center, a total of eight. It settled on the last station on the far left. Number 3. Her lucky number. Well, not so lucky, given how things were going. The monitor next to it showed the status of the machine, the vitals of the subject inside, the neural activity of the two interconnected brains. The real-time image of the pilot's unconscious face.

Aubree’s face.

And so she realized the symptoms were none other than the avatar's. Ovulation, PMS, cravings were all alarm bells that the heat was near. But who gave her the coup de grâce was Jamie himself.

The guy was running towards her, calling out and weaving, eager for something he was about to share if he didn’t put the brakes on his run. With his palm up to cover his mouth and nose, he said, “Woah Bree... You stink.” His pupils showed a hint of dilation. “It’s time, isn’t it? The suppressant isn’t working anymore.” “Guess so.” “Um, I don’t wanna freak you out or anything, but...” He scratched nervously at the back of his head, no longer holding her gaze. “... if you ever need help dealing with… that. I mean, if I were in your shoes, I’d prefer a friend taking care of me over some random dude. So...” “Thanks, Jamie, for the offer. I know it’s from a genuine interest, and that you’re not trying to take advantage of the situation. I appreciate it, but maybe the Tsahìk can help me out while I’m in the shelter.” “It could last for days.” “I still haven’t come to terms that intercourses are the only way. She's possibly making it sound worse than it actually is.” “Possibly not. Thinking you’ll be locked up somewhere suffering...” "I'll log out for the night," Aubree giggled. “Besides, it would be kinda weird, don’t you think? We work together.” Now he couldn’t help but laugh. “I do science. Stuff like that won't faze me. You better hurry, based on the scent you're giving off, you could be in heat any minute. If you change your mind...” With a last playful wink, Jamie left.

Free to return to her concerns, Aubree’s smile turned into a taut line. She had to find Kiri. Quickly.

*

As she battled the relentless fever, the seemingly endless and overwhelming path to Hometree stretched out before her. Every step was a struggle, her trembling hands clutching onto the rough tree trunks for support. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her, her eyes squinting against the blinding rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. The intense heat made her perspire profusely, the dampness seeping through her clothes, clinging to her body like a second skin. She wished she could strip off her garments; the discomfort unbearable. The thought of dying of shame seemed trivial compared to the fire that consumed her from within, leaving her skin burning and blistering. 

Sounds of prolemuris filled the air, their calls echoing through the dense canopy. The heavy, rich, damp bouquet of lush vegetation mingled with the freshness of rain and whiffs of her scent, alerting a hunter nearby to her presence. His senses heightened. With narrowed eyes, he tasted the air, as if savoring a fine wine. The particles rose into his nostrils, painting a vivid image of Aubree in his mind. Her sweet face, adorned with sparkling eyes, and sinuous curves stood out against the dry features of the People. 

As he continued to track her trail, his pupils dilated, his senses enticed by the lingering aroma. Every step he took, he could feel the dampness of the forest floor beneath his feet, the rough texture of the leaves brushing against his fingertips. The air was alive with anticipation, as if holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable. But as quickly as the scent had captivated him, the hunter’s instincts kicked in. He realized that if he could smell her, others could too. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the dangers that lurked in the rainforest. With a determined resolve, he pressed on, his senses alert, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He left his prey to almost run the distance that separated him from the woman. His omega. The moments it took him to reach her seemed like hours when they were a handful of minutes at most. He found her at the foot of a plant, curled up in a ball, her cheeks stained with tears as she whispered incomprehensible words under her breath. The man staggered, his senses assaulted by the unmistakable pungent smell of her heat stench. A wake so overpowering that left him breathless and struck, unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Teeth gritted and jaw clenched to the breaking point, he bravely advanced towards her, finally falling to his knees. If only he had resisted his natural urges. He could not allow himself to give in. Not him.

With a gentle touch, he cradled her jaw in his palm and soothed her with slow, reassuring strokes along her side, repeating, “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re safe now. You're not alone; I'm here for you. You’re going to be okay.”  Her cry-streaked face trembled as she whispered, “Please... I can’t take it any longer,” cheeks dampened by an endless stream of tears. “Just take care of it.” He cursed in frustration, powerless that he couldn’t even bring her to his sister. Kiri was assisting a primipara in childbirth. “Please!”  Before taking her in his arms and laying her gently against his chest, the Na’vi sighed, his voice filled with resignation, “Yes, whatever you need.”

Walking backward towards the nearest shelter, he kept his gaze fixed on the path, his piercing eyes fully focused on his surroundings, scanning for any signs of danger. The very direction he had originally come from. Not that anyone could have stood up to him under those circumstances. Regardless of whether he had reached the woman first, no one would have been foolish enough to challenge the clan’s top warrior. 

Groaning, Aubree nuzzled against him, finding solace in the familiar and calming scent that emanated from his skin. Like lowered into a light, peaceful bubble, his soothing alpha pheromones everywhere. An alpha she couldn’t recognize, her vision too blurry, but to whom the omega inside her was singing a serenade. In this foggy confusion, she could only hear the beating of his heart against her ear and the oh-so-big, firm hands holding her up. And though she could not see him, starry eyes appeared in her mind’s eye, looking tenderly at her. 

Her fantasy drifted away, picturing him holding her close, his lips exploring every inch of her body, and their lovemaking leaving her in a state of euphoric surrender. A shiver ran down her spine and made her throbbing quicken at the mere thought of being touched where the tremendous burn concentrated the most. The brush of his lips on her forehead and the tip of her nose made her believe, if only for an instant, that reality had merged with her imagination. His voice lingered in the air, like a gentle gust against her mouth, hinting that they were just moments away from their destination.

Where, she would have inquired, but there wasn’t much room for consistency in her head right now, her perceptions too chaotic to form a coherent question. She would have gone to the ends of the Universe, as long as it meant she could be near him.

Next to her, on her, inside her. Her heart raced with anticipation.

As the hunter laid her down on the mattress and went to fetch water, it was no surprise that her expression crinkled, her eyelids opened slightly, and a low moan eluded her parched lips.

“You need to drink,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern, as he offered out a small bowl. The liquid inside shimmered, reflecting the soft glow of the room. However, she shook her head, causing the contents to spill onto the floor, the sound of the liquid splashing echoing through the silence. A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but it quickly melted away, replaced by a deep-seated worry as he watched her. Her arms opened towards him, inviting him into her embrace. He had never encountered such desperation and helplessness in an omega before. 

Calmly, he laid down beside her, pulling her gently towards him. As he hugged her, she could feel the tension slowly leaving her body. But it wasn’t enough. Aubree craved more, she needed more. And so he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and tender, like a delicate caress. When she bit into them, the taste exploded on her tongue, a blend of sweet honey and warm sunshine. The flavors danced and mingled, delighting her senses. Closing her eyes, she felt a rush of sparks and stars illuminating her mind. His tongue explored her mouth with a gentle touch, mirroring the soothing sensation of his hands as they massaged her tense shoulders.

She felt perfect, cocooned in the strength of his embrace. The soft glow of candlelight danced across their entwined bodies, casting a warm, intimate atmosphere. The warmth of his arms, his faint scent mingled with her own, enveloped her, creating a sweet, comforting haven from the outside world. Yet, an intoxicating sensation filled the air as she nestled against his chest, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. A soothing melody that resonated deep within her. Every touch, every caress, sent waves of bliss coursing through her body. In this moment, she found solace and contentment, knowing that she had found her rightful place - in his loving arms.

She was exactly where she belonged, complete and fulfilled.

When he let go, she was panting, her lungs desperate for oxygen, her heart pounding in her chest. All she could see were his eyes, lost in darkness. Delighting in her exquisite taste, surpassing his wildest dreams, he pressed his lips against her face and kissed her deeply. The overwhelming passion seemed to consume her, suffocating her with its intensity. He gently moved away, giving her a chance to catch her breath, and as he did, he positioned himself on top of her, taking off the thin t-shirt she had on.

As much as he longed to press his skin against the avatar's, the Na’vi couldn’t help but be drawn to her curvaceous physique, a stark contrast to the ruggedness of his own kind. He took his sweet time to admire her; the naked breasts, the rounder hips, he could not resist stroking them with his fingertips. Aubree’s scent brainwashed him, a slave to the instinct to take her where she was, but in the back of his mind, there was still enough clarity to realize that he was truly amazed by the wonder of the woman before him. He liked her. He really liked her. He had liked her from the first moment he had noticed her, her trail so enchanting that it could not be ignored.

Once again, he yearned to taste her, to hold her. He placed his lips upon every reachable inch, leaving his mark with his intoxicating scent. He lavished attention on her face, caressed her eyes, nibbled on her ears, traced her collarbones, and claimed her neck, burying his nose in her skin, his tongue tenderly exploring the hidden depths behind her shoulder. It was a remarkably sensitive spot, causing her to surrender to pleasure, her corneas tilting backward in ecstasy. The surge of pheromones transformed into a primal growl, resonating deep within her core; uncontrollable shivers coursed through her body. He pressed harder against her hips, releasing a second wave that intensified their connection.

Aubree wrapped her limbs around him, squeezing him in a fervent embrace. The sound of their mingling breaths filled the air as their lips met once more, a symphony of desire. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his body against hers, she reveled in the way he effortlessly fit into the curves of her form. Each kiss and caress he bestowed upon her skin brought a cascade of relief that engulfed her senses.

Through the graceful dance of their bodies, she felt the weight of his longing against her. Every movement spoke volumes of his desire to please her, to alleviate her anguish. As his lips explored her skin, a low, guttural moan escaped her throat, resonating with a mixture of gratification and pain. In the air, a spice of raw passion intertwined with a hint of vulnerability. In his touch, she could sense the depth of his caring, his soulful dominance.

She realized how similar they were: two people subjected to their nature.

Equally desperate, her lungs aching, she reached a trembling hand towards his tail, fingers brushing against the coarse texture of the loincloth. The tightly cinched knot resisted her efforts, causing each tug to reverberate with a faint sound of strained fabric. The hunter, his muscles trembling with anticipation, propped himself up slightly, his breaths mingling with hers in the dimly lit room.

Time slowed to a torturous crawl as he painstakingly unraveled the knot, his fingers working with meticulous precision. The sensation of the fiber slipping through his grasp sent shivers down his spine, a mix of alleviation and frustration intertwining in his chest. The weight of the tewng around his ankles became a physical reminder of the barriers they both longed to shed. Almost on the verge of tears, he yearned for liberation from this confining cloth, craving the proximity and warmth they shared. With a swift motion, he freed himself from the bindings, the garment rustling quietly as it fell to the ground. In an instant, he pulled her back into his embrace, his arms blanketing her with a renewed fervor.

As their bodies tangled, a rush of emotions flooded their senses — the scent of their shared desire hung heavy in the air, mingling with the musky aroma of sweat. The touch of their skin, now unencumbered, ignited a fire that burned with an intensity they could no longer deny.

The scientist loved every moment; his piercing, smoldering gaze fixated on her, lolling in every tender touch, every flattering word, but she reached her limit, and he could sense it. Suddenly, the biting cold dusk shrouded her exposed form. Her garments were violently ripped away, leaving her vulnerable. The icy sensation lasted only a fraction of a second, though, for that was all the time it took for the stranger to plunge into her doused core. His intricate braids tickled against the satin-like skin of her inner thigh. The balmy breeze of his breath danced upon her as she rolled up her sticky legs around his head. “No need for that,” she giggled, her voice trembling. The sharp edges of his canines teased her, causing a playful tingle to spread across her lips. His smile showing both desire and mischief.

With exasperating slowness, he inhaled in a long sniff, his expounded pupils pulsating as they reopened. He dove in to guzzle the juicy nectar at its source, emitting a hoarse moan with the initial sip. She gasped, feeling the vibration against her quivering lips, as a blissful wave rippled through her soul, intensifying her arousal. Gripping her silky hair, he nestled his face, exploring every crevice, nuzzling her thoroughly. His insatiable tongue and eager lips caressed the velvety walls of her intimate entrance, skillfully teasing the supple skin and delicate clitoris. His left hand, loving and firm, cupped her slender ankle, his touch sending shivers up her bone. Slowly, he trailed his hand up her smooth thigh, his fingertips tracing every contour, igniting a fiery anticipation within her. With a whispered whoop, he sank his index into her swollen, drenched core, the wetness coating his digit. There was no resistance, only an overwhelming urge for more. In sync with her ragged sighs, he added a second finger. The sound of their combined panting saturated the air as her grip tightened around his relentless, plunging fingers.

At this point, Aubree was trembling with need as every fiber within her begged to be fucked. The alpha’s dominant pheromones beguiled her, while his languid, deliberate movements captivated her gaze. His hungry eyes, dark and all-consuming held her spellbound by the way he devoured her. The crushed combination of his present and skill left her subdued, infatuated even. As her back arched in pleasure, a primordial scream tore through her open windpipe. Excitement was so intense, a fiery mixture of ecstasy and release so gratifying and flawless,  that her omega felt a devastating love than just heat. In that instant, he hit her G-spot with caustic precision one final time, causing her to pour forth in a torrential climax. A violent, passionate eruption met by the man’s eager mouth, which drank her essence like a thirsty beast.

However, something unexpected happened as the orgasm subsided. Aubree burst into tears.

Copious tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks; wet, hot streaks that burned almost as scorching as the new, unbearable fire festering in her belly. Sobs rang through the shelter as he called her back, holding her tightly in his protective embrace, now curled against his chest seeking consolation. “Shushu... ‘Upe kemwiä? (What is it?).” He murmured, his lips resting on her temples as he futilely wiped away her tear-strained cheekbones. “It doesn’t go away, it doesn’t go away.” She cried, her nails scratching his chest, desperately trying to hold on to something. Her nose rubbed against his rib cage, then his jaw to impregnate him with her perfume, his heart pounding wildly.

In a frenzy of kisses and bites and touches, he let her vent, his digits grazing along her spine, confused by the speed with which the urge had reassembled in her. The Na’vi was confused by the speed with which the itch had reassembled within her. Normally it would take a few hours after such a powerful first orgasm. Time to rest, eat, drink. Aubree badly needed hydration to combat the incessant fever that plagued her and the fluids she was losing.

“Take a moment to rest. You need to drink.” “Screw the water, I want you,” she confessed, her misty eyes fixated on him. They shimmered with unstoppable tears and thirst. Her face flushed with a violent purple. It was the most powerful heat the man had ever witnessed, and he wondered what had triggered it. That it was her first heat? Had the suppressors made her high? It was because of him? The alpha in him reprimanded him with the natural mildness of primal appetites. Just take her, she’s pleading for it. But he shook his head. It wasn’t him. He was better than that. He had been raised to care for others, not to use them. Alphas protect, that was what gave them purpose; he would do anything to protect his mate, even from herself.

Even though she wasn’t technically his mate.

Despite not being bonded in the traditional sense, their connection was undeniable. Aubree, unbeknownst to her, held a special place in his heart from the very moment they met. It was clear from the start that this outcome was unavoidable. Calling upon anything that could keep him sane, he held some sort of energy drink under her nose. “Näk (drink).” The omega sounded at this command. It was as if by speaking in his native language, he was able to assert himself a thousand times more forcefully, even if she didn't get his words. The omega knew for both of them. “Can you do this for me? Drink this and I'll give you everything you want.” She had never heard anything more beautiful. She swelled the entire contents in one gulp, her head dizzy from the sudden amount of sugar. She fell back between the pillows with a quickening pulse, even if he was stroking her hair comfortably. The fall brought a fresh whiff of her needy wake, filling the entire hut as well as his nostrils. Instinctively, the hunter took a deep breath. A breath, that stopped halfway as his brain registered the source of the trail between the woman’s legs. A shimmering fountain that caused him to let out a guttural roar of defeat. He was so weak to her.

As he settled between her groin, the tip of his erection brushed against the warrior’s waistband, still clinging to his torso. The only garment Aubree had allowed him to keep.  The sight of him, breathtakingly elegant and athletic, thanks to Eywa’s mercy, overshadowed the idea of how many other omegas had the privilege of having him inside them before her. But now he was all hers. That thought alone ignited a fresh wave of excitement to blossom. He pressed his full weight onto her, and she wasted no time running her hands over his taut, strong, muscular back. Every contour, every sinew, was exquisitely formed and enticing under her touch. The closeness they shared, their bodies pressed against each other, sent a thrill through her. He smelled so damn good, hard and bothered for her. The way he responded to her advances only heightened her desire, flaring up a foreign heat in her veins, surpassing even her own natural instincts.

His shaft, long and thick, glided inside her, stealing her a gasp as he filled her in one fluid motion. Pleasure trembled through her, evident in her labored breathing and tightened walls. The barriers of her depths easily acclimated to his divine cock, satisfying even her smallest wishes. It was almost embarrassing to realize how every aspect of him was designed to please her — the texture of his body, the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips, the sound of his voice, his tantalizing scent.

She couldn’t help it and was somehow ashamed of her weakness. Her intimacy clenched at some point, in response to the blows he gave her, the few but deep sounds he made. So securely he gasped at the faint pain before rushing to her mouth in a ferocious kiss. Demanding, needy. He bit and pulled at her lip, pushing his tongue to lick the arch of hers, to suck her teeth, making her vibrate around him.  Had she mentioned that his lips were amazing? Yes, she had, but who cared? She would have repeated over and over again how unworldly they melded with hers in such a sublime way that they would have stunned her if she weren’t for the crazy pheromones already. Aubree didn’t even know who this man was. Her senses tangled, preventing her from recognizing his face or voice, despite a nagging suspicion of familiarity. Her mind sporadically focused before touch or smell overpowered it. Now taste. His lips felt like fresh fruit, sweet and full-bodied. She would have spent hours luxuriating in them, but the impression she was about to burst grew and grew, driving and unbearable.

She moaned uncontrollably as the Na’vi drew back his hips until only the tip rested against her core to thrust again before effortlessly thrusting again. Each new point of contact stung inside her. The avatar felt an insatiable desire to take all of him, to never let go. Her heart filled with euphoria — little bites, caresses, kisses ran through her body, which now smelled like his. She tugged at his hair as he made his way back to her mouth, her wet thighs encircling his waist, her heels nestled in the dimples of Venus. Clinging to him as if the contact of his epidermis, his chest, his arms weren’t enough. She craved more. Their hearts pounded in unison, like furious galloping horses, their passion untamed. “Tsahey, sı`ltsan’efu (oh hell, feels good),” he grunted, his timbre low and gravelly. Kind of a dirty move whispering praise in Na’vi into her ear. His words danced to the tips of her toes from the dull joy it gave her to feel appreciated, as the sound of their frames colliding echoed in the hut, a symphony of lust and devotion. Her cries grew shrill, a melodic chorus that fueled his every thrust. He was so hot, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat, as he moved faster, the friction intensified, sending sparks shooting through all of her body. Aubree clasped her legs around his waist, hankering for everything he offered. His grip on her shoulders steadied, his fingers digging into her skin. The force of his thrusts increased, each one hitting her with a mix of pleasure and pain. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving red trails in their wake.

The man rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingled; his lukewarm exhales covering her face and his ears full with her gasps. The smell of their passion hung heavy in the small space, a heady mixture of steam and need. He watched her in both ecstasy and disbelief. The sight of such intensity in his gaze overpowered her, but she clung to it, relishing every moment when his dick struck a sensitive bundle of nerves.

As she felt his knot dwell, alpha pheromones crept into her subconscious, drowning her omega in the musky aroma of dominance and submission, an exhilarating fog that pushed her further into surrender. The place seemed to darken as her soul naturally responded to him; her pulse hastening with trepidation. Each frantic gasps for oxygen a struggle against the sweeping emotions. She had no choice but to capitulate, to cry out for him. It felt as if her very DNA had been written to covet him, to lock him inside, but the native held her back, prolonging the exquisite torture.

“That’s not a good idea. It’s your first time.”

A new growl escaped her windpipe, vibrating hungry rage. A rumble that allowed no response, a warning that made him bend his ears back and sink to the point of no return. His stare fixed on her with a longing that knew no bounds. Now only orgasm could free him from her clutches. His expression seemed pained, a flicker of hesitation, but it lasted only a second before the most animalistic and savage sounds she had ever heard rose from the back of his throat. The researcher bit his neck to stifle a moan louder than the others, desperate to repress the burden that threatened to consume him. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop for concern of hurting her. He gasped, his grip on her hips toughening as he plunged more fervently, the rhythmic slapping of their bodies reverberating through the room.

“Don’t ever come out. Stay in forever,” she stammered in confused, fading whimpers. His reaction was harsh, his hips digging with such force that the knot scraped hard against her walls, inducing her to writhe in ecstasy. “Nga tsun ke pawm fula tsonta oe… Nga zir fìtxan tsìltsan (You can’t just ask me that… You feel so amazing).” His voice strained with lust. In response, the woman gyrated her hips even deeper against him, moaning with abandon until he filled her completely. His burning seed spread inside her, as he released a final wave of pheromones that triggered an orgasm so powerful it knocked her unconscious — her frame succumbing to the overwhelming fulfillment that exhausted her. “Are you okay?” He kissed her temple, but she could barely nod, still breathless. “Good.”

Amid that swirling sea of dizzying, carnal lechery, the Na’vi caught a whiff of her enticing trail, drawing him in like a magnetic force. He twisted her neck gently, planting kisses and licks behind her ear, where it released all sorts of fragrances that blended with the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Aubree shivered, her skin tingling as he grazed his teeth over her sensitive flesh. The aroma of her essence intensified here, so potent it could dance on his tongue, so tantalizing to explore further.

As he indulged in a small taste, her partner’s presence surged within her; his dick twitched, and automatically her inner walls throb around him. Just as her apprehension grew, fearing his bite, his lips found her ear where he murmured: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t mark you until you ask me to.”

Suddenly, a clarity washed over her, as if the dense intoxication of hormones had dissolved, leaving her lucid in its wake. The researcher pushed her lover away, panic coursing. Her narrowed eyes hinted at a revelation, now that she could finally name the alpha who had guided her in her very first heat, still mating with her with a satisfied and dangerous grin.

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya.

Her eyelids suddenly grew heavy. Aubree fought not to close them, but with each blink it became harder and harder to keep them open. She felt his fingertips brush the hair from her face, then caress one cheek as he lowered himself to place a light kiss on her forehead.“Hahaw, ma’uniltı`ranyu. Nga kin ne tsurokx. Tätxaw ngeyä tawtutetokx. Oe veaywng nga kay sìn. (Sleep, my dreamwalker. You need to rest. Return to your human body. I’ll take care of you from now on).”

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

@neteyamssyulang @layla2-49

#lunaskinktober2023 #avatar the way of water #avatar fanfiction #neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x reader #avatar fic #neteyam sully #neteyam smut #neteyam x oc #neteyam x avatar!oc #neteyam x avatar!reader #avatar neteyam #neteyam avatar #avatar smut #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x f!reader #neteyam x avatar reader #neteyam x avatar oc #neteyam suli x reader #atwow neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #avatar oc #neteyam angst #avatar au #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #alpha/beta/omega verse #alpha/beta/omega au #alpha/omega

[loveindefinitely]

O b s e s s e d with need to listen to me. I can't get it out of my head.

I mostly can't stop thinking of soap who is so disgruntled and moody after the whole ordeal. Just absolutely pent up, so he starts acting out, snapping, talking back, that sort of thing. As promised price extends his punishment and it only breaks soap down more and more until finally he's sobbing and begging price to please do Something.

I have no idea where to go from here I just love the mental image of soap acting out when he doesn't get what he wants, maybe price extends ghost and gaz's punishments as well. Says something like "you can thank him for this" and now they're All huffy and upset.

Reader's the only one who is spared so they take out their frustration on her.

Ok i'm done thank you so much have a good day

-🐭

you are a GENIUS omg. ily. this is sososo canon in this mini poly141 verse.

warning. nsfw drabble (cont. ntltm)

because you're so right. soap would be a total bitch afterwards. needy and pent up and kinda jealous that you two are the only ones that got to get off, even though he put so much effort into eating you out. homeboy is stressed.

cue the next morning, where he's grumpy, whiney and just overall being a frustrating guy to be around.

ghost is in the kitchen, fixing up breakfast in the mess, and soap would just come up behind him, nuzzling his head into his neck and pressing his dick against simon. rutting into him kinda, before ghost shoots him a vicious glare. he backs off.

but then, he sees gaz walking in, and he rushes over to him, pulling him into a deep hug. one that was a bit too much for their usual morning interactions.

that's when you stumble in, weary eyed and still kinda lethargic from last night's ordeal.

and soap's not mad, not really, but he's frustrated that you got the better end of the deal.

so, he pulls you in, hands at your hips, before he's assaulting your mouth with feverish kisses. they're frantic, and you can feel how hard he is where it presses against your stomach. you try and pull away, and when you do, the man huffs like a disgruntled pup.

when it's price who comes in next, soap is pissed off beyond relief.

rising a brow, a challenging one, price would ask how he slept. soap would roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath that would have your eyes blowing wide, a little shocked, a little dismayed.

gaz would blow out a deep exhale, extracting himself from the situation, walking quietly over to ghost. which, for once, would be the safest option out of you four.

and price would narrow his eyes, daring soap to keep up his pissy attitude. soap would, of course, because this man has absolutely ZERO self preservation skills.

he'd then have the nerve to ask if he can bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you. just, openly asking, as if you yourself aren't standing right there.

price would simply tell him that he won't be allowed to stick his dick in anything for the rest of the week.

then, he'd stride over to the other two men without another word, tell them the same thing, and get to work cutting up some spinach.

and you'd be left there, gaping, confused, as soap stands with a similar expression. as if he wasn't fully aware that his actions held consequences, and he really shouldn't have been such a brat after last night.

he'd narrow his eyes at you, snarky, saying something about how you yet again evaded punishment.

say something about how price 'dinnae said nothin' 'bout bendin' ye over, aye?" and he'd forcefully bend you over the table, rutting into your back like a mutt, using your body without inserting anything anywhere.

and, with a moment of clarity, you'd realise that gaz and ghost are watching, with a glint of envy in their eyes.

you'd been in for a long week.

this is absolutely shit btw because halfway through writing this my BED BROKE and i think i may have also broken my toe. so this is coming from a place of pain and distress. great idea tho !! thanks for enjoying my writing mwah mwah

#✉️ : love letters #⌨️ : love's writing #love ;; letters #ILYYY #cod mw #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #soap cod #cod smut #call of duty smut #cod mw2 x reader #call of duty x reader #poly 141 #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #price x reader #price cod #price mw2 #ghost x reader

[sungmee]

(OFMD) just a little ep 8 alternate ending mini-fic

Izzy is laying there in a sort of daze, bullet wound in his side, Ed holding him, the crew around them. He says to leave him to sit with Ed, he says he wants to go. “That would be the blood loss talking, little man.” says a low drawl above his head, before Roach is casually slotting himself next to Ed, tugging at Izzy’s shirt and vest to get at the wound. Stede drops down on Izzy’s other side, face tight with worry and eyes wide, and Izzy wrinkles his nose. “I said-”

But Izzy can’t continue as, like a spell being broken, he’s suddenly surrounded by the rest of the crew, clustered so close it's almost suffocating. Voices overlap around him; Fang is saying something reassuring, Jim is threatening him to stay alive, and he thinks he hears Black Pete say ‘isn’t it bad luck for a unicorn to die?’ before Lucius elbows him. Izzy blinks.

The sharp pain from Roach sewing him up is bringing clarity back into his head, and he swears as his thoughts realign. He can’t think about them all wanting him to live, not now, so he focuses on the more prevalent matter.

“Why the fuck aren’t we moving?” They all look confused. “The ship!” He snaps. “The Navy are still out there, we should be sailing away, you twats!” The crew jump and immediately scramble off, rushing to get them going, and Izzy huffs.

He turns to snap at Stede, only to come face-to-face with a pair of big teary puppy eyes. Stede is also clutching tightly at his hand, he realizes, and Izzy sighs. “...fine, you can stay.”

Instead, Izzy turns to Ed, who's clutching his other hand and looking deeply relieved. “You, go help with the ship.” Ed blinks. “You know how to sail, go help them.” Ed opens his mouth to protest, but Stede speaks up. “It’ll help with making amends to the crew.” Ed closes his mouth, nods. He gives Izzy’s hand one last squeeze, before rising and crossing the deck to where Fang and Oluwande are working.

Roach finishes up his work, securing the bandages and giving Izzy one last assessing look, before nodding in satisfaction and joining the rest of the crew. And then it's just Stede and Izzy. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t have let me go.” Izzy mutters. Stede tilts his head. “Did you really want to?” Izzy grimaces. “...no.” Stede says nothing, only turns so his cheek is resting against the top of Izzy’s head, and Izzy has to breathe deep for a moment. He had come so close to losing everything he had only just gained, and the sharp pain in his side keeps him grounded.

Eventually, Stede says they probably shouldn’t be in the middle of the deck, and Izzy snorts. He goes to stand, stumbles, and Stede catches him, scoops him up in his arms, despite Izzy’s protests. They go into the captain’s cabin, get the blood cleaned off, get Izzy out of his dirty clothes. Stede guides him to the bed, and Izzy pauses. “Trying to get me into your bed, Bonnet?” He drawls, falling back on snark when he’s feeling so off-balance. Stede rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and you can have me in there too later, if you want.” He replies, with equal sass. Izzy flushes.

Stede gets him under the covers and he drops off almost instantly, exhausted. When he wakes, morning light pours in the windows, slightly cracked to let in a fresh breeze. The room is empty, but there are his clothes, neatly folded on a nearby chair. Izzy reaches for the pile, unfolds the shirt and vest. Both garments have been cleaned and mended, patched where the bullet hit him, and he stares blankly at the handiwork for a moment.

He can feel the breeze on his back, hear the crew out on deck. He remembers how they clustered around him, how Ed had looked devastated, how Stede had fought for him. He swallows hard and slips into his shirt, then opens his vest, taking it slow because of his injury.

His eyes catch on a shape on the inside of the vest and he freezes. On the outside, the fix is barely noticeable, a slightly different shade of black filling in the hole, but on the inside is a full patch, carefully stitched, and…

…in the shape of a rose. “What the fuck.” He hisses to himself, tears springing unbidden to his eyes.

Suddenly, he is very very grateful to still be alive.

#our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers

[talkdutchtome]

Glitch- chapter five

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

The dim light in the cozy living room flickered as Y/N paced nervously. She turned to the figure on the couch, who had been quietly listening to her unravel her thoughts. "I'm sorry for coming so late, but I was just so confused. I didn't know what to do." 

The figure shifted, and a voice that was both comforting and familiar responded, "No need to apologize. Take a seat and tell me what's on your mind." 

Y/N sank into a nearby chair, her eyes searching for answers in the patterns of the rug. "It was going really well. He’s so nice, I really liked him. But then he started talking about taking me to Monaco and I panicked, I don’t even know why I..” She trailed off, unsure about how to even put into words what she was feeling. She had just ran away from a date with an incredible guy, a date that was actually going really well, and was now sat in her friend's living room at almost 11 o'clock at night. The man in front of her was patient, he let her into his home and was listening to every word she said, and that just made her feel so much worse.  

“I don’t know what to do Reece, I just ran away, he’s going to think I’m so weird. And you, we’ve only been real friends for five minutes and I’ve just turned up at your house and unloaded all of my crap onto you. Fucking hell, I’m such a mess.” 

Reece's gaze remained steady as Y/N bared her thoughts, her vulnerability evident in the dimly lit room. He listened attentively, offering a soft smile as she apologized once again. 

"Y/N, you don't have to apologize for coming here. That's what friends are for," Reece reassured her, his tone warm and understanding. "You're not a mess, and you're certainly not burdening me. I'm here for you, okay? I get why you wouldn’t want to talk to Mason about this too.”

She nodded, appreciating his kindness. "Thanks, Reece. I just don't want to mess things up. He's a great guy, and I ran away like an idiot." 

He smiled, his eyes reflecting genuine concern. "Look, I’m by no means an expert in this subject but from a guys perspective, maybe you should just tell him how you feel. Let him know that you like him but that you need things to go slowly. Honesty is key in these situations, and if he's as great as you say, he'll appreciate your openness." 

Y/N considered Reece's advice, a sense of clarity emerging. "You're right. I should talk to him. Thank you, Reece. I don't know what I would've done without you tonight." 

Reece chuckled softly, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "That's what friends are for, Y/N. Anytime you need someone to talk to, I'm here." 

Y/N expressed her thanks once again, her weariness evident in her grateful smile. "Thank you, Reece. I should get going." 

As she began gathering her belongings and preparing to leave, Reece, noticing the late hour and the weariness in her eyes, interjected gently. "Wait, Y/N. It's pretty late, and it's dark out. I wouldn't feel right letting you walk home alone now. Why don't you just crash here for the night? I've got a spare bedroom, and you can head out in the morning." 

Y/N's initial hesitance was palpable, her brows furrowing with concern. "Reece, I really don't want to impose on you any more than I already have." 

Reece shook his head, a warm and reassuring smile on his face. "Y/N, it's not an imposition. I'd prefer you stay here. I wouldn't feel comfortable letting you walk home alone at this hour." 

A brief moment of contemplation passed before Y/N nodded, gratitude softening her features. "Okay, thank you, Reece. I appreciate it." 

He guided her to the spare bedroom, its ambiance a mix of coziness and simplicity. He assured her to make herself at home, offering, "I've got training early tomorrow, so help yourself to anything you need in the morning. Sleep well." 

Y/N expressed her thanks once more, and as she stepped into the spare bedroom, the soft glow of a bedside lamp revealed a neatly arranged space. The comfortable bed beckoned her, and, feeling the weight of the night's emotional rollercoaster, Y/N surrendered to its embrace. 

She slipped under the covers, the softness of the pillows providing a welcomed comfort. The room held a serenity that seemed to embrace her, and as she closed her eyes, the gentle hum of Reece's home became a soothing lullaby. Sleep claimed her swiftly, offering a respite from the stress and confusion that had filled her evening. 

The morning light filtered through the curtains, gently waking Y/N as she stirred in the unfamiliar room. A soft murmur of voices reached her ears, and curiosity led her downstairs. As she descended, the voices became clearer, and she recognized Reece's calm tones along with another voice that sent a ripple of surprise through her. 

In the kitchen, Mason and Reece stood engaged in conversation, both sipping on protein shakes. Their conversation ceased as Y/N entered, her presence causing a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Mason's eyes widened in shock as he registered her appearance, and Y/N could almost see the gears turning in his mind. 

"Hey," she greeted shyly, attempting to break the tension. 

Mason, still processing the unexpected scene before him, remained silent. His attempt at maintaining composure was evident, but a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. 

Reece, sensing the need to address the unspoken tension, interjected, "Morning, Y/N. We’re just getting a drink before we head to training" 

Mason's gaze shifted between Y/N and Reece, a myriad of thoughts swirling in his mind.  

“You-” Mason tried to speak but his voice got caught. “You stayed here last night?” He questioned. It was plain to see that he was freaking out but trying his hardest to remain nonchalant. 

Y/N, catching on to the unspoken assumptions, decided to clarify before things took a turn for the worse. 

"Oh, yeah I came round to chat last night, and then when it got late Reece offered up his spare room so I didn’t have to walk home in the dark," she explained, hoping to dispel any lingering doubts. 

Reece nodded in agreement, offering a reassuring smile. "Exactly. Just a friend helping a friend out." 

The tension in the room began to ease as the truth settled. Mason, still processing the information, managed a nod. "Right, got it." 

Reece, ever attuned to the lingering awkwardness, took the initiative to break the silence. "Well, I think we should probably head to training. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need, Y/N. There's a spare key by the door; just use that and drop it back through the letterbox when you leave." 

Y/N nodded appreciatively, "Thanks, Reece. I appreciate it." 

As Reece and Mason made their way toward the door, the air still carried a hint of unease. Mason, however, seemed to have regained some composure and, looking at Y/N, asked, "Are we still having our movie night tonight?" 

Y/N smiled, relieved that the tension was slowly dissipating. "Absolutely. Come around at 7, and we'll get started." 

With that agreement, Reece and Mason headed out the door. As it closed behind them, Y/N caught a snippet of Mason's questioning tone directed at Reece, but the words were muffled by the closing door. She sighed, hoping that the newfound understanding she and Mason had reached would withstand this unexpected morning twist. 

  As the evening approached, Y/N found herself at home, thoughts swirling in her mind like a turbulent storm. She debated whether or not to reach out to Max, her anxiety growing with each passing moment. Eventually, fueled by a desire for clarity, she decided to make the call. 

Her fingers hesitated over the keys as she dialed Max's number. The phone rang, and with each passing second, her heartbeat quickened. Then, a familiar voice on the other end said, "Hello?" 

"Hi, Max," she greeted, her voice a mix of nerves and sincerity. 

Max responded warmly, "Hey Y/N, how are you?" 

Y/N took a deep breath before launching into an explanation. "I’m good thanks, just wanted to talk about yesterday, if this isn’t a bad time?" 

Max assured her, "Not at all. Go ahead." 

So, Y/N began to share her feelings, the whirlwind of emotions that led her to retreat so abruptly. Max listened attentively, responding with understanding and empathy. "I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he apologized sincerely. 

"No, no, Max. You don't need to apologize," Y/N reassured him. "I had a lovely time, honestly. I just got a bit overwhelmed, and my instincts took over. I'd like to see you again if you're not too weirded out by my disappearing act." 

Max chuckled gently. "Not weirded out at all. I was just worried I'd done something to upset you." 

Y/N smiled, grateful for his understanding. "You didn't, at all. 

“Thats good, I meant every word I said though Y/N, I do really like you, and if taking things slow is what makes you comfortable, then I'm all for it. I just want to see you again." 

Her heart warmed at his sincerity. "Thank you, Max. I appreciate that." 

Glancing at the clock, she realized Mason would be arriving soon. "I need to get going but we should plan something soon, okay?” 

"Absolutely," Max agreed. "Let me know when you're free, and we'll figure something out." 

Mason's knock on the door echoed through the room shortly after Y/N’s call to Max had ended, she welcomed him in, and they quickly settled into their familiar routine, though there was a noticeable shift. Instead of the usual cozy closeness on a single sofa, they each took their own, creating a subtle but tangible distance. 

Somethings however, never change; because the first thing they did was begin to argue about who gets to choose the first film. Y/N was advocating for her favourite film of all time, 10 things I hate about you, whereas Mason was advocating for Fight Club. Although it only took Y/N pouting at him with puppy dog eyes on full display for Mason to quicky relent and agree to whatever she wanted. He couldn’t help but to laugh to himself at just how easily Y/N could make him do whatever she wanted. 

As the opening scenes of the movie flickered across the screen, Mason couldn't help but steal glances at Y/N across from him. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the television, and he couldn't help but be captivated by the way Y/N visibly lit up with excitement when the familiar scenes unfolded. 

He found himself watching her more than the movie itself, contemplating how effortlessly beautiful she looked in that moment. The way her eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm as she absorbed every detail of the film, the soft movements of her lips as she quietly mouthed along to the well-known lines, and the sweet sound of her little giggles that escaped when a particularly humorous scene played out. 

In that moment, Mason realized the beauty he had overlooked before. It wasn't just about her physical features, although he found himself drawn to the soft curves of her face and the glint in her eyes. It was the genuine joy she radiated, the infectious energy that made her all the more enchanting. Yet, as he marvelled at these revelations, an inexplicable discomfort settled in the pit of Mason's stomach. It was a perplexing sensation, an unsettling awareness that something had shifted, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what. 

Caught in his own thoughts, Mason initially didn't register Y/N's attempts to engage in conversation. It took her repeating herself for him to snap back to the present. She asked about his training with Reece, and Mason, readjusting to the conversation, he replied, "It was alright, a bit boring." 

Casually, he segued into another question, the tone of his voice crafted to sound nonchalant. "By the way, since when were you so close with Reece anyway?" The query lingered in the air, carefully casual yet edged with an underlying curiosity 

Y/N shared with Mason that when he wasn't speaking to her, Reece had been incredibly supportive, and they naturally grew closer during that time. She braced herself for any potential discomfort on Mason's part, anticipating that he might be uneasy about her forming a bond with one of his friends and teammates. However, Mason's response surprised her 

"That's good. I'm glad you had someone when I was being a dick," he stated, a touch of sincerity in his voice. "I am really sorry for that again, by the way." 

Y/N reassured him, "You don't need to keep saying sorry, Mason, but thank you." 

As the conversation continued, Mason hesitated for a moment before asking, "How did you end up at Reece's house anyway, if you were seeing Max?" There was a subtle flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he was unsure whether bringing up Max was the right move. And when he caught sight of Y/N shifting uncomfortably, he realized it may have been better if he avoided the subject altogether.  

“Oh, well umm, I just panicked a bit and needed someone to talk to talk it though with.” she spoke as concern flickered in Mason's eyes, and he asked, "What made you panic?" 

She sighed, "Well, he said he wanted to take me to Monaco." 

Mason slightly raised his eyebrows, contemplating her words. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked. 

Y/N clarified, "I don’t know, it just felt like everything was moving too fast. It was a bit overwhelming." 

“I get that, how did it go other than that though, think you’ll see him again?” he asked her, trying his best to remain as casual as possible.  

Y/N's demeanor carried a vague discomfort as she began to answer his question. Her eyes shifted uneasily, and she fidgeted with a loose thread on the edge of the sofa. 

“Uh yeah, it was really nice. He took me to the nicest restaurant I have ever seen in my life, then we went to this coffee shop he likes and we got a hot chocolate, I’m not sure when but we’re definitely going to do something again soon.” 

Mason just nodded, trying desperately to make a a concerted effort to be a good friend, despite the evident unease he felt about hearing the details of her date. His expression betrayed a subtle struggle, trying to maintain a supportive facade while grappling with his own emotions beneath the surface. 

As they turned their attention back to the TV, Y/N gradually eased into the familiar comfort of her favorite film. The initial unease began to subside, replaced by the warmth that usually accompanied movie nights with Mason. They finished watching her movie and then started the one that Mason had asked for.  

As the intense scenes of Fight Club unfolded on the screen, Mason couldn't shake the desire to be closer to Y/N, like they used to be. He missed the casual intimacy they once shared during movie nights, where they would end up cuddling on the sofa, wrapped up in each other's company. However, he recognized that those moments were no longer a given. 

He silently wished they could return to the easy closeness they had before everything became complicated. Yet, Mason understood that it wasn't fair to impose their old habits on Y/N. So, he stayed in his corner of the sofa, watching the movie, trying to pretend that he didn’t want to go over and hold his best friend.  

Not 20 minutes into the movie, Mason noticed the soft and rhythmic sounds of gentle snores coming from where Y/N lay on the sofa. He couldn't help but smile; it was such a typical Y/N thing to do, to fall asleep during a movie. Deciding not to disturb her peaceful slumber, Mason quietly approached and saw that she had dozed off. 

Softly chuckling, he carefully lifted Y/N into his arms, cradling her with the same tenderness he'd always shown. In the quiet of her bedroom, he gently placed her on the bed, arranging the covers around her. It was an instinct to climb in beside her, as they'd done countless times during movie nights at her place due to her not having a spare bedroom.  

However, Mason abruptly halted, the reality settling in that those intimate moments were no longer appropriate. A wistful look crossed his face as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Y/N's ear. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and whispered, "Goodnight, Y/N," before quietly leaving her room to head home.  

Tag list-

@nightlockcornucopia @jaydensluv @girlytots19 @formula1mount @alwaysclassyeagle @aundercover @sofifiia @dessxoxsworld @lpab @lorarri @thelovehypothesis @torrie421 @ironmaiden1313 @celesteblack08 @glow-ish @urfavouritef1girly @alwaysclassyeagle @barnestatic @simxican @formula1mount @charli123456789 @mac-daddy-210 @lazybot @imguce @azxulaa @mehrmonga @sunny44 @skepvids @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @chimchimjiminie16 @tyna-19 @hoely-maria @stevesworld9 @f1lov3r @elliegrey2803 @heyyhelloohii @landosgirlxoxo @skepvids @aundercover @andydrysdalerogers @illicitverstappen @bbygrlllllll @kageyamama-hinatatata @imagandom @bibissparkles @sofifiia @dark-night-sky-99 @viennakarma @tyna-19 @wcnorris

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #football x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fics #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Night Time Activities - Gaz x Reader Bakery AU

Part one - Next Part

Content Warnings - Masterbation, mention of oral, mention of fingering, post nut clarity. Jealousy. Is giving baked goods considered flirting?

It's routine now. A new part of his routine that he adores and wouldn't trade for the world. Wake up, go to the gym, shower, see you at the cafe and bakery, relax at home and then wait for your little knock on his door. Each evening is like clock work. It's a wonderful way to end his day, seeing your face as you offer him whatever sweet confection your boss had let you snag before closing.

Only, you don't knock tonight and you weren't at the bakery despite it being Tuesday. Gaz didn't dare ask your boss in fear of coming off as creepy. He had forced him to get his mind off of that little interruption. Gaz reminded himself that you weren't tied to him and he wasn't tied to you. 

Gaz kept reminding himself that until at three am, a rather ungodly hour as his grandmother would have said, he hears you. You're giggling and talking in a loud whisper to someone. You're stumbling through your flat, someone else stumbling with you until he hears two bodies collapse onto your bed.

Bloody hell, he thinks. Gaz turns over and presses his pillow to his ears. Fucking thin walls, he thinks bitterly as he's forced to listen to you and some bloke you brought home.

Gaz swears he won't listen. He swears to get up and go to the living room, maybe sleep on the couch. Only he doesn't. In fact, he slowly removes the pillow covering his ears as your moans and whines begin.

Gaz curses himself as he feels his cock grow hard within the confines of his boxers. Mentally calls himself a pervert as he pulls them down and grabs his cock that is hardening in record time. “Mmm, fuck like that.” he hears you moan and his mind fills with images.

Is that bloke fingering you? Eating you out? You squeal and he decides both. He's doing both and then tries to imagine it's him doing it. It's him who you brought home while drunk. It's him who is pulling such wonderful moans from you. He squeezes himself, running his thumb over his slit and bites down on a groan.

Then it all changes. Your moans stop becoming natural. Forced. Too high pitched. He doesn't know why he's certain of it but he is. Your bed creeks and groans as this pitiful excuse of a cock that must be fucking you, doesn't do it's one job.

Even your babbling is too forced. “Fuck fuck! Like that! Mmmmm, yes.” still, he picks up the pace, fearful this idiot wouldn't last long enough. Gaz bites down on his lip to keep quiet as you let out a particularly long moan and he paints his hand white.

Gaz lays there and listens to the last few moments of forced ecstacy. “Did you finish?” the man asks, because of course he did. 

“Ye-Yeah. That was great.” you mutter. Gaz gets up to wash his hands and to wash his shame away.

There you are. In that uniform, looking perfect. Gaz sits down at the table and offers you a smile. The kind of smile he hopes makes your heart flutter. “The usual please.”

When you bring him the bag of goodies and his coffee, you stop for a moment. You gnaw on your bottom lip before speaking, “I'm trying out a new recipe.” you blurt out, “Would you like to try it? Tonight when I get home?”

Another smile, “Sure thing love.”

#gaz call of duty #gaz #gaz x female reader #kyle gaz x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #cod imagine #gaz imagine

[tired-biscuit]

18+ mdni, fem!reader // cw: monsterfucking, breeding, werewolf!bakugou

thinking about werewolf!bakugou.

werewolf!bakugou, who goes into heat and becomes utterly obsessed with you; his pretty little girlfriend - his mate. he's got you nice and warm in his unyielding embrace, you're cozy, safe. his powerful arms hold you tight during every second of his rut, broad palms roaming your entire body as if you're his property for the time being.

werewolf!bakugou, whose appearance becomes altered during said heat. his pupils sharpen and he grows even bigger and stronger than he already is; every muscle that adorns his broad back and shoulders clenching and flexing - straining under the pressure of the feverish need that makes him feel like his very skin is pulling taut over his fucking bones.

werewolf!bakugou, who has the prettiest - albeit dangerously sharp - set of canine teeth that you can't help but admire whenever they graze and make contact with your hot skin. the pointy ends just barely sink deeper with each open-mouthed kiss that he will place just about anywhere; giving you that sudden flash of adrenaline that makes you squirm underneath him, and that makes him sneer down at you in return.

werewolf!bakugou, who marks you with those sharp teeth; branding you with love bites and feeble traces of his claws, too. who just wants you to remember who you belong to; who just can't possibly tame that possessive side of him, at least not now.

werewolf!bakugou, who fucks you like an animal, because his insticts might as well belong to one. who presses you hard against the mattress, the kitchen counter, the hardwood floor of his living room - just about anywhere and any time the opportunity presents itself, because he just can't get enough, it's never enough.

werewolf!bakugou, who doesn't groan during sex anymore, but straight up growls. this deep, intimidating sort of sound that is equal parts human as it is not, and that resonates from within his chest and brushes your ear just like his quick, warm exhales do, causing the hair on the nape of your neck to stand up.

he even lets out such nasty and filthy curses, calls you such dirty names in-between each sloppy pat!, pat!, pat! that you can't help but wonder where the fuck he actually acquired such a rich vocabulary.

werewolf!bakugou, who will mount you and breed you every single time he slams you, telling you that you will bear his children - that he will put as many kids as he wants into you. he spills every last drop of his warm cum inside your pretty cunt; painting it white with thick, milky ropes of it. making you gush all over him as a result, turning you sticky between your legs and smelling just like him all over.

you squeeze him so tight each time - walls pulsating around his fat cock as if it's for the last time, to such a point that he's the one calling you greedy whilst smiling that feral grin, not the other way around like it should have been.

werewolf!bakugou, who just can't stop telling you how much he adores you between all the dirty talk and moaning; how much he cherishes his precious little mate even if he's balls deep when he says it, holding you in a tight mating press. his sweat-riddled forehead presses to your shoulder as his head lolls forward after the heat at long last subsides and he drops his entire weight upon your equally as exhausted body.

you cling onto him tight with both of your arms and legs just to keep him steady; to keep him whole until he starts to ache yet again and ravages you once more. you know it'll only last for the shortest of moments, the clarity - the peace, but you indulge in it nonetheless. you need to in order to stay sane.

especially as he lifts his head just to whisper, "mine."

and you smile before kissing him, telling him, "yours."

#biscuit drabbles #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou smut #bnha smut #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #cw breeding #cw monsterfucking

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

SNAIL & THRUSH (II)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death, thoughts of violence, banter but it’s more just straight up attacks

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

“Can you—” An aggressive sigh sounds out over the air as your fast-walking form continues on; the earth molding to your shoes. “The area isn’t locked down this far out, Ma’am. Can you just get in the bloody car, please?”

Your eyes stare straight ahead, half-lidded, and could probably melt a sheet of metal if they had to. 

Not answering, you continue to walk back into town, ignoring Gaz entirely as he attempts to coax you into the large car he’s driving. The window is down, his accented voice hitting your ears and bouncing off the invisible barrier you had put there to block out his prattle about a mile back. 

You utterly refuse to enter the vehicle, even if you were already as tired as a marathon runner. The person driving followed you at a snail’s pace at his wit's end.

Stepping on gravel that crunches under your weight, your fists swing clenched beside you in small clipped arches. If volatile had a picture attached to the definition page, it would be you.

Not only had you figured out Samson Row was dead before you could kill him yourself, but now you had to deal with weapon and drug lords who had it out for you and your mother.

Under your breath, quick worded mumbles are missed over the car’s engine, the slow forward motion of tires that stir the dust and leaves you blinking quickly. 

You’d both been at this ever since you’d forced your way out of the garage back on Base and had restrained yourself from making a scene because they had refused to give you your laptop back.

“Protection detail,” your lips curl, thinking over Laswell’s clipped sentences. “Like I want your help after all of this. Just open your home, why don’t you?” Sarcastic flails of your hands leave Gaz groaning and rolling his eyes at the childish scene, a hand going to rub over his neck soothingly. The attempt to bring clarity back to himself only barely works. “Just accept that we can’t keep our own operatives on a leash—but here! Just take the one that forced you into the back of a van and put a revolver to your forehead—God!”

“Are you done out there yet?” Kyle calls, single grip over his hat as he glares out the windshield, no longer wanting to look at you as your teeth bare else he’d get to the end of his rope before he even started climbing. “Bit of a walk back to town, y’know. Not exactly how I’d want to spend my morning, copy?” He mutters the last sentence under his breath. 

Don’t want to spend any bloody mornings like this.

“If you tell me one more time to get into the car,” you level as you crush a weed in your way, “I’m sprinting off into the field and making you run after me.” 

A long scoff and an exasperated shake of his head later, Gaz is growling an acknowledgment; tapping his fingers over the wheel. Did you not understand the severity of the situation? Hell, it was like you didn’t even care! This was his job, and he took it very seriously. There was no room for fuck-ups.

The car continues to waste gas and slug along, even if the Brit wanted to hop out and drag you into it like the stubborn brat you were acting like. 

“How many years overseas?” He asks himself as your form stomps farther away before he presses his foot to the gas lightly and hears the gears squeak. He pulls up beside you moments later, lips tight. “Fuckin’ hell mate. Have a go at this.”

“I can hear you, idiot.” Your voice sounds off, face turning slightly his way. The mid-morning sun was warm, but the breeze from the not-so-far-off Lake Michigan was a welcome feeling as it went over heated skin. “Talk quieter so I don't have to.”

Kyle didn’t understand how you could wear that thick jacket, though. It was slightly chilly, sure, but not that bad out. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not when you were acting like you were going to shank him in the kneecap for breathing in your direction.

“Brilliant.” He spreads his digits from where they curl over the steering wheel, shrugging his shoulders to himself mockingly. “Anything else I should know, Ma’am?” 

Drive into a tree, you want to snap, but refrain. Even if seeing the Brit’s eyes go small and jaw go tight was a smirk-inducing sight, what you wanted was silence. A silence that you would probably never get now that your house was being invaded without your say. 

At least it’s only him, trying to find light in the situation was your father’s specialty–not yours. Your body forces out a tight breath to calm down. Could you imagine what would have happened if Laswell had forced the one with the dead eyes to watch me? Ghost?

Your body shivers tightly. If Price was at the top of your list of people you feared, Ghost was second. You couldn’t stand to feel those blue orbs lock on you in the rear-view mirror when they’d brought you in. You already had enough ghosts living at the mansion, you didn't need another.

A few seconds later, the car beside you comes to a fast halt with a ruckus of crunching gravel. You hope for a moment the car will turn around and disappear into the background.

“...Y’know what, yeah? I’m solid walking.” The clashing of keys being ripped from an ignition makes you blink in horror, head whipping to the side to watch as the car door is shoved open. 

Sergeant Kyle’s tall form greets you as your legs stall, shock coating your lungs.

“The hel–” you stop your sharp tongue. Gritted words fall instead. “And what are you doing?”

Gaz’s body goes to the back of the car, popping open the trunk and throwing out bag after bag as your jaw drops. He grasps one of the largest—a duffel bag—and slings it over his back. Two more are taken in one hand as his muscles writhe, though it looked like the apparent weight doesn't bother him much. 

The Brit ignores you, striding past as his long fingers go to his right ear. 

“Actual this is Bravo 2-6, I’ll be needing a pickup for a vehicle about a mile down-road. Parked near the edge. You copy?” A pause as you watch him continue on, looking back and forth from the still metal to his clenched fist over the straps of his belongings. A small sound escapes your throat. “No,” Gaz huffs a stiff laugh in response to the conversation you can’t hear. Your ear tips burn. “No, there’s not a damn thing wrong with the bastard, believe it or not.” 

“Hey!” Calling loudly, you stare at the figure as it gradually gets farther away, feet spread apart and the air smelling of corroding anger saturated in lake water.

“Affirm, Actual. Will do.” Kyle smoothly utters, taking his hand off his earpiece and fixing the black cord that descends from it so it won’t get in the way of his shirt collar. 

Not thinking much of your absent footsteps, the Brit’s head tilts. His ball cap blocks out the sun from his eyes yet they still squint at your practically vibrating silhouette. 

“You coming then, Love? Long walk.” Your hands snap to your pockets, the one finding the small coin immediately and bringing it into a tight grip. Suddenly, Gaz’s dark Adam’s Apple was the most offensive sight you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Best get to it, then.”

You can no more say you were fighting off a string of curses more than you were struggling against the rampage of your heart. Kyle just turns back around with a small smirk growing at the apparent slackness of your jaw; brown eyes crinkling. His internal scoreboard marks a point under his name.

Staying stationary for a good minute, stance tight and mind running, Laswell's words come back to encompass your consciousness in between the seething hatred you hold as the two of you become more separated. The price on your head—the threats to your mother’s safety as well as yours. 

Your thighs tighten. 

For better or for worse, you had to stick close to Kyle for the simple fact that he knew more about this than you did. Trained to be a killer and not hesitant to pull the trigger of a gun for the sake of his precious orders. Even now your eyes snap to the open expanse of the military base’s outer fields; the long grass and the dark ruts in the dirt. Blinking, your tense feet slam the ground as you start forward begrudgingly.

Fine. I’m an adult. I can handle it. But…maybe getting in the car would have been better than walking beside him. Your jaw clenches, not willing to admit that small fact to the man ahead of you. 

“Do you get tired of being a piece of work?” You call loudly, catching up quickly at your pace as though the man was hanging back purposely, also knowledgeable of the situation. 

He couldn’t just abandon his charge.

Kyle glances at your side profile, quirking a dark brow and sloping his chin. Being this close to him made your nose scrunch at the smell of his cologne, the scent not unpleasant but ultimately still attached to him.

“Actually, Ma’am, I take it as a compliment. Means I’m doing my job.” A pause as he fixes the hold on his gear, grunting. Not able to help himself now that the opportunity presents itself. “Do you?” 

Keeping a wide berth between you too, your face tilts to the sky, finding the whizzing forms of water birds and growling like a dog choking on a bullet. The hatred in the air was palpable; none too eager for the job ahead. 

My protection detail, you send long glances at Kyle thinking over the title again, studying his strong back and the sharp stab of his nose as it twitches to the scent of native switchgrass seeds. Keeping your studious attention far away from his brown orbs, you peel at the sides of your nails inside your pockets. The person I need protection from is already right beside me. How ironic can my life get?

But you can’t really be surprised, after all, you had expected to see him and the others again someday. Just…not like this. In the ground would have been preferable.

As you both walk in a strangling silence, your thoughts go back to your mother; wondering if she would be okay. The woman was far more stubborn than even you—there were few things that pulled her away from her work in helping others. 

Taking one hand to itch at the skin under your left eye, you stifle a yawn. 

At most, you’d text each other perhaps once a month. Quick updates and brief conversations about the weather like strangers. You couldn't talk about your nightmares or your father even though she’d been informed about the accusations on her deceased husband. 

You didn’t know if the CIA agents had told her the specifics about how he died when they delivered a detailed condolence letter and forced signatures of silence. It would destroy her if they did. 

Maybe I’ll call her when I get my phone from my nightstand back home. 

You narrow your vision. An urge to hear your mom’s soothing voice hit you like an anvil. She couldn’t make this better, but she’d certainly be able to help. 

Gaz’s eyes rove and observe the land, his combat boots leaving prints behind him. But his inspections always lead him back to you. His charge. The phantom from his past that had never really been forgotten just pushed to the side in between missions. The girl who seemed to not give a damn that he was the only person able to keep her alive at this point.

The line on Kyle’s forehead deepens. 

Part of him was completely fine with keeping his voice in his throat; listening to the chatter of birds and the clink of his bags’ zippers as he carried the great weight of them with no complaint. Another piece, the loose, reliable, part of him that followed procedure was hesitant to try and articulate how dire this was out loud to you because that wasn’t how this usually went. 

The target on your back was no joke, even Laswell knew it. But the soldier carries the burden of detail. 

Would she take me seriously if I don’t try to tell her, is the question. The Sergeant makes a noise in the back of his throat.

First impressions are a lock and seal as he was sure you were well aware. 

His lips part, half a word formed before the skin gradually falls shut again. Kyle takes a glance at you once more, looking at your wound-tight form and the utter mental exhaustion on your face. Despite his reservations about you, a sliver of regret finds his heart.

You hadn’t asked for any of this, and while you weren’t giving him much slack, his dry sarcastic nature hadn’t helped either. The two of you were just good at making the other go insane, no matter how much time you did or didn’t spend together. 

Kyle would never admit it, but it slightly impressed him.

“Should be back in town near o-twelve-hundred.” He clears his throat, trying to lose the bleeding of his stoic words. Make them lighter; airier. Attempt to be cordial. “If we keep this pace, of course. Then I can set up and be out of your hair for a bit.” 

Your feet had come to a slow drag-legged stop. Gaz blinks, noticing from the corner of his vision, and does the same—his tightness immediately going to confusion. He looks around the area, though spots nothing out of the ordinary.

Hell, what did I say now? 

But he sees your distant gaze with a stilling of his facial features, gaze falling to what you were staring quite hard at. 

You blink down at the corpse near the side of the road. 

Its small body was covered in dirtied feathers; colors of orange, gray, black, and white speaking through despite the obvious decay. A beak so long it took up larger space than the skull. 

Belted Kingfisher. 

When an animal dies the eyes are always the first to go—maggots and flies, whatnot. Soft and squishy. You don’t know why, but looking down at that small, dead, bird you longed to know what its eyes had looked like. The color, the intelligent sheen of them. Now only a black eye socket gives its voided opinions like a mute judge. 

You’d spotted it quite by accident, just looking over the landscape as the Brit tried to speak to you. A breeze ruffles the feathers that are left over the frail being and you find for the first time in a long while your head is completely silent.

Your muscles loosen.

“...Ma’am?” 

Violently flinching, the brief contact to your shoulder is snapped back in an instant, Kyle going to splay the offending hand in a sign of no harm. Dark eyebrows tight. Taking down a full breath, you miss the concern in the Sergeant’s expression, the steady look. There’s a moment when the world holds its air; the animals nearby fall wholly still as the wind carries every unsaid word better than you can annunciate it. 

Your stomach rolls at the reminder of his touch, even through layers of clothes. Gaz murmurs a question of which you ignore.

Shoving past him, on your way past his tilted face you growl upwards, “Keep your hands off of me, Garrick.” 

You increase your walking speed, trying with all of your might to fight the impending explosion of anger and anxiety. It was like your hands wanted to grip him by his neck, shove him down to the floor and let him know what it felt like to hurt the way you do. For a moment glimpse the life draining from his amber optics.

But any sort of physical pain, or even death, could never amount to knowing what you’d gone through. Not to mention you’d probably get your ass handed to you in mere seconds. 

Staring after with wide, creased, eyes, the Brit waits for a moment before he looks down at the small bird carcass you were entranced by moments prior. 

His head tilts, lungs filling.

“...Poor bugger.” He frowns and observes the way you quickly walk on with emotion on his lips. Gaz sighs and shakes his head, raising a brow back down at the now-soulless body as the telltale signs of a migraine start to pulse. “Recon I’ll be ending up like you in a bit, Mate.” 

He catches up easily, even with the weight of his bags and you have to wonder how anyone thought that this was a good idea. 

The devil beside you walks so far removed from normal life that it astounds you, and the rest of the trip is stuck in an uncomfortable silence reserved for those who dislike one another. 

Town can’t come soon enough, and you’re stopping at Hector’s Café along the way to your Estate. 

“It’s best to go straight back,” you thin your lips and slip into the building, the door creaking behind you as Gaz waits at the entrance. “I need to secure the property ASAP.” 

“You’ll get to wreck my home all you want in an hour.” Your backpack was on the main counter, and you walked to it slowly; drawing out the Sergeant's annoyance as much as you could. If you can’t hurt him physically at the moment, mentally was just as good a substitute. “I need my backpack.”

“Oh, you mean the one that left a dent in my skull.”

“Yes. I think I’ll end up keeping it as a family heirloom. Frame it maybe.”

“Ah, Lovely. Glad I can be a part of such a defining moment.” Strap in hand and a sarcastic retort on your breath, a great ruckus sound off from the backroom. 

Before you can react your jacket sleeve is being pulled sideways, a form shoving itself in between you and the kitchen door. Your eyes widen, feet stumbling to a stop before adrenaline stabs itself into your heart.

“Son of a bitch!” Rushing out, Hector wields a skillet in one hand—raised halfway above his head with a rabid snarl. “You!” He points it at Kyle, who has a small pistol gripped in his hands; bags haphazardly dropped back near the entrance. Your lips pull to a smirk when the Brit’s ready stance lessens. His wide shoulders lower like a dog’s neck fur. “You think I don’t know a government conspiracy when I see it! I lived in Jersey, motherfucker! What have you done with ‘er?” 

“Hector,” you peek over Garrick’s shoulder as the Sergeant spares you a look. “Easy with that, man….Aim for the throat, though, would you?” 

The skillet lowers, bright eyes landing on you while yours stick to his growing smile and twitching mustache. 

“Kid!” Loud laughs echo. “Holy hell, you scared the shit out ‘o me this morning. What was that all about?”

“Misunderstanding, Sir.” Gaz tries to explain, placing the pistol back into the belt of his pants as you clock it before stepping out from his shadow. It looked like an X12 to you. 

When did he get that, your eyebrows tighten and store that thought for later. There might be a chance to use that against him if you could get your hands on it.

The Café owner glares at the Sergeant as you fix the backpack strap over your shoulder. “Did I ask you, Son? I’m speakin’ to the lady.” 

“An Ex.” You lie smoothly, feeling Kyle’s shocked eyes on you instantly. Itching at the back of your neck, you feign embarrassment. “Cheated on me in high school. When he showed up, well…I did what I’d wanted to do for a while.”

Letting the sentence trail, you were excited for what came next. Genuine giddiness builds in your lungs; fighting a smile as the Brit stutters beside you. Gaz’s eyebrows pull up even higher.

“Cheated…” Hector’s accent becomes more prominent as you twist on a heel and begin heading to the door—only then do you anchor a hand to your mouth to stop the belly-deep laughter. “Oh, you’ve some nerve, showin’ back up, Son. How dare you make her see your face—!”

“Sir, I, bloody hell, I’m not—” Gaz grumbles, shooting heated glances at your disappearing form. “This isn’t….” Stuttering like a rookie. Everything in VIP Protection Training and his copious years in the army was pulling null. 

But no one was ever pulling his strings like you and it’s only been a few hours.

“See you, Hec!” 

“Hey! Come get this piece of trash out of my building.” Your face turns sideways, and Kyle notices the smirk immediately. His chest goes heavy with a wave of seething anger. 

“C’mon then, Kyle. You heard the man, didn’t you?”

If looks could melt people like gold, you would be a puddle of great Midas's curse before your skin hit the air outside, kicking the Sergeant’s bags away with a foot. 

Oh…she’s wicked, she is. The steps he takes are firm, a great cloud over his head as he re-situated his cap with taut fingers and grunts aggressively under his breath. Insulting him directly was one thing, but the chips at his character were cruel. Can I even do this? Hmm, Laswell might still be able to pull me out, let me join back up with the boys.

But everyone was counting on him for this and his stubborn side knew that he’d gone through far worse than a few verbal attacks. Physical strength was needed for this job, but many overlook the larger aspect. And if there was a single thing that Kyle Garrick was prideful about, it was his mental fortitude. Rare were the times that rigorous interrogation even put a dent into his psyche. 

“Just hold out,” he grumbles, ignoring the Cafe owner’s now-known disgust and picking up his bags. Gaz almost felt regretful for being so swift to place his body in front of a possible threat but scolded himself for thinking that immediately. This was his job. “She’s just scared, yeah? Doesn’t want to be around the bloke who,” he slightly cringes and lets the building’s front door close behind him, seeing your jacket ahead and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Who shoved her in a fucking van and put a gun to her head…Christ, Kate, what were you thinking assigning me to this?”

For the remainder of the small journey, Gaz stayed behind you, calming down as your enjoyment of his torment swiftly ended. Small victories weren't worth it, especially when the Brit says nothing in retaliation. Did your little dig at his character really insult him that much? It wasn’t the worst thing you had thought you could say. Not by a long shot.

Sure it seemed that you could piss him off, even if he never snapped and exploded with anger—he didn’t seem the type beyond back-handed comments—but if he didn’t respond it made no difference. 

You…you wanted to hurt him. Make Garrick suffer. You just didn’t know how to do it effectively, or if you could. Now you knew, though, that attacks on his person and morals were the way to go for quick results of muteness.

The iron gate of your home was up ahead, and with a delving of fingers, you produced a key from your back pocket, moving your wallet out of the way to grasp it firmly. 

I want them all to suffer. Your mind wanders as you twist the lock, hearing the metal shriek at you in figurative suffering. Blinking, the shadow behind you causes your body to be hyper-aware. A plan forms grimly, and you have to think if you even have the courage to try it. 

“Hm,” you huff, shoving open the gate and calling over your shoulder. “Close it behind you!” Tossing back the key. 

Kyle catches it, you know, because of the small thump of material meeting a ready palm. A moment later you’re walking through a path of weeds and overgrown bushes, eyes scanning the hedges blandly. You hear the gate close and a moment later, footsteps.

Gaz twirls the key in between his fingers, trying not to say something about the state of the place. But his brown vision roves from one area to another with muted shock.

Didn’t expect this.

Everything was falling into disrepair, even the gargantuan mansion of white and black coloring which normally would have been a grand sight to anyone with sense. Windows were all shut, the lawn looking more like a forest; the concrete underfoot was layered with dirt and insects—grass bleeding into the cracks. 

What should have been a multiple-million-dollar home was looking more like an abandoned lot. 

Kyle turns his confused stare to the back of your head, looking down at the key in hand. 

“Past its prime, I’ll say that.” He speaks to himself, keeping his manners despite the discourse between the two of you. 

It was one thing to bark back and forth like animals, but another to involve the place where one lives. But, your family was well off. There was no reason for it to look like this.

“Any staff I should be aware of, then?” he needs to ask as you ascend the front steps to the double doors. “Gardeners,” Garrick glances quickly at the greenery and coughs, “or, butlers, maids…anything like that” 

“Everyone quit because of the publicity.” Your voice is unusually distant, and you push aside a raggedy welcome mat to produce another key. This one is smaller and rustier, belonging to the main entrance. “Shocker, people didn’t like being harassed on their way to work by camera crews and news anchors. Didn’t hire after that.” 

Kyle’s feet shift, a strange feeling entering his skin as he blinks at you. 

You slip through the doorway first and immediately dart to the side table to the direct right—dropping your backpack dismissively with a quick, yet silent, slam. Heart jumping, your adrenaline spikes. 

Normally the small table would be reserved for purses and other small belongings, but before Gaz can come into the mansion you grab the slick body of a penknife and shove it into your sleeve with twitching fingers. Eyes snapping to the corners of the large foyer and looking over the gray walls and navy curtains. Creaking hardwood. 

“Nice place you got ‘ere,” Kyle tries to lighten the mood, if not for your stubborn sake than for his. Easier to get the job done if at least one person was willing to engage, and he’s willing to attempt it again. The bags in his hand are carefully placed down.

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards. 

“Been in the family forever.” You slowly slip the blade out, trading weight from one hip to another and keeping it hidden. “Not really mine, at the end of the day.” 

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting. 

A slight relief at the non-confrontational action lets Gaz force out a chuckle. 

“Lots of places like that over in England—you have to wonder how they’re still standing, eh? Solid foundations.” A pause. “Proper interesting pieces of history.”

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows.

You stop fidgeting, all thoughts for a moment stilling. What had he said? 

“You—” Stopping yourself, you turn and tilt your head in his direction, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks around the stairs to the second level and the small seating areas. Your voice echoes like it usually does; like a ghost unwilling to go to rest. Kyle closes the door behind him with one hand, only looking at you directly when it’s fully shut.

“What’s that, Love?”

Your feet rearrange over the rug.

“You’re…interested in that kind of stuff?” Kyle sees your hands clench but thinks nothing of it. His curiosity fills his lungs when he becomes familiar with the deadly expression on your face. 

The material of his clothes moves as he shrugs, turning his gaze away when he knows it makes you uncomfortable. Gaz wasn’t ignorant—he knew you didn’t like looking people in the eye. As his orbs find the dusty and dim chandelier hanging dangerously above them, he notices your eyes now settle back on him. 

“Not overly, but I can say History was one of my best subjects back in Secondary Education—erm,” his lips pull tight, a tiny pinch of a smirk on his face, “high school as you call it.”

You fiddle with the weapon secretly, unblinking vision stuck to Kyle’s feet. His comment made you think about the assignments you still had to complete for college; the papers to write. After all, if you flunked out of all the courses, you’d never be able to take your father's place at the museum. It was your ultimate goal, at the end of the day. Become like him.

The inability to move made your teeth bite down, but common sense won over. You place your hand into your pocket and slip the penknife inside, your other holds itself out loosely.

I have to be smarter than that. Discreet.

But you really wished you could have slid the blade home.

“Key.” Gaz nods, moving over and dropping it into your awaiting clutch before you rip it away and toss it to the side table. 

“Ma’am,” the Sergeant’s face twists, but you’re already stalking past him, going off deeper into the house. Brown eyes follow. “I know you don’t want me here,” his voice bounces at the stark emptiness of the mansion, “but the only reason I’m staying is to keep you safe. I’m not expecting you to—”

“East wing is all yours.” You’re halfway up the stairs and still going, feet silently stomping over the various moth-eaten rugs. But the man cannot see your face as he’s left with a line on his forehead and a blunt frown on his lips. So much for your few seconds of compliance. He’d thought he was getting somewhere.

“I’d rather be closer. Encase there’s—” Again, he’s cut off. There’s going to be a lot of that. 

“Keep to it after your little exploration. And don’t try anything, my father installed security cameras.” You didn’t give away that you didn’t know how to operate them, but that was beside the point. 

Reaching the top, you head to the west and disappear down a hallway. Kyle hears one last comment bounce.

“I leave at eight every morning!” He’s left alone with only faint light and silent walls. 

But, with a shake of his head and the grabbing of bags at his feet, he can’t say he’s surprised. 

Looking about, Kyle takes in the lack of personality and blandness all around, forgetting for a moment that this home once belonged to a late museum director. He had expected more character—more expression. Certainly more light. 

This place was at a stand-still, like time didn’t begin or end in this house and it simply was. 

He sighs, nodding. He’d just have to work with it. “East wing. Brilliant.” 

His mind still held doubts about this—had ever since Price had given him the order straight from Kate. How can you protect someone that rightly hates your guts? You had more of a chance of tearing him a new one than he did of getting you to cooperate. And that was saying something, considering he was professionally trained in hand-to-hand. 

Again, Gaz had to ask himself if he was capable of doing this job. He thinks back to that mission three years ago, expression pulling tight as he jogged up the stairs and took a swift right. 

He regretted what had happened, yes, but at the end of the day, it was just another target who had gotten what he deserved. It was what the Sergeant did—got his hands dirty to clean up messes and keep everyone else safe.

Your father couldn’t have been any more of a good influence than a bad one. Gaz had seen the file on him. The countless dead. 

He wasn’t a good man, how couldn’t you see that?

“Mate, that was her fuckin’ father.” Growling, that sliver of civilian common sense slithers back in like a rope around his neck when he goes deeper into the house, past various open doors that show meeting rooms, libraries, offices, and art rooms. No bedrooms yet. “Christ, you’re losing it. Man got his bloody head blown off right in front of ‘er.”

When had he become so desensitized to this? 

His brown eyes glared at the floor when he realized he couldn’t remember being horrified by anything he had seen in the last few years. 

Death was death—didn’t matter how bloody it was, or how drawn out. At the end, all of it was just red. 

But he’d never taken a moment to think about how that would be for someone like you. Unused to violence. There was a grand question that Garrick still didn’t know the answer to. Were you a hostage in that little stunt, or were you just leverage? 

The Captain knew the answer—leverage. There was never any intention to actually pull the trigger on you. Kyle would have flatly refused if there had been, as would Soap. Ghost was still an enigma, but part of the Sergeant wanted to believe that he didn’t want that either. 

Samson Row. 

An overwhelming hatred struck the back of his skull as he entered the first room he saw with a bed in it, setting his bags on the covers and pushing his fingers to his nose bride. Eyebrows pull in. 

No use getting like this over a dead man. Stay focused. 

His fingers had only just begun to toss off the duffel bag from over his back when he first saw it. 

His hands paused, body going as still as a stick when he breathed in tightly. 

It was a portrait of your family. Picturesque. Mother on the left father on the right, and you—younger, of course—in the middle. Gaz blinks away to study the rest of the room.

It was incredibly large, with chairs and a couch covered by white cloth to imitate oddly-shaped ghosts and the same navy curtains over a wall of nearly all window panes. And yet no personal belongings other than the picture. 

Brown eyes filter back, staring long at the small girl with a wide smile; the mother with a hand on her shoulder, and the father looking down at his daughter with a nearly missed look of adoration. Garrick half expected the image to bed down and kiss you on the forehead.

Looking away with a clenched jaw, he huffs.

Wordlessly, the Sergeant once more grabs his belongings and walks out the door. 

—

You shook above the bathroom toilet, your breaths a heaving mess of warring instincts. Take down air or let the swirling of your gut cease—the offers were tempting. You’d been in here for most of the day, knees grinding into the tile with the efficiency of a blunt chisel; clothes ruffled as your jacket lay tossed on the floor back in your dark room. 

Throwing your empty stomach up. 

Struggling to think over the day, you force yourself back from the white porcelain, shuffling on jerking legs to rest your back on the opposite wall. 

“He’s in my house. Oh, Dad, one of them is in your house.” Fingers weave through locks and clench tight, hitched words loud in the silence you’d grown to comply with like an old God. Cryptid horrors that stalk the hallways that you see from the corners of your eyes, ghosts that won't leave. “I couldn't do it, why couldn’t I just try?” 

The penknife. It would have been instantaneous. 

But you knew deep down you’d never even be able to get close. 

Sweating and panting, you can almost hear him walking the halls, studying the layout with invasive digits. A parasite. And you’d just let him in. 

The price on your head was scary, sure, but there was already a threat in your very home; learning the rooms like he had any right to be here—like he knew the memories that lived in the walls. Holidays were spent in the main living room, meals made as a family in the kitchen as the butlers watched with happy eyes. The man-made pond in the back behind a wall of green trees because your mother loved to watch the birds. 

This house was generations of your very bloodline. Stories along every surface. History.

“He can’t be here.” You gasp, curling inward as you try and suck down larger breaths. Trying to calm yourself down with reassurance. “He’ll leave soon. He has too. He will.” 

Just wait until Mom gets back, she’ll make them go away. The thought makes air return to your lungs; shaking come to a drawn-out ceasing point. Blinking, you let your hands fall to your lap, body slouching forward. She’ll make it all go away. 

When you find the strength to rise, your feet only stumble slightly, propelling you out of the bathroom towards your bare-bones room. A bed, nightstand, dresser, and couch are the only articles of furniture seen outwardly; a fireplace set into the wall with a rug by it. Curtains drawn closed and smelling of charcoal and old linens. 

Peeling back paint, you stare heavily at the nightstand’s drawer, seeing the copper handle and thinking. But you shake your head and dispel the thoughts.

The acidic taste in your mouth made you smack your lips, almost enough to make you want to gag again. But as easily as the high of injected panic came, it went with a low of immeasurable depths. Still, though, your fingers twitched with unruly nerves; anxious at every creak in the wood outside the door. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Exiting your room, your socked feet know where to step so the wood doesn’t talk back at you, one hand rubbing up and down your face to bring the aliveness back. You needed coffee. Something with caffeine or an immensely high sugar content to keep the rest of this at bay. 

As you turn a corner, your stomach grumbles, sweatpants bunched at your ankles. Food too, you decided.

Walking through the large, arched, entry to the kitchen, you make your way through in complete blackness. You frown, though aren’t surprised you’d spent most of the day inside your room—past the fabric barrier, the hidden French doors to the patio let in the faint light of a dying sun. 

Around seven, if you had to guess. The loss of time to you should have been concerning, but you had in fact grown used to it. 

Year number one after your father’s death was…really nothing more than a blank slate. But you didn’t want to remember any of that, truth be told. 

Stumbling to the fridge, you grip the handle and pull. 

“Bit late for supper.” Yelling, you jerk your hand back and whip to the shadow in the entrance. 

The light snaps on with a flick of a finger, and the sheepish smile on Gaz’s face leaves vexation perforating the large room. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“Do you mind, Garrick?” Your eyes go to his chest, looking away just as quickly when you spot he’d taken off his outer later and was only in the white t-shirt that hugs his physique. The army pants still remained. “What are you even doing down here? I told you to stay on your side.”

“Not really able to do my job from the corner, yeah?” He walks closer, noticing the layer of dust over the gas stove, and raises a brow; wisely knowing not to comment. “Heard you comin’ down, thought I’d make sure everything was solid.”

“I’m fine.” You take out an old carton of milk, nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the interior. Kyle’s eyes narrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now leave.”

You were too tired for this. 

Slamming the milk back into the fridge and closing the door, you plan to make the trip back to your room on an empty stomach. Kyle clears his throat, seeing an opportunity presenting itself. 

I have to get her to at least tolerate me. 

He’d take every occasion he could get.

“How about I have a go at it?” He speaks quickly as you freeze in the entryway, light from the kitchen spilling out into the hall. “Sandwiches?” 

Your gaze stays dead ahead, numbly stuck to the paint of the wall as if it was going to move and entrap you. Lips pulling back you feel your heart skip a beat. 

Kyle continues, hopeful. 

“Can’t say I'm an expert at it, but I spent a good few weeknights fixin’ my own meals on Base.” You can hear him moving behind you, opening the fridge back up, and grabbing the few items you had that weren't expired. Opening cupboards that your father opened. Grabbing pans that your mother made eggs in. “...Ma’am? That alright?” 

Your eye flinches minutely, cheek pulling upward in response. Yet the churning in your stomach was volatile, and if you went another hour without food you’d probably be passing out every time you stood up. What harm was there in taking advantage of the man? A meal was a meal, and you’d only had coffee today anyways.

Saying nothing, you take one step backward and pivot. 

Gaz watches in shock, not expecting you to take him up on his offer. By the heat in your eyes, he supposed you wished you didn’t. 

I didn’t see her at all after she disappeared into her room—not even when I was doing a sweep. The Sergeant had memorized the entire mansion layout in only two hours, going into every room except the one that had been closed tight. Yours. 

It wasn’t hard for him, though it was tedious the fourth run of the place. He’d counted every window and every entrance or exit door and had locked every one that led outside. 

But he kept re-walking past that closed door; his feet taking him back even as his mind stayed focused. 

Gaz’s hand had been poised to knock at one point during that time period but had only stayed stationary before it fell back down to his side. It was best not to push too hard. Inch before the mile.

In the kitchen, he sees you slip onto the island bar stool, always keeping a side-eye on his hands as they dig through sparse ingredients. 

Egg sandwich it is, then. 

Your voice rasps out, “I don’t remember ‘cook’ being in the detail description.” 

“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Kyle chortles. His brown optics spare you a quick dart, seeing your form tense over the marble countertop as he swishes away dirt from the stove; placing a pan on top. You seem subdued…fingers twitch over the handle before his eagerness to earn your favor slowed. Sickly. 

Your skin is sunken, eyes blinking fast and snapping back and forth at every sound his body makes as if he’d pounce on you. Keeping an ever-heavy glare to where his pistol was sitting in the clutch of his belt—visible from over his shirt. 

The Brit swallows and looks back. 

“My job’s just to make sure you live another day, yeah?” The man’s voice lowers and you look to the coffee bar near the abandoned family table. “I’ll be in the background the entire time.” Leaving the chair, you go to it and speak as the sound of cracking eggshells hits your ear like a caving skull.

“I have rules.” 

Garrick nods firmly, but you don’t see it as you open a bag of fresh grounds and grab a mug.

“Copy, Ma’am. It’s your house—I’ll follow what I’m told.” He shifts his arms into a crossed position and leans back against the island as the eggs sizzle. You know he wants to say more, and too tired to care to give a retort or interrupt him, you let Gaz continue. “But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my mission. Any order I’m given’ll override what you tell me if it has to, even if it’s dodgy.” 

You watch dark liquid fill the coffee pot in a deluge of blackness like a wave of ink, and with that inkiness, the pit in your stomach gets larger. 

You could always poison him. Your eyes blink, hearing the slight beep of the machine in front of you as you grip your mug. 

Nightshade.

“Well, then,” Kyle looks for plates and finds a stack in a cupboard near the entrance. “What do I need to know, Ma’am?”

Hemlock.

“I don’t like people messing with my things,” you level, filling your cup to the brim as Gaz takes the pan off the heat; putting out the flame. “Stay out of my room and the room next to it if you insist on walking around.”

Choosing the opposite end of the wide island, you put your cup down and sit. A plate with a piece of bread with the yellow and white sight of scrambled eggs is slid into view. Kyle does what’s best and goes as far away from you as possible to eat his fill as well. 

The built man stands. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, “I’ll be taking a look around every day, but I doubt anyone would try and break in.” 

The fingers which had picked up a small piece of egg paused with it halfway to your mouth.

Castor Bean.

“Why do you say that?” 

“The curtains.” You spare a glance at his nose, watching him take a bite out of the bread and act like the answer was obvious. He swallows and you follow the action with a tight throat. “Erm, no offense, Ma’am,” you raise a brow slowly, “but am I safe to assume you never open them? Least, not all the way?”

“What do you think?” You eat your food and take a long sip of your drink, downing half the mug in one go. You really just wanted him to disappear like a bad dream.

Large quantities of Daffodil.

“Less of a chance of anyone else knowing where your room is—would take too long to figure out. Wasting time like that isn’t how foreign cells operate…quick and easy, y’know?... Any others?” Kyle finishes his plate quickly, moving to place it in the sink; not wanting to dwell on the comment.

You take a few bites of your own, wondering silently how he can eat so quickly, and nod.

“If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, leave me alone.” 

The air thickens.

Kyle blanks as you continue eating slowly, taking brief intermissions between bits to sip down more coffee. The tired moments of your sluggish eyes and twitching fingers. You don’t think to explain further, content to hear in those few moments absolutely nothing besides the beating of your own heart.

Rosary Pea. Induces tremors, high heart rate, and burning in the back of the throat. Fatal. 

Your mother also liked her plants, though you doubted the fauna in the back garden was still alive. You hadn’t bothered to keep it up after the gardener quit.

“I’m…not following.” Gaz scratches at his chin, face pulled back in confusion, lightly shaking his head. “Screaming?”

“Screaming.” Taking the empty plate, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “In the night. I was quite clear.” A devious smirk whittles itself over your flesh like wood. “You’ve heard my scream before, you’ll recognize it. Sound carries.” Dismissively you toss your free hand. “As I said, it’s an old property.” 

Gaz tries his best to not engage, but the words he’d been wanting to tell you slither off his tongue after a moment's thought. He had to make you understand. Strain forms again.

His head shakes with a slight parting to his lips. No matter what, every conversation always led back to an argument. ���Do you think this is a joke?”

You’re walking back to your seat with the coffee pot in hand, scooping up your mug with the intention of bringing both back to your room. 

You don’t answer right away, causing the man to call your name sternly; seriously. 

“I hate you. That’s not a joke.” Your words bounce, not at all hollow like the wound in your heart. Violent and utterly true. 

You didn’t want this man around—you didn’t want him in your house, you didn’t want him in your city, you didn’t want him living. 

Walking off, the suffocating air trails after you as you disappear into the darkness, avoiding the truth. 

But this situation is not a joke. Not at all, but you can never say that out loud. Where would your thin bit of control go? The brief moments of pleasure when you make Kyle’s patience and lax nature devolve into annoyance—even anger.

The words follow after you in a deep, aggravated, sigh. 

“Yeah, trust me, Love, I’m well aware.”

Cold was a day in hell before you admitted to this boy you were terrified.

But how many more days could you keep that act up? Three? Five? Ten? How long was this even going to go on?

Your mind was scattered, torn between duty and self-preservation. Killing the Sergeant would lead you down a dark path, one you weren't sure you could take by yourself. But was that justice?

Is that what Dad would want? You have to ask yourself as you make your way back to your room in pitch blackness, guided only by the old walls of a home even more dented and destroyed than you were. 

But the worst part was that you didn’t even know the answer anymore. And everybody who could help was limited to a stray cat that didn’t like you and a mother who left you here alone during your darkest moments.

The house was filled with ghosts, but you’d never felt more alone.

TAGS:

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#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz cod #gaz garrick #gaz call of duty #cod x reader #cod #cod x female reader #cod x you #Call Of Duty MW2 #call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #MW2 #cod mw22 #mw2 2022 #gaz mw2 #mw2 fanfic #cod fandom #cod fanfic #cod mw fanfiction #x fem!reader #x female reader #mw x reader #modern warfare #modern warfare 2

[nikitaxlee]

All Yours?/ Possessive/Obsessive Felix X Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obsessive/Jealous/Possessive Felix, Smut, kinky sex, Mentions of murder. Light breeding.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to request anything for I am new and need ideas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were plagued on felix's mind 24/7. He constantly thought about you, and was inextricably obsessed with you. "Fuck, baby, just like that. Right there- Holy shit, Fuck I'm cumming all over those pretty tits."

Felix had his phone in his right hand as he jerked himself off to a picture on your Instagram. You had a nice top with a lower neckline but not to much. You had tagged Felix due to the fact he had taken the photo. How could he not jump at the chance to have a photo of you. Especially in moments like this when he craved sweet release.

"Shit, Mommy, I can't, I fucking can't hold out any longer, I-I Need it I need you, baby." Finally he released his load all over his hand and phone.

As he came down from his high, Post-nut clarity hit him hard. He realized he had a date with you this afternoon and needed to shower and get ready. He put on an nice white, linen button up, unbuttoning the first few buttons enough to show his defined collarbone. He grabbed his phone, which he had cleaned off, and wallet and walked out the door to his car.

As he drove to the cafe he played one of your playlists while imagining blowing your back out to one of them. As he arrived to the cafe he noticed your undeniable beauty sitting at a table with a guy.

Wait... With a guy? That couldn't be right. Felix was the only guy who could speak to you. Make you smile. And even just look at your sexy features. Felix rushed to the scene. 'I'm about to kill this fucking asshole, who the fuck does he think he is? He should know a pretty girl like my Y/N is taken.'

"Y/N? Ready to go?"

"Oh! Hey babe! Meet Salomon, he's from Australia as well! Brisbane actually!" You said as you shot Salomon a smile.

"Oh, cool. That's really cool. But we should go now. We have a date planned." Felix said as he gave Salomon a fake sincere smile.

'I don't know how much I can fucking take before I snap.'

"Bye Salomon! I'll talk to you later." You said as you waved goodbye.

Later. What the fuck does she mean by later. There is no later.

And you too continued walking

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4 Hours later

Felix walked into the scene of you sitting on the couch tapping away on your fun happily. He enjoyed seeing you smile in his presence. He wanted you to be happy with him all the time.

"Whatcha doing babe, Playing a game?" Asked Felix.

"Yeah, Something like that."

Felix went to cook dinner for the 2 of you to finish up such a wonderful day. He heard you giggle in the next room over. Then he heard it again, then again, and once more, again. He finally decided to check on you to see what was so funny. He silently crept up from behind in hopes he could see what you were doing

He noticed you were texting someone and at first he thought it was one of your friends. Until he noticed the contact name.

'Salomon <3'

He snatched your phone out of your hands as rage overcame him. "What the fuck Y/N, What makes you think you can just go about texting another man when you have a boyfriend right here that would love to talk to you." He sounded genuinely hurt and offended that you would even think about another man around him. So you felt bad.

"I'm sorry babe, I didn't know you would be so offended, I was just bonding with-"

"NO, this is our time together." With that he grabbed by the neck and pulled you in to kiss him. The kiss hushed some of his terrible thoughts about killing Salomon but he could still feel the jealousy.

Felix laid you down onto the couch as he took off the tanktop he was wearing. He let out a deep whimper as you caressed his abs.

"Mhm- Fuckkk please touch me Y/N, Show me your mine, Show me I can put a baby in you. Show me I can fuck you better than he would ever. Show me I'm all yours."

You slipped your hand into his pants as you felt him up. You moaned as you felt his cock pulsing waiting to be used.

"Baby, please, I can't wait. Let me just put it in, Let me fuck a baby into you so everybody knows I'm yours as you are mine. So Salomon knows he will NEVER get you as long as I'm around."

You nodded as he pulled down his sweats and boxers and started jerking off his cock. He honestly felt bad he didn't eat you out or at least finger you, but this was you punishment for even thinking of another guy.

As he pushed in, inch by inch, you let out a high pitched moan. He started fucking deep and slow.

"Yes babe, yes take it. Take it all. Suck up all my cum with that tight, needy hole. I want you to be pregnant by the end of this month."

He picked up the pace and kept waves of pleasure moving through you. He know every nook and cranny, every spot, every detail, and he knew that he would make you cum harder than any other bastard that even dared to try. But he knew they wouldn't, because they'd be dead. As you moaned his name you felt him pulse inside of you cueing he was cumming. Suddenly he slammed his hand onto the end of the couch and pounded you.

"Cum, Cum for me, cum so fuckin- ahhh, yes, yes, yes"

He moaned as he released inside of you causing you to orgasm. As you both came down from your high. Felix gave you a deep, passionate kiss before saying, "Mine."

He carried you up to the shower before running it for you and hopping in.

"Y/N, You know I love you so much and I'm serious about putting a baby in you."

"Slow your roll pretty boy, You need to marry me first."

"I guess I will then."

#felix smut #obsessive felix #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz hard hours #stray kids hard hours #stray kids #lee felix

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

To Keep Fighting Part One

Summary: Steve kisses Eddie during the make him pay scene. Steve’s parents are decent folk who are furious about being kept in the dark. Steve’s injuries are rather serious. Hopefully, it's just a two parter. Don't worry, Eddie comes back.

Steve held out his hand to help Eddie up off the mattress. The way Eddie's hips were positioned on the mattress, Steve tried not to think about them thrusting upwards or about that stupid slutty looking bullet belt that hung seductively off of his hips. Eddie grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously as if he knew what Steve was thinking. Maybe if Steve’s eyes hadn't wondered down to his hips or his his face hadn't heated up. Damn it, Steve had been blatantly checking Eddie out, and Eddie knew it.

He grabbed Steve’s hand and let him pull him up. Eddie held onto his hand for a moment, rubbing smooth circles into his skin. He winked and let go. Steve’s face grew warm. Focus on the plan, Harrington, not on the man. Eddie bent over to collect his spear and shield. Steve took the opportunity to let his eyes roam over his backside. Very nice. He heard someone clear their throat, and he saw Robin giving him a questioning look.

"Later," he mouthed.

Eddie straightened up and looked over at Steve, grinning.

"You ever get that feeling like someone is watching you?" Eddie asked. "Strange, isn't or maybe not so strange?"

Steve had been caught. Shit.

"Uh, I mean, yeah, not so strange," Steve cleared his throat. "It happens."

Eddie laughed, placing a hand on Steve’s arm. He lingered for a moment before squeezing his bicep and walking off. Steve didn't really have time to process any of that before they were getting ready to part ways. He made them promise not to be heroes, not to be cute and do anything stupid. Steve turned to walk away.

"Hey, Steve?" Eddie called out.

Steve around, hope rising in his chest as he looked at Eddie, who looked back at Steve. It was a look of such utter clarity that Steve was sure that Eddie was going to walk over to him and kiss him.

"Make him pay," Eddie said.

Steve waited for a moment, hoping for anything else, but when it didn't come, he had to walk away. It felt wrong to leave it like that. What if something went wrong? What if they died?

"Fuck it," Steve cursed.

"Steve, what - " Robin started to say.

Steve turned around and started walking towards Eddie with purpose. He cupped his face and drew him into a searing kiss. Eddie let out a muffled moan before responding eagerly to the kiss. He gripped Steve’s shoulders, pressing his lips hard against his. He let one of his hands travel to the back of Steve’s neck, his fingers curling into his hair. Steve poured everything into the hard, desperate kiss, and he hoped that Eddie somehow knew that he didn't want this to be a one-time thing.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you, big boy?" Eddie asked, leaning his forehead against his. "You better come back now. You kind of owe it to me."

"You better not do anything cute," Steve said.

"Except for you, I promise not to do anything cute," Eddie said.

Steve gave him one more quick kiss and then walked away, feeling hopeful. He smirked when he heard Dustin squeaking and talking animatedly with Eddie behind him. Meanwhile, Robin was gaping at him.

"What the fuck was that?" Robin asked.

"I kissed Eddie," Steve shrugged.

"Yeah, I saw that," Robin said. "I was there. We were all there. You like guys? Since when?"

"I mean, I think I've always liked guy, I just wasn't really sure about it. You know, not until Eddie," Steve shrugged. "Doesn't change how I feel about girls though."

"I can't believe that you kissed a guy before I kissed a girl," Robin said, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Thanks for telling me or showing me. I'm going to go look ahead."

It was awkward because now he was left alone here with Nancy. She was looking at him with an odd look in her eye that he couldn't describe. Was she put off by what he just did? No, Nancy wouldn't be like that. . . would she?

"So, you and Eddie?" Nancy asked.

"You don't have a problem with that, do you?" Steve asked. "I mean, I wouldn't think that you would be, but. . . ,"

"No! No! I don't. I think it's great," Nancy said and sighed. "I know that I've probably been making eyes at you, but I think that maybe, it's just, a trauma response to everything that's going on. Honestly, I think there's always going to be a part of me that's going to be connected with you, a part of me that's always going to have feelings for you. I did have feelings for you. I just didn't know how to deal with everything."

"None of us did," Steve said softly and then paused, smirking. "I don't blame you for making eyes at me. I mean, obviously, you still think that I'm hot."

"Yeah, that's clearly never going to change and clearly, Eddie thinks so too," Nancy scoffed. "He was being so obvious."

"Was he?" Steve asked.

"You whipped off your sweater and threw it at him. The poor man needed a cigarette afterward," Nancy laughed and paused. "You know, I'm not surprised that you like guys."

"Really?" Steve asked.

"You and Tommy were always a bit intimate," Nancy said. "I always thought there was something between you guys, but I figured if you wanted to tell me then you would. I know that I can be pushy sometimes, but I would never push anyone about that."

"Pushy? No, curious or investigative is a better term for you. You really would make a good one," Steve sighed and paused. "You know, there was a few times that we got drunk and got handsy with each other. I didn't really question it then but now. . . with Eddie . . . "

"I think it's different with Eddie. I mean, maybe you were attracted to Tommy but with Eddie, I think that you have real feelings for him too," Nancy said. "And you just weren't ready to accept that part of yourself."

"Well, I'm ready now," he said softly.

"I found it!" Robin exclaimed.

They entered the Creel House and were immediately stopped by the vines on the wall. They nearly choked to death and once again, Steve was gasping for air. Something let them go and they made their way up to the attic. They threw everything they had at the bastard, but he made his escape out the window, wounded but obviously still alive. They made their way back to the trailer, feeling of disappointment and failure weighing heavily on their shoulders. They stopped when they heard the fourth chime and the ground shook. No! No!

"Max," Nancy whimpered.

They ran back towards the trailer, running as fast as their feet could carry them. When they got closer to the trailer, they saw something that made them stop. Dead bats surrounded Dustin and Eddie. Dustin was holding Eddie's still body in his arms and he was sobbing, screaming. Steve froze, his entire body was cold, and he wanted to throw up at the sight of Dustin in such despair. He wanted to scream at the sight of Eddie's still body. Steve collapsed next to them. He was dead. Eddie was dead.

"You promised," Steve whispered. "You promised."

The ground was shaking, and they needed to get out of there. Steve snapped out of it and pulled Dustin away with the help of the others. Dustin was screaming and fighting them. He managed to calm down long enough to let them drag him out of the Upside Down. He knew that they needed to get to the others. When they got to the Creel House, the ambulance was driving away and in the stolen RV, they drove after it. While they were in the hospital, Lucas told them that Max had died and then came back. She had died and now they don't know what's going to happen to her.

This was too much. Too fucking much. As they waited in the hospital, for their parents and to await news on Max. . . the ground shook and Hawkins was hit with a giant earthquake. They all shared a look. Hawkins was being opened, and the Upside Down was spilling into their home. Vecna had won, and they had lost. Everyone's parents had come to collect their kids. . . everyone's except Steve's. . . Shit, they were supposed to come home today.

"Robin! My parents were supposed to come home today!" Steve said.

"Go! We'll stay with the kids. I don't think they're going anywhere, though," Robin said. "No matter how much they try. I think they're talking about carrying them out."

Steve couldn't bring himself to laugh. Eddie was gone, he was gone, and Steve could still taste him on his lips.

"Robin. . . " Steve sniffled.

"Oh, Steve," Robin said and hugged him tightly.

Once she let go, he checked on Dustin before he left for his house. Dustin had hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Dustin," Steve said and squeezed him, planting a kiss into his hair. "I need to check on my parents, but I'll be back."

"Be careful out there," Dustin said. "Love you."

"Love you too, kid," Steve said ruffling his hair.

He let Claudia pull him into a hug before he left in the stolen RV. There were fires everywhere, splits in the road when he got closer to the center of the town. Bile rose in his throat. How many people died? Were his parents among the dead? When he pulled up in front of his house, he was relieved to see that his parents' car was in the driveway. He stepped out of the vehicle and started to walk up to the house.

Steve could feel the adrenaline start to fade and suddenly he felt really heavy. Everything was starting to hurt. Steve opened the door and walked into his house. He could hear his parents' voices. They were shouting, his name was mixed in somewhere. Everything sounded really far away, like he was under water. Was he in shock?

"Where is he?!" Maggie Harrington yelled. "John, what if he was amongst the - "

"You can't think like that, Mags," John cut her off. "We'll find him."

"Ma! Dad!" Steve called out.

"Oh, thank god!" Maggie shrieked and they ran into the hallway.

Steve collapsed on the floor and threw up all over the carpet.

"Steve!" John yelled.

They rushed to his sides, and he burst into tears when they put their arms around him. Steve yelled out in pain, clutching his parents.

"What happened, my love?" Maggie asked, tearfully. "Sweetheart?"

"Where does it hurt, son?" John asked.

"Everywhere," he sobbed. "We had something. . . we had something. We lost. . . we lost. . . Eddie."

He couldn't help himself when he started telling them everything. Everything. When he was done, he let himself relax in their arms, let himself be soothed by their touch, and then he blacked out.

TWO DAYS LATER. . .

Steve shifted in the recliner, frowning as his mother fussed over him. He hated not being able to do anything, but everything still hurt and as much as he wanted to be able to pretend otherwise, he couldn't really move all that much.

"You don't ever have to worry about us ever leaving again. The company has officially been passed over to Lawrence, and now we can retire. Which is something we have been striving for so that we could spend more time with you," Maggie said as she tucked the covers at his waist.

He was currently shirtless, clothes too sensitive against the road rash on his arms and back.

"You're not going to be too hard on them, are you?" Steve asked.

"Maybe not on Hopper since he spent months in a Russian prison," Maggie said. "They both left us all in the dark. Now, I understand why you didn't tell us, you were listening to them because they were the adults. You're a good boy. Joyce left and I know she was protecting her kids but she left the others here while we were left in the dark. Who was supposed to protect them? It shouldn't have been left all to you, Robin, or Nancy. You're still kids, too. If she was going to leave, then she should have told the other parents. She should have told us."

"Ma, I'm okay," Steve said softly.

"No, love, you're not. I look at you and I see a battle worn soldier. It shouldn't be like that," Maggie sniffled. "I need to yell at someone."

"I seriously told you everything?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, son, you did," John said, leaning against the doorway of the living room. "You also told us about Eddie. . . all about Eddie."

"Dad . . . " Steve trailed off.

"Your mother and I love each other but not in the way that you might think," John said softly, his eyes full of understanding.

"What?" Steve asked in confusion.

"When your father was in Ireland, we hit it off at a bar. We told you that," Maggie said. "We didn't tell you that it was a gay bar."

"What? What were you two doing in a gay bar?" Steve asked.

"I'm a lesbian, dear," Maggie said.

"I'm gay," John said.

"What?! You two are married!" Steve exclaimed.

"We love each other, and we are best friends. We made vows to each other, to our friendship, and we kept them. This marriage may not be romantic or sexual. It does have meaning," Maggie said. "And we've each had partners over the years. We're sorry for not telling you sooner.

"It's okay. Wait. . .How did you - ?"

"Turkey baster," John said. "We both really wanted a kid, and we were blessed with you."

"Holy shit!" Steve exclaimed and then he laughed. "A gay guy and a lesbian walk into a bar, get married, and make a bisexual baby!"

"It's the gayest joke ever!" John laughed.

"John!" Maggie exclaimed but the corners of her mouth were twitching.

"What? Our kid is funny," John said and then he looked at Steve softly. "I'm proud of you, son."

"As am I," Maggie said.

Just as Steve was about to cry the doorbell rang. He quickly wiped at his eyes as his parents went to answer the door. Claudia and Sue rushed to Steve's side as soon as they entered the living room. Charles and the Wheelers followed behind.

"How are you doing, dear?" Sue asked.

"I mean, it hurts but I'll be okay," Steve said.

"Oh, honey," Claudia said.

"Claudia, Sue, I want to thank you for looking after our son while we were away," Maggie said. "I didn't get a chance earlier."

"It was our pleasure, Maggie. He's a great kid," Sue said, looking at him proudly.

"Thank you for telling us about what's been going on with our kids," Claudia said and then sighed. "We haven't been able to pull them away from Max for even a second. Poor girl. Everything they've been through. . . Everything you've been through, Steve."

"I still can't believe it," Ted said, shaking his head.

"Believe what you want, Ted," Karen said as she clutched Holly close to her. "But there's a gaping hole in the middle of town."

Steve smiled. It sounds like they've had that argument before. Maggie knelt down next to Steve.

"We've also contacted Wayne Munson. He's going to come by and we're going to let him know what happened. He's been putting up missing posters," Maggie said softly.

"He deserves to know," Steve said and then he looked ashamed. "I don't know if I can tell him."

"It's alright, love, you don't have to do everything," Maggie said. "We'll handle it."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. The doorbell rang and she left to go answer it. Steve watched his parents lead Wayne Munson into the living room and he looked down at his hands. They shouldn't have to do this. None of this should have happened. Steve should have stayed behind. No, what if something happened to Robin and Nancy? He had to go and be a hero. He to be cute. Why the fuck couldn't he have listened? Why did he have to try to save them?

He blinked back tears. Getting mad at Eddie wouldn't do anything either. It wouldn't bring him back and getting angry at the guy who was truly responsible for all of this wouldn't help either. Although, picturing bringing that asshole back to life only to kill him over and over again helped a little bit. All of this was so fucked up.

"Steve, are you -," Karen started to say.

"Mommy! It's snowing!" Holly exclaimed.

Karen went to the window her daughter was peering out of and looked outside. Karen gasped causing everyone to rush to the window. Steve was a little slower than everyone else, but he made it to the window.

"What is that?" Claudia asked.

"It's the Upside Down," Steve said. "It's coming into Hawkins."

Steve. . . where am I. . . Steve, I'm so sorry. . . fuck. . . am I dead?

Suddenly, the bat bites flared painfully, and he bent over, screaming. Steve collapsed to the floor, and everyone quickly surrounded him.

"Mommy, what's wrong with Steve?" Holly cried.

"I don't know, sweetie," Karen said.

"John! Maggie!" Sue shrieked.

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was his parents rushing into the room with a sad, panicked looking Wayne Munson. Everything around him was dark and the floor beneath him was wet. Steve walked toward an object in the middle of the strange looking room. As he got closer, he discovered that it was person hunched over and crying. Steve moved forward, his foot making a loud splash in the water. The person whirled around. Steve's heart leapt into his throat. It was Eddie.

"Stevie?!" Eddie exclaimed. "Are you real?"

"Are you real?" Steve asked.

Eddie jumped up and threw himself into Steve's arms, hugging him tightly. Steve winced but hugged him back, burrowing his head into Eddie's neck.

"Did I die, Steve?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, yeah, you did," Steve said and pulled back from the hug. "You promised that you wouldn't do anything!"

"I'm sorry, Stevie," Eddie said. "I just didn't want anything to happen to you like they did with Chrissy. I didn't want to lose you."

"Instead, I lost you. We lost you," Steve said.

"I think I'm in hell, Steve," Eddie sniffled. "It's like I'm dreaming sometimes. It's mostly just memories. Other times, it's like I'm looking through my eyes but it's like I'm not in control. There's this voice in my head, Steve, and he's telling me or whatever I am now, what to do."

"Like you're a puppet?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I can see Hawkins and it's a wreck. The voice keeps telling me to feed, Steve, but I don't want to and for a brief moment I can take control. Instead, I went after a deer and there's blood dripping down my chin. It's a nightmare, Stevie," Eddie said.

"I think maybe that it might not be a dream," Steve replied. "I think you're alive, but I don't think you're in control. I mean, the Mind Flayer controlled people last year. You have to fight him, Eddie, you have to take control."

"I don't know, I don't think that I can," Eddie sobbed.

"Baby, yes, you can. You have to, not just for Dustin. My parents just told Wayne that you're dead. He's a mess," Steve said. "Eddie, he thinks you're dead. I hate to be a dick, but do you really want to leave him alone? You have to fight, okay?"

"He thinks that I'm dead," Eddie said softly. "He's probably better off. I mean, I've always been a burden. I mean, he doesn't even get his own bedroom, I'm a constant screw up and I'm sure the murder allegations aren't going to be easy for him. He's better off."

"Don't you fucking say that!" Steve yelled at him, gripping his shirt tightly. "No one is better off without you! Dustin is a wreck without you! He thinks that it's his fault that you died. You can't leave him like this. You can't leave me like this. There isn't a minute that goes by that I don't think of you! Please, I want to be with you. I want to take you on a date. I want to hold you and to be held by you. I want to know more about you. Please, I want you. Most importantly, I want you to fight for you and everyone who loves you. Please, fight."

Eddie surged forward and kissed him, holding Steve's face in his hands. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Steve's.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay," Steve smiled.

"You know, offering to suck my dick would have saved a lot more oxygen than that speech you gave," Eddie said.

"Why'd you have to ruin it?" Steve laughed.

"Nah, I didn't ruin it. I think I made it better," Eddie said. "It was a nice speech, Stevie."

Steve's eyes opened to find his parents crying over him. His nose was wet. Why was his nose wet? He touched his face and when he pulled his hand away, there was blood on his fingers.

"Sweetheart?" Maggie sobbed and he looked at her.

"Eddie . . . ," he said smiling.

"What about, Eddie, son?" Wayne asked.

"He's alive," Steve said before passing out again.

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

[the-fluff-piece]

I have a weird thing I've been thinking about.

What if like-- (y/n) is in love with Law?

Like-- really really in love. But was just good at hiding it because they know it will never be meant to be. (We all know who law is by nature)

And tries to bury those feelings deep deep inside, so hard they forgot about it (still there), until this enemy comes along and (y/n) thought they were gonna die.

So at the last moments, they told him everything they've been feeling until they passed out.

...

Only to then wake up on a medical bed. Whoops.

That would be...a BIG whoopsie, ngl

Like accidentally calling your teacher mom.

Wonderful xD

Here's part 2 by @axcel-lucci

You're hit - bad. You're toast. Bepo is already asking you how you wanna be buried while Law is telling you that you will be ok for sure.

You know you're done.

"Y/n-ya, keep talking to me, don't pass out!" Law orders you with his captain's voice.

"Talk about what?" You're feeling light headed.

"I don't know, what did you have for breakfast?" His voice is getting desperate while you go silent and think really hard.

"Or just what's on your mind right now, stay with me!" He readied a syringe.

"You're voice is so sexy" you giggle, "and you're eyes are so, so pretty!" your vision is getting blurry.

"You're such a bad, hurt boy, I love you so much!" Your voice is slurring.

"Keep going!" Bepo's high pitched voice is the only thing getting through to your ringing ears.

"So distant...you never like me..." you're thoughts are loosing coherence.

But than - a moment of clarity! This is the end. Your handsome captain is here for you. Maybe he cared about you, just a little. Now he knows. You can die happy.

Happy.

Happy.

"I'M SO HAPPY THAT Y/N IS OK" Bepo's voice is like a drill in your head.

A sharp tool made for torture. You wake up, blinking into the light.

"Am I in hell?" You ask.

"You're in sick bay" Law says.

"And alive!" Bepo screams, sending pure pain through You're very being.

"Call me when something changes" Law said and left.

Bepo's black button eyes look directly at you, a broad smile shows his big bear teeth.

"Bepo, did I tell our captain that he's a bad boy and I love him?" You ask dryly.

"Yes!"

"Fuck."

___

That's my two cents

#one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x y/n #law x reader #law x y/n #accidental confession #the fluff piece

[elly99]

Cool With You

Contains swearing and revolves around anxiety.

Kim Minji for Vogue Korea. She glowed through your screen, as she did in real life, in stark contrast to the shadows rippling on your walls as you scrolled through the article. Her new song was on repeat. Quiet, but enough to fill the emptiness of the room. She was beautiful, you thought.

"My grandma always asks if I'm having a hard time and if I'm having fun. I didn't think much of it before. It just seemed like a normal way to ask how I was doing. But now, whenever I hear it, I reflect on myself a little more and my heart warms up, too. So I also try to ask the important people in my life the same thing. 'Have you been having a hard time? Are you happy?'"

You hear the words in her voice. She was so sweet, you thought.

Then the end of the song. A brief moment of complete silence before it repeats. A brief window for another voice to cut through.

Have you been having a hard time? Are you happy?

Your own. In your head.

Yes, you are having a hard time. You haven't been happy in months.

"Not again! I was just reading a fucking interview! What the fuck is wrong?"

If you're so important to her, why hasn't she asked you the same thing?

"Just stop. Just stop."

You're losing it. I know you are. I know you.

The song starts back up. It goes, "You know me like no other," but you didn't know who was talking anymore.

"No, I'm fine! I'm fine. I swear I'm..."

Suddenly the darkness of your room felt suffocating. You stand up quickly to turn on the light. But when you do the clarity is equally uncomfortable. All your insecurities, your fears, your worries in plain sight. You just want to hide. Turn off the light again. Sit back down.

"Ok, this is fine! I know how to deal with this. Just breathe slowly. Deep breaths through the nose. And count. One. Two."

Three. Four. Five. All this counting but when will you get your life together?

"Three. F-f-our..."

You try to get the words out but your lips won't cooperate. You can't feel them anymore. Just a tingling over your face. So instead you scream. In anger. Where is this coming from? Why couldn't you stop it? This didn't make sense. Stop feeling this way. This is stupid. Just be normal, you thought.

Of course it doesn't make sense. You're fucked up. You know that. Everybody does. Don't try to rationalize it because you won't be able to. You're not good enough for that.

You can't feel your legs. You can't feel your hands struggle to pick up your phone.

Wow. Are you really going to ask her to come over now? She's busy. Probably exhausted. The album is coming out tomorrow. Why the fuck would you bother her?

"Hey, babe! What's up?" The sound of her voice tethers you to the ground for a moment. Holds you close in the dark room.

"Minji, I... Hi!" You feign composure. But your chest was aching. "I-I'm good! I just wanted to hear your voice. H-How are you? Are you busy?"

"Well, I just got back from work..." she trails off. "Are you ok, baby?"

You're suddenly aware of your breath hitching. And you know she hears it, too. There was no point pretending. You needed her right now.

"Min... could you come over, please? I... can't..."

"Ok, I'm on my way." You hear her voice jump. Then her footsteps. She's running. "Baby, listen to me, ok? I'm on my way. Count down from 100 very slowly. And breathe deeply. If I'm not there yet, just count down again but I promise I'm coming. I love you."

She was so sweet, you thought, as your hands lost their grip on the phone. You smiled with tears running down your face.

"100. 99. 98. 97."

You know that's pointless right? The more techniques you use to try and stop it, the more you'll just remind yourself that you're a mess.

"96. 95. 94. 93."

Look at you go.

You clench your fists. Then your teeth. You still couldn't feel either of them.

"92. 91. 90. 89. 88."

You focus on breathing. Slowly. Lie down on the sofa and stare at the ceiling.

"59. 58. 57. I like 57."

You heard no reply. You felt calm. But you could never be too sure.

"17. 16. 15. 14."

Almost there. Where is she?

Shit. Focus. You shut your eyes and start whispering forcefully.

"She'll be here. 13. 12. 11. 10. 9. 8."

You hear your door unlock. Open your eyes and quickly stand up. A little too quickly. Your legs are still numb and you stumble. But she's there to catch you.

"I'm here, baby. I'm here. I brought our bear, too. Look!"

You look up and there she was. Your girlfriend and your bear. And the stuffed toy you both loved. She was smiling but her eyes were drowning in concern. She was so beautiful, you thought. She came all this way, carrying a huge toy, in the rain, after a very busy and tiring day, just for you. She was so sweet. She was so good to you.

She's too good to you. She's too good for you. You don't deserve this. You're not beautiful like her. You're not kind like her. You'll wear her out.

You couldn't take it anymore. You burst into tears in her arms. Breathing short and shallow.

She wraps one arm around you to pat your back and uses her other hand to pull your head towards her, stroking your hair softly.

"Baby, it's ok! I'm here now. I'm here. You're going to be ok."

You feel the warmth of her words penetrate the chaos of your mind. But there was still so much to get through. So much you were still feeling. Still so far from the ground. You cling to her tightly in desperation.

"Just hold on to me, ok? I'll take you to the couch. Let's go. Take your time."

She lifts you slightly. Not enough to carry you but enough to aid your trembling legs. She lies down first and beckons you to stay next to her.

"Come here. Let me spoon you, baby."

You do as you're told. Anything to keep you grounded. You knew her arms were the safest place in the world.

"Let's look at the ceiling together, ok? We've done this before. Tell me five things you can see in the room."

"Well... there's the ceiling... and the walls..."

"Mmhmm..."

"The door..."

"Yeah... that's three."

"I see your hands."

"Ok. One last thing."

"But you have two hands."

You can't see her face but you could tell she was smiling. She kisses your cheek.

"One more thing, babe."

"I see... your music video still playing on my laptop."

"Great. Ok. How about four things you can feel?"

"I can feel your hands. Your breathing. Your voice when you speak. And your warmth."

"I'll always keep you warm, babe." She kisses your cheek again. "Ok, now tell me three things you can hear."

"I can hear you. I can still hear Cool With You. And the rain outside."

"Now two things you can smell."

"Umm... I can smell your perfume." You pull a bunch of her hair close to your nose. "And your shampoo."

"Do you like the scent?"

"I do. I thought you didn't usually wear perfume, though."

"I felt like it today." Another kiss on the cheek. "Ok, for the last step, I came prepared. I brought chocolate. It's my superpower after all." She takes a small bar of chocolate out of her pocket and puts it in your hand. "What's one thing you can taste?"

"I taste this magic chocolate bar made by my Powerpuff Girl. This is really good actually."

"You must be hungry, baby. Want me to order food?"

"Yes, please."

After all that you're gonna make her order food?

You flinch. She knew what that meant. She holds you tighter.

"Hey, you're ok. Nothing to worry about. Just your girlfriend buying her favorite bunny some dinner."

She holds her phone in front of both of you. "What do you wanna eat, bunny?"

Even making simple decisions was hard. You flinch again. She holds you steady.

"Ok, ok. I'll choose for you." A kiss on the other cheek. "Done."

You feel yourself melting into her. Her warm embrace calming the storm in your mind just a little.

"Minji... thank you so much for this. For everything. For just being you. I don't know what I'd do without you..."

"Anything for you, baby. You know I love you, right?"

"I do. It's just I... Sometimes I don't believe it. Like, I'm just..."

She sits up and turns you towards her.

"Shhh. I know what you're going to say. Don't let that part of you even have a voice, babe. It doesn't deserve any space in your beautiful brain. We need to shut it out. Whenever it gets in the way, just listen to my voice. And even when I'm not around, I'm right here in your heart. Remember my words. You just have to listen."

"Minji..."

"And remember, when you feel that anxiety building, find where it is, grab it and throw it away. Just the act of physically trying to pull that anxiety out of your body can help. Even if it's not something you can really feel with your hands, the effect is real. You learned this, remember? You can do it. I love you so much. Ok?"

"Ok..."

She hugs you tight again.

"Let's talk about something else! Did you like Cool With You?"

The shift in her tone briefly lifts your mood.

"I loved it! It was soooo good. So cool. You're so cool, babe!"

"Aw, thanks, honey! We worked really hard on it. Glad you enjoyed!"

"You always work so hard..."

The way you trail off lets her know what you're really thinking. What you were about to say. Again she knows just what to do and cuts you off with another question.

"Are you excited for the rest?"

"Of course! I'm excited for anything you do."

"And I'm excited to share it with you! I like sharing my life with you."

Slowly she was pulling you back down. You were almost there. You begin to remember what normal conversation was like. For a while you lie in silence. Nothing but the sound of the rain and the song still on repeat on your laptop. But you can still hear faint thunder in the distance. Both outside your apartment and in your head.

"Do you mind me asking what the trigger was tonight? You know I just wanna help."

"I was just reading your Vogue interview while listening to the new song and somehow it all just came crashing down. It never really makes sense when it starts. But I was just reading how you said you wanted to ask the important people in your life if they were having a hard time and if they were happy. It just triggered a spiral of thoughts. Immediately I was reminding myself I wasn't happy."

"So... it was me?" The sadness in her voice hits hard.

"No, no! Of course not, baby. It's all me. My biggest insecurity is that I'm just this ugly, unhappy person just dragging you down. Like, why can't I be happy like you? Why don't I have my life together the way you do? I can't help but compare cuz you're just so amazing and out of this world to me. And that's not on you. That's just something I have to work out myself."

"Hey, no..." She tries to stop you but it all comes rushing out.

"And you're so pretty. You're so sweet. You're so talented and successful. Like, there's literally nothing to fault about you. You just feel so perfect and I just feel so inadequate next to you. That's why sometimes my brain gets in the way and doesn't believe that you could love me."

You notice tears start to form in her eyes.

"I really hate when you talk like that about yourself. It hurts. Cuz you'd never talk like that about me. Or anyone else for that matter. Why be so hurtful to yourself..."

"I know, baby. I just can't help it..."

"No. You can help it." Her voice was firm now. "We'll work on it together. Do it for yourself. And for me, too. Because it hurts when you refuse to see why I love you and why there's so much to love about you."

"I know you love me. It's just that I get so scared all the time that you'll get sick of me or I'll just drag you down because I've been a mess lately. I want to be good enough for you but faking confidence or pretending I'm ok doesn't really work."

"But you are good enough! I know you haven't been well lately but you've always gone above and beyond for me. The word inadequate shouldn't even be in the same universe as you. And it's ok to be a mess! It's ok to not know where you're going yet. I just found my career very young but that has nothing to do with how good you are and how successful you can be. We may have different paths but that's ok! We're in this together. I'm with you to the end, ok?"

You knew she was right. But it was just so hard. As you nod weakly in agreement, she pulls you in for another hug. She speaks more slowly now. Gentle and caring. You feel her voice reverberate in your chest.

"I'm so excited for your future. You may not see it yourself but I know you're gonna be amazing. Because you are amazing. You just need to trust yourself, baby. The real you. The one who knows all the reasons you're wonderful and why I love you. Do you want me to remind you?"

She pulls away with a smile on her face. Her smile that could outshine a thousand galaxies. Her smile that could comfort you a million times over.

"Actually, you have no choice. I'm going to remind you. Let me spoon you again."

You eagerly oblige, falling quickly into the safety of her embrace.

"Close your eyes and just listen to my voice, ok? So, do you remember when you first came to Korea? When we first became friends and you learned Korean in a year just for me?"

"Yeah."

"What does that say about you?"

"I don't know..."

"You do know. It means you're smart, hardworking and dedicated. And a sweetheart. Now you say it to yourself."

"I... um... what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Say it to yourself like you're complimenting a friend."

"I'm smart, hardworking and dedicated."

"Don't forget the last part."

"And I'm a sweetheart," you say, blushing.

"Yes, you are! Now remember when you started having a hard time and you reached out for help? You went to therapy and shared with me everything you learned there and what you talked about? You were at your most vulnerable and you still shared everything with me. That takes strength and courage."

"I have strength and courage." You pause. "This sounds cheesy."

"No, you're doing a great job, babe. Just keep going. Ok, now, remember when I was a trainee, whenever I'd have super long days, you'd come over to my place just to drop off some coffee or my favorite ice cream? What does that say about you?"

"I'm thoughtful and caring," you say, smiling this time.

"Good! You did it without me telling you. That's your confidence building! And do you remember all the gifts you got for me, my members and my family? There's too many to count."

"Does that mean I'm kind and generous? This feels weird. This just feels like I'm showing off."

"But who are you talking to?"

"You."

"No, you're talking to yourself. I've heard you give all these compliments to me before. And many more. Now you're just complimenting yourself. And it's not like you're lying to yourself. You know everything is true. You just need to be confident and admit it to yourself out loud. Take care of yourself like you take care of me all the time, ok? Be kind to yourself like you're kind to everyone around you. You need to be your friend, too."

"I'll try. But doesn't it sound like showing off? Like I'm too proud of myself?"

"You're just reassuring a friend! Telling them all the ways they're worth loving. It's not like you're going around telling everyone how good you are."

"Is this how you're always so confident, babe?"

"I guess!"

"You're incredible."

"So are you! Incredibly cute I might add."

You're blushing again. In the dark she couldn't see it clearly, but she knew you well enough to know that you were. Somewhere in the room the song repeats again.

"Do you feel cool with me, baby?"

"I really do, Min. You really do know me like no other. The way you helped me tonight - it's like you could read my mind. It's just like you said. 'What's the best?'"

"너의 옆에 내가 있을 때."

"Exactly. When you're here with me I feel safe."

You open your eyes. Saying those words out loud was the last thing you needed. You landed. She brought you all the way back. You were home. And she could tell by the way you were smiling.

"I'll always be here for you." She smiled in return. "Cuz I know you're always there for me, bro."

The first chuckle out of you that night.

"How are you feeling, baby?"

"I think I'm good, Min. Thanks again. You're the best. The best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you so fucking much."

"Then don't swear at me, bro!"

The first real laugh out of you that night. And she echoes it.

"Do you hear me, baby? Do you hear me laughing with you?"

"I do."

"You hear just me?"

"Yes. Just you."

"Do you see me? Focus on my eyes."

You turn around to look at her and see the way her eyes sparkle with encouragement. Her endearing smile pulling you out of the dark. Into the light with her.

"I see you." You smile. "But it's a bit blurry cuz I've been crying."

"That's ok! Can you feel my hands?" she asks as she gently takes both your hands in hers and caresses them slowly. "I've missed holding your hands."

"I can feel you. But my fingers are still a little tingly. And shaky."

She pulls your hands towards her and kisses both. "That's ok, too." She smiles again. "And you know, we listed reasons to love someone, but at the end of the day, love isn't a rational thing, either. The strongest love has no reason. Who knows why we fall in love? All I know is that I fell in love with you because you're you. And that'll always be reason enough for me."

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