#because I need a fucking break. and a fucking drink

[literaryavenger]

(This is the first thing I've ever written with Thunderbolts!Bucky, even if it's just a drabble but I kinda love it.)

Bucky that’s so freaked out when you get your first period while you’re dating because when he was growing up women didn’t talk about it freely, and certainly not with men, Yelena had a hysterectomy from the Red Room and Ava’s never experienced hers because the accident where she got her powers happened when she was just a child so she never had the chance to even start it.

So the first time he comes home to the Watchtower to find you curled up on the couch of the common room under a blanket, watching a sappy movie and crying while stuffing your face with chocolate, he realizes how truly out of his depth he is.

He tries to approach you carefully, but you’re not having any of it and go off on a rant about how men treat women like they’re wild animals when they’re on their periods before you storm off while angrily saying, ”I should just run off to the woods for a week!”

Bucky that’s left standing there dumbfounded, trying to process the fact that you just unloaded centuries of misogyny on him because he asked ”Are you okay, doll?”

Bucky that shakes it off quickly and walks to his room like a man on a mission, taking his tablet and opening a browser page and starting an extensive research on what women go through on their periods, what works best to alleviate the pain, how to support them and how to talk to them without being condescending, making sure all articles and tips come from actual women that know what they’re talking about and saving everything on a folder in the bookmark bar marked IMPORTANT.

Bucky that instantly gets into action after a few hours of reading and goes out to buy everything he can find that was mentioned in every article he read. And I mean everything. Like hundreds of dollars worth of snacks, sweets, drinks, ice cream, pain killers, different size heating pads, and about a dozen different pads, tampons and cups, just so you have options, and all the ingredients to cook your favorite meals from scratch.

Because Bucky’s not one to spend money, unless it’s on you.

Bucky that walks with purpose into your room, unloading everything in front of your bed where you’re pouting with the pride of a kid showing off his done homework for the first time.

Bucky that freaks you start crying and sobbing uncontrollably, convinced that he somehow fucked up and you were about to break up with him.

Bucky that’s startled when you launch yourself at him and sob into his arms, telling him how much you love him for the first time while ugly crying.

Bucky that doesn’t mind as he sits patiently with you, comforting you until your crying dies down because he’s just so relieved you don’t hate him.

Bucky that doesn’t care that Alexei and John make fun of him every month when he gets super protective and doesn’t let you do anything even after you assure him countless times that, while you have your bad days, you can still function as you’ve always done, because he loves you too (Yes, when you calmed down, he said it back) and he wants you to be comfortable at all times.

Bucky that rolls his eyes when Yelena and Ava joke about him being ‘Husband material’ even if his chest puffs out with pride a little every time and he secretly hopes you think that too.

Bucky that, even when he’s away on missions, keeps track of your cycle so he can make sure to tell Bob to keep an eye on you, and Bob delivers by sitting with you through your cheesy comfort movies and crying with you at the happy endings and/or whenever there's an animal on the screen, no matter the context.

Bucky that spends every month making sure you have everything you need during that uncomfortable week (more than usual at least) so when your period is late for the first time since you started dating, he’s the first one to notice.

[slushycoookie]

Lack of Patience (18+) ~ Ryomen Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Content: True Form! Sukuna. Modern era. Reader has a nipple piercing and Sukuna is very impatient. The man has tiger tendencies. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex (Male receiving). P in V. Minors DNI!

A/N: This was supposed to be a flash fic and then...that didn't happen so enjoy!

“Ah, fuck!”

Your face scrunches up when your nipple grazes the refrigerator handle. A rush of pleasurable pain flows through your body as you freeze to get yourself together. And to see if there's footsteps.

You were influenced by your friends to follow through on a nipple piercing you talked about for years. You wanted to get it done, but there were a lot of factors. The needle, the healing process, the jewlery. There’s a lot that came with an intimate piercing. Your friends weren’t buying it, hence why you randomly got it done one day.

You also didn't tell Sukuna.

Not because you were afraid of what he was going to say about it. It's because you know what he's going to do once he sees it. Grab all on you with his gigantic hands. Fiddle with it like it's a toy. All while having this sadistic smirk that you love so much.

You've been doing your best to hide it from him, even if that means missing out on his famous baths, but it's worth it for your husband not to find out yet.

“Wife.” He calls from the other room, “You exclaimed.”

“I'm fine!” You quickly say, maneuvering so you don't hit your nipple a second time. “I just knocked my finger against the door.”

That wasn't a good enough answer when heavy footsteps occur. You scramble to act natural by drinking the lemonade you grabbed when your gigantic man comes in the kitchen.

“Let me see your finger.”

“No.” You hold your hand close to your chest, “I'm fine. Go back to the living room.”

“You are a clumsy oaf. I will not allow you to injure yourself.”

“What did you just call me? I just said I’m-”

Sukuna doesn’t take no for an answer when he grabs your hand to examine it. He squints at the sight of your uninjured finger. “You did not damage it.”

“You don’t listen.” You snatch your hand away, “I told you I’m fine.”

He grunts, but doesn’t move away. The hard stare from him makes you break eye contact, going back to sipping on your drink.

“What?”

“You are hiding something from me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You hardly fake an injury. If it’s to capture my attention, you already have it. There’s no need to go to such extremes.” Sukuna folds his arms, muscles practically bulging against the black t-shirt. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You start chewing on your straw, “Nothing.”

“You know better than to lie to me.”

It’s that harmless threat that makes your knees buckle. You weren’t sure how you were going to keep hiding your piercing for much longer. You were running out of ideas.

“If I show you, you can’t touch.”

Sukuna’s brows furrow in confusion, “I do not understand.”

“Just promise me.”

“Fine. I will not touch.”

You ignore his exaggerating huff when you pull away from the counter. Sukuna’s eyes flicker with intrigue when you pull up your baggy shirt right above your breasts. To see the new addition on your body.

“You have decorated your nipple with jewelry.”

“It’s just a simple barbell for now, but yes.”

“And you thought to hide this from me?”

Your lips pursed, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Elaborate.” You motion to the fact that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of the piercing. Plus, his hands are flexing during each minute he remains on you. “You say this as if I cannot control myself.”

“Then why are you coming closer?”

You step back when Sukuna takes two steps forward. He huffs, having the audacity to be annoyed at your caution. “I wish to examine up close.”

“You can when I’m properly healed.”

“And how long will that take?”

“A while. Some people say six weeks. Others say a few months.”

Sukuna throws his arms up, “Let me use my technique to heal you.”

“No! I don’t want to use jujutsu for something as simple as this.” You put your shirt back down and with it your husband became more whiny. “Let this heal naturally, please.”

“You’re being impossible.”

“You’re being impatient.”

“I can’t revel in my wife’s new decoration?”

“Not if you’re acting like this.”

You grab your glass, going back to the living room to finish watching TV. Sukuna moves to appear in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Let me see it again.”

“You know what it looks like. And you’re gonna touch it as soon as I pull up my shirt.”

“I will not. Don’t be difficult.”

“Sukuna-”

“I wish to see it again.”

“What did I just say?”

“I heard what you said, now let me see-”

“Okay!” You settle your drink down on the counter, some of it splashing on your hand. “No sex. Not until my piercing heals enough for you to touch.”

You might as well told him to jump off a cliff. The incredulous look on his face changes into disdain. Yeah, you just forbade the King of Curses from getting any. There is some power to being his wife.

Although, you’re sure you’ve made things worse. Because Sukuna wouldn’t stop bugging you about it.

Whenever you’re around in your home, he’s not too far away. Eying you, pacing the room like a tiger waiting to strike. His imposing frame, dark, red eyes never leaving you. If you weren’t married to him, this might have scared you a little.

Your piercing is all that he wants to talk about. If it hurt, why you didn’t let him come with you when you got it done, how often you have to clean it, etc. You know he was born in the Heian era, but he’s acting like he’s never seen a piercing before.

You lost count at how many times Sukuna has demanded you to show him again. With the straightest face in the world. Sometimes you ignore him and go back to doing what you were doing. Other times, you indulge him.

Your eyes never leave his face when you pull up your shirt. All four red eyes on your jewelry like cat staring at something it wants. With his arms close to his sides.

“The taste must be metallic.” He guesses.

“Did you forget about my metal allergy?” You suck your teeth when he doesn't respond, “Why are you imagining how it would taste?”

“You have denied intercourse from me until you heal. I want to have this.”

You shook your head, “Fine. It might taste like metal. They gave me surgical steel.”

You angle your breast for him to get all sides, as if he wanted to see the inner workings of it.

“Why did you not get the other done? It's asymmetrical.”

“I wasn't sure how I'd react with this one…”

Sukuna still doesn't leave your breast, not until you were tired of holding up your shirt.

“How long until I can touch?”

“Two more weeks.”

And what a long two weeks it was. For Sukuna. His constant moaning and grunting annoyed you to no end.

You didn’t realize you hit the two week mark when you woke up one morning, slowly climbing out of your bed and to your bathroom. Where you were met with the torso of your man. Your face directly against his pectorals.

“It’s time.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“It has been six weeks.”

You yawn, “Oh yeah. I guess you can touch now.” Sukuna pulls up your shirt which makes you squeal in surprise. “Baby, wait! You want to do this right now?”

“Yes.” He reaches for you again, but you put your hands up in protest.

“Hold on, can I go pee first?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes, “No.”

“I gotta pee!”

“Make it quick!”

You run to the bathroom, quickly doing what you had to do while Sukuna just stares at you. He already informed you he washed his hands so all you needed to do is show him your piercing. Right after you brush your teeth.

“What are you doing?”

“Brushing my teeth-hey!”

He wraps his strong arms around you, “You are testing my patience. Do that later.”

“Morning breath!”

“Who cares?”

You do, but you couldn’t escape the hold your husband had on you sitting on the bed with him, your back against his chest. Sukuna took off your shirt immediately and graced himself with the sight of your breasts. The heart beat in your chest was hard to ignore, even as you rested your hand on his knee.

“Be gentle, please.”

“I will.”

To test the waters, he thumbs your nipple. You try not to immediately melt in his warm touch. He slides along your nipple to the bar bell, causing you to take a deep breath. You ignore the goosebumps on your skin as he continues, moving your jewelry a bit.

His touch combined with your increased sensitivity felt addicting. You were so close to becoming putty in his hands, all because of a few rubs to your nipple. Knowing Sukuna, he was probably looking serious. As if he was planning the next attack in the middle of a battle.

“Ah!”

You push against him at the pinch to your nipple. A hand squeezes your other breast, beckoning your thighs to spread for him. Enough to where his hand snaked down your stomach and under the waistband of your panties.

That slick motherfucker.

“Kuna…” You start to protest, ready to remove yourself from his hold. The no sex rule was also impacting you, but you thought your mind was strong enough to resist. Sukuna’s calloused finger to your clit made any reason fly out the window.

The grip on his knee got tighter and you're panting along his neck. You notice a smirk on his face at how you’re affected by his touch.

“Feels good?”

That low tone in his face makes you croon, combined with his slow circles on your clit. Sukuna is also still figuring out the best way to give you maximum pleasure with your piercing. When he slides the barbell back and forth, a tingling sensation surrounds you. Your toes curl and your eyes shut.

“Don’t…” You don’t want him to stop. Not when your breaths get heavy and your face starts feeling hot. Plus, something hard was pressed against your back. You knew what that was.

A groan escapes Sukuna when he put two fingers inside you, witnessing how soaked you were. He nudges into your head, his own breaths synching up with yours. He’s got your entire, pierced breast pooled in his palm. The action of him gently thumbing it, pinching it was just sending you to the edge.

Sukuna has you locked in, so you couldn’t escape even if you tried. But you wait for the inevitable. For you to experience ecstasy unlike these few past weeks. That doesn’t come.

Right when you’re about to reach your peak, Sukuna pulls away. He’s licking his fingers while your eyes shoot open.

“What the hell? Why did you stop?”

“You said no intercourse.”

You scoff, going to stand, your legs shaking a little. “Since when do you listen to me?”

“Since now.”

His legs are spread, enough for you to see the giant tents in his pants. You roll your eyes and decide not to argue with him even further.

“You’re an ass.”

You can hear Sukuna’s laughter on the other side of the bathroom as you finish up your morning routine.

Now, he’s pissed you off.

There’s a few more months until his tongue can make contact with your nipple, but you want to make this situation unbearable. Sukuna has helped you clean your piercing, lifted up your shirt when he wants to see it, but you got rid of that.

He glares at you already cleaning your piercing when it’s time. All of your shirts have been tucked in to prevent him from lifting them. No more shared showers or baths. Anything to drive your husband wild.

At first, you can see the vein on his forehead, the annoyed look in those eyes when he sees what you’re doing. But after a few weeks, he becomes stagnant. No attempts to raise your shirt or see your breast in the shower. No demands for him to see it randomly in the estate. The silence was unnerving. Sukuna was lowering your guard before striking, ready to ruin you the way he wants.

Yet, it doesn’t come.

You stopped worrying about him pouncing on you three weeks later. The married life you two contained went back to normal. He still annoyed you, but about other things. It was almost as if he dropped the thought of you having that piercing at all.

It’s exactly why when you’re set up to watch a movie one day, a thought occurred to check the calendar. Sukuna was preparing his nightly routine in the shower so you wanted to kill some time. Your stomach dropped when you realized it’s been three months. Sure, not enough adequate time for your piercing to fully heal, but enough to try and do things.

Was he expecting this? He was the one that suggested a movie night, while you wear the pink, silk pjs he picked out for you. And he had this look in his eye that you couldn’t decode.

You should run, but that would entice your husband even further. He likes the chase. You can be brave and prepare for his approach. Or you can turn the tables.

That flowy pink top is gone and tossed away. You recline on the couch when heavy footsteps resonate in your ears. Sukuna locks eyes with you, hair damp, only wearing pj shorts that does little to hide his aroused state.

“Took you long enough.”

You’re sitting up on your knees as he comes closer. “You’re talking about me but…someone was in a hurry.” Even his skin was damp as you trace a finger down his abs. Sukuna’s breath hitched when you tug on his waistband, not pulling down his shorts just yet.

“The thought of me messing with you to get what I want made me make haste.”

He grips the back of your head to tilt your head up. Your lips part at the kiss you two share. His tongue damn near in the back of your throat, showing how much he needed you after these excruciating months. You can’t help but moan under him as a sign that you felt the same.

When you part, you immediately pull down his shorts. Those cocks springing free, already a little red and leaking. You don’t miss a beat when you lick any cum remaining from his tips. Sukuna doesn’t remove that hand from your head when you lick up one of his shafts. Your hands stroke the other, directly along your nipple piercing. The cool jewelry graze his cock while droplets of his seed stain your chest.

“Wife…” He swallows, taking shallow breaths to keep steady. “You are toying with me.”

Sukuna lets out a choked groan when you take him in your mouth. Your lips pursed around his thick shaft as you slowly sucked. The scent of his sea salt body wash makes your thighs clench together. Your hands deliberately matching the pace of your mouth. Your moans vibrating against his cock.

You don’t miss the death grip Sukuna has on you. If you wanted to part from him, you can’t, but you have no reason to. His pleasure filled face gives you everything you need to keep going. The slight jolt he gives when your barbell touches any part of his cock, especially the tip. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

Sukuna doesn’t try to hide how much he’s pleased. He’s moaning to the stars with every stroke and suck you conduct. You deny him sex for a quarter of a year, of course he’s glad to have you once again.

Your hands get sticky from all of the pre cum. It helps you stroke a little faster, ignoring the slow pace from your mouth. Sukuna pushes against you, wanting your mouth to match your hands again. You don’t bother teasing and accept his demand. Soon, your husband is no stranger to showing you that he likes what you’re doing.

You take him fully in your mouth, his pubic hairs brushing along your nose. Sukuna shudders, knees buckling when you continue. The slight gag combined with the sticky, wet sound of your strokes became too much for him to bear. He’s now chasing his own high, making your mouth match the pace he wants. It’s not until your jewelry connects with the underside of his shaft that he comes.

A roar fills the living room. You swallow his seed, your chest getting stained with it. Your upper body is coated when he parts from you, eyes on his cum decorating your breasts, practically dripping off it. He gazes at it with hunger, which makes your core flutter.

“I will go with you next time when you get the other one done.”

He plants himself back down on the couch. Before you agree to his statement, Sukuna puts you on his lap and latches on to your breast. You put your head back when his tongue swirls around the barbell, removing any remnants of cum and replacing it with his saliva. You grip his hair, lifting up your hips so he can remove your shorts too.

You’re grinding your hips against him. His large hands plant on your ass cheeks, but still doesn’t leave your breast. Sukuna sighs along your mound, licking and sucking to his heart’s desire. You don’t even want to think about how thoroughly you should clean your piercing once you’re done.

“Sukie…” You coo, “Does it taste like metal?”

He grunts, releasing your breast with a small pop, “And my semen.”

You let out a short laugh before he picks you up and lowers you on one of his shafts. Where he then proceeds to do all the work. Bouncing you up and down on him while he never leaves your tits. Especially the pierced one. He even leans forward to taste it again as you cry above him with his rough thrusts.

Sukuna doesn’t let go when you climax, your walls squeezing around his shaft. Not even when he released a strangled moan at his second orgasm. He doesn’t let go while he fills you up and stains your back. It’s not until you’re covering his face with kisses that he lets go. Only to give you another kiss. A slower, yet passionate one that makes you melt in his arms.

“I want to clean it for you.” He states, gazing at you with an emotion you know too well.

“Okay.” You rub your nose along his own, “It’s the least you can do.”

Tags: @ammrry

[wingedhallows]

Abby x masc reader who can DANCE hips waist and everything is moving and Abby’s just hypnotized, then getting wayyy wayy too jealous when they end up catching ass on accident

Angst or smut or fluff is fine!! (But please fluffy)

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋��𝐔𝐒-𝐘𝐎𝐔

━━ ᝰ.ᐟ

──★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 0.8k words ──★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 suggestive, jealousy ──★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this was such fun to write! thanks for requesting, i hope you like it!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The music pulses through the club, a steady thrum that settles in your chest like a second heartbeat. Lights strobe overhead, casting flashes of color across the crowd.

Abby’s hand is warm in yours as she pulls you through the chaos, weaving past bodies with single-minded purpose. She’s taller, broader—built like she could knock someone out without breaking a sweat—and right now, she’s dragging you like a ragdoll toward the bar.

She doesn’t look back, doesn’t need to. You follow, breathless and grinning.

Abby orders a beer—classic. No surprises there. You opt for a whiskey and coke, because the bartenders here are generous with the ice and stingy with the pour. You don’t even try to hide your fond eye-roll when Abby pulls out her wallet.

Swiftly, you push her hand down and slip your own card to the bartender. “Let me pay, baby,” you murmur into her ear, soft and teasing.

Abby makes a sound—half grunt, half sigh, clearly displeased—but she doesn’t push it. She never really wins these little standoffs, and you both know it.

You take your drink, give her a look, all crooked grin and heat behind your eyes. “Wanna dance with me?”

She takes a swig of her beer instead of answering. The scoff she lets out is subtle, but you hear it loud and clear—her silent “hell no.” You just laugh, lean in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Her lashes flutter at the touch.

And then you’re gone, slipping into the sea of bodies moving under colored lights.

The music’s something vaguely familiar—upbeat, maybe a 90s throwback—and it fills your limbs like static. You let it guide you, hips swaying, arms loose at your sides.

You’ve never needed company to own a dance floor, and if Abby prefers to brood in the corner with her beer and her eyes locked on you like a sniper—well, that’s her prerogative.

You’re in your element. You’re grinning. Until she shows up.

A girl—tipsy, bold, barely held together in a slinky black dress—locks eyes with you from across the floor. She points, long manicured nail aimed your way like a dare.

You barely have a second to react before she spins around, throws an arm around your shoulders, and grinds herself against you like you’re part of the scenery.

Your arms shoot up, stiff in the air like you’ve just walked into a bank robbery instead of a club. You don’t move. You don’t touch. Not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you already feel the change in the air.

You don’t need to look to know she’s seen it.

Abby.

She moves through the crowd like a storm brewing slow and dangerous—shoulders squared, jaw tight, that unmistakable scowl carved into her face like stone.

Her eyes are locked on the girl plastered to you like a second skin, and if looks could kill, there’d already be blood on the floor.

You swallow hard.

Shit.

“Get the fuck away from my girlfriend.” Abby’s voice cuts through the music like a whip—low, sharp, and laced with barely restrained fury.

Before the girl can blink, Abby’s hand clamps around her upper arm and yanks her back.

She stumbles with a startled squeak, heels catching on the floor, and spins around with a glare already forming—until she gets a proper look at Abby.

All 5'9" of broad-shouldered, scowling woman.

The girl's expression flickers from defiance to survival instinct in half a second. She mutters something under her breath and slinks off, wisely choosing not to test her luck.

Abby doesn’t even spare her another glance. Her arm snakes tightly around your waist, firm and possessive—like a claim, like a warning. You feel it in your bones, and it makes your knees a little weak.

Your heart’s still hammering like a war drum, but you lean in, smiling softly despite yourself. “I think I like jealous-you,” you tease, arms sliding easily around her neck.

“That’s ‘cause half these bitches think you’re a stud,” Abby grumbles against your neck, voice all gravel and heat as she presses a trail of warm, lingering kisses to your skin.

You hum, half-laughing, fingers toying with the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. “Yeah, well…” you begin, breath catching when her lips brush a little too close to your pulse.

Abby huffs, half into a smirk. “Gotta start makin’ you wear skirts—can’t have us both out here lookin’ like masc trouble.”

“Oh, hell no.” You scoff with a laugh—but barely get the words out before her hand slides down and grabs a handful of your ass.

“Would look good on you,” she murmurs, shameless. “Might give me easy access.”

Your ears burn, and you slap her bicep with a shocked laugh. Abby just grins wide, unbothered, delighted with herself, her laugh low and rumbling in your ear.

[hahaifolded]

hello!!!!!

I don’t know if this is a stupid or unnecessary ask but how would Kyle and the team react to Soap and Reader’s break up? Would they notice a difference since Soap wouldn’t be so happy and loud anymore? Maybe he would just whine and complain the whole time, and it happened too much that one of them pushed him to confess what happened (I would believe that to be Kyle since we called him and not the captain or such). I might be going off topic and beginning to rant right here, I am so sorry!!!! 🫶🏽

Enjoy this rough, continuation of Cellophane (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), comparatively not as bad as the first part, Johnny still sucks however, mid-writing, abrupt ending Author's Note: You know what, I wasn't going to do a part two but I read this and boom... thoughts! Thank you for the ask, @shitaaba

Has the sun ever felt better on his skin? Gaz doesn’t think so.

What a perfect day! No early meetings or training. Sun is shining, the town isn’t too busy, and Kyle finally has time to hit that coffee shop you and Johnny showed him all those months ago. 

You and Johnny… what a beautiful couple. Well mostly you but Kyle will keep that to himself as he doesn’t need Johnny on his back for “fucking you with his eyes” again. His teammate sure is a lucky man, especially since Kyle isn’t a homewrecker, because if Gaz had his way, you’d be right next to h— 

“Ah!” Kyle quickly grabs at the poor soul that he smacked into. 

“Shit, so sorry. Are you ok… oh, it’s you!” he first apologizes then gleams. What a strange coincidence. Is this manifestation? 

You look up and immediately pull away from his grasp. Your eyes are wide as they wander for a quick getaway. “Don’t even worry about it. If you’ll excuse me,” you rush out as you side-step Kyle. 

Kyle blocks you and throws you a warm smile as an attempt to ease your embarrasment. “Woah, woah, why the rush? It’s been awhile. What, Johnny has you caged up?” Gaz laughs at his own joke. He thought that would for sure make you laugh. It doesn’t.

Your face falls, and for the first time ever, Kyle sees you shrink. Your energy completely dissipates as discomfort overtakes you. 

“Hey, everything okay?” Kyle softens his voice and reaches out, laying a gentle hand on your upper arm in an attempt to lift you up. You slowly step away from it which only worries Kyle more. “What happened? Did Johnny do something?” 

“John and I broke up.” 

-- -- --

“Up for drinks tonight boys? My treat,” announces Price at the end of the team meeting.

“Sure.”

“As long as you pay, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Can’t.”

“Again Johnny? This is the fifth time you’ve bailed on us,” Ghost remarks. 

Soap lets out a deep laugh. “You’re just bitter that I have something sweeter waiting for me at home.” Ghost rolls his eyes while Price laughs. 

“Wanker.” 

Soap, Ghost, and Price all turn towards Kyle. Did he just call Soap a wanker? Why?

“Just a wee joke. Meant no harm,” Soap yields. Gaz just rolls his eyes and continues packing his things. 

Instead of engaging with Gaz, Johnny decides to concede and continue packing. Clearly something is bothering his fellow sergeant but Soap knows it's better to wait until Kyle opens up. And if he’s honest to himself, he really doesn’t have the capacity right now for other people’s problems.  He has enough of his own. 

“Before I forget, ma has been nagging me to bring you guys over for dinner again. Worried that we’re starving or something. Think next week works for all of ya?” 

“Sure.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Your mom okay with me coming?”

Ghost and Price do a double take as Kyle’s question catches them off guard. Kyle pays them no attention as he stares down Soap who’s smile drops. 

However, as fast as it dropped, it immediately reappeared. “What kind of question is that? Course she knows,” the Scotsman smiles. 

Kyle chuckles in disbelief. “Really? So she knows about me but not your bird?” 

“What?” Soap’s entire demeanor changes. His confident, go-lucky self crumbles, now replaced with shame and discomfort. “What are you on about?”

“Mate, you can’t be serious?” Kyle barks. He takes a step forward towards his counterpart but is stopped by a confused, but attentive captain. Price steps in and asks for an explanation. 

Kyle stares Soap down and bites, “you want to tell them or should I?”  All color drains from Soap's face

“That’s enough you two,” Ghost jumps in, unable to take this anymore. “Whatever problems Johnny is having with his bird is between him and—“

“They broke up two months ago!” Kyle finally exclaims. Ghost’s eyes widened. Price’s jaw drops. That made no sense as just last week, Johnny went on and on about the perfect getaway you two went on. Ghost and Price look to Johnny for answers, but with the way Johnny is standing, head down, shoulders slumped, their questions are answered. 

“Johnny, what happened?” Price tries to comfort the Scotsman. He saw how happy you made the sergeant happy. He even had a heart-to-heart with Johnny when he expressed his desire to marry you. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’ll tell you why.” And with that, Kyle goes off. He tells the team how Johnny, despite claiming to love you more than life itself, refused to fight for you. ”I bet you’re just like your parents,” spits Kyle. 

“You don’t get it,” counters Johnny. His face twists in despair. 

“What’s not to get? Your parents are fucking racist and you refuse to do anything about it.” Kyle couldn’t believe it. Johnny is his friend, his comrade, his brother in arms; despite everything they’ve gone through, Kyle thought he could trust the Scotsman. And worst of all, he wasn’t the one who got hurt, it was you, sweet, beautiful you got hurt. “You’re pathetic. You never fucking deserved them!” 

“That’s enough,” Price puts his foot down. His face stern. He gestures to Soap and sends him to his office. Soap drops his head and nods in defeat. As Johnny walks away, Price lets out a deep breath and asks Ghost to watch Kyle before heading off himself.

The lieutenant and sergeant stand in silence as Kyle is way too angry to speak and Ghost is just uncomfortable by the entire situation. Did Johnny really lose you because of his parents? Ghost couldn’t believe it. He’s seen firsthand how Johnny furiously defended you during late nights out at the bar when other soldiers got a little too crude with the way they spoke about you. Ghost personally has had to rip the sergeant off one too many times from rude allies. What made Ghost even more uncomfortable was the amount of time he’s spent with Johnny’s family and never once got the feeling that his parents were racist. They’ve always been kind to the Lietenant. He assumed it was because of his rank or even his own past, never for… 

“Kyle?” Kyle cocks his head towards Ghost, eyes still buring with rage. “Has his parents ever…”

“No,” Kyle admits. He exhales deeply, his shoulders easing a bit. “I mean, there's been some weird comments here and there but I just assumed it was cause they’re old, never…” Kyle trails off, clearly affected by everything. 

Ghost just nods. He stays quiet for a bit until another question pops in his head. “Are they okay?” 

Kyle shrugs his shoulders. “They’re alright. Still hurt but they’ll survive” 

Ghost hums. He has a million other questions but decides to stay quiet. As much as he wants to know how Kyle found out or what (but really who) you’re doing these days, Ghost sees that Kyle is just exhausted. So with that, the two men finish packing in silence. With their bags in hand, they both leave the conference room, walking side by side in the hallway. 

Kyle pulls out his phone and lets out a small chuckle. Ghost can’t help but give Gaz a weird look. What’s so funny? 

“You know something, L.T., I don’t even feel bad anymore.” Ghost tilts his head as Kyle shows him something on his phone.

You: Saturday works for me! 

Word Count: 1246

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

[gracieheartspedro]

Lotus Eater | chapter 5 - 4.2k words

my main masterlist - eddie masterlist - series masterlist

previous chapter - next chapter

summary: you needed way more money than initially thought to fix your car. so, you work through thanksgiving break. but not without eddie trying to ruin your groove and make you actually have fun.

warnings: slow burn, 18+ mdni, bullying, discussions about drugs, eating food?, eddie is fully flirting, reader isn't picking it up at all (or is she HA), mention of reader’s terrible parents, drinking alcohol, mentions of hellfire being weird with reader, gareth is kinda pushy but not without eddie keeping a close eye on him, jokes about religion and summoning satan, reader gets pretty drunk, forced proximity.

a/n: thank you to all the love y'all have given this fic!! i love writing it!! this one was so cutesy to write!

After the Kacey incident, Eddie was practically attached to your hip. You were not aware at first, simply just continuing conversations in the hallways when you arrived at school. Walking to class together because the rooms were across from one another. He was always just there.

But rumors were easy to pass along in the halls, and your former best friend was adamant about convincing the entire school that you two were a thing. It bothered you, but not in a way that you could pinpoint.

You had never been linked to a guy at school before. You never had a boyfriend or a guy that you would hook up with. You spent most of high school avoiding the guys you had crushes on and now you were forever associated with the one guy you actively dodged most of high school. And for some perplexing reason, it did not eat away at you. Being around Eddie was convenient and in some fucked up way, comforting.

When Eddie brought the rumors up to you one day after school, you told him you did not like the thought that people could not let the opposite sexes be strictly friends. He giggled, telling you it was pretty intolerant and dense of people, but you should not fret too much. 

“You are more worried about that and not the fact that people think you’re dating me, the Freak?”

Your lip quirked as you shook your head, “Oh trust me, I’m worried about that, too. I just didn’t want to make you upset. I committed social suicide the moment I arrived at school with you two months ago.”

His nose scrunched, his cheeks rising as he smiled, “You wound me, sunshine.”

-

The diner was buzzing with people. It was the first day of Thanksgiving break, which meant former locals coming in to order their favorite comfort food and the normal customers coming in to bother you about your Thanksgiving plans. You do not have any currently. If you are lucky, you will be the only one in the house and you could make yourself some instant mashed potatoes. 

In the midst of your daydreams of creamy potatoes, you watch a familiar van pull up into the busy parking lot. 

You roll your eyes immediately, knowing Eddie would only distract you from helping your two four tops. You position yourself near the kitchen, watching him, Jeff, and Gareth pour into the establishment. They are laughing loudly, disturbing the peace the moment they enter. You cannot imagine something is that funny. 

Eddie always has a way of finding you. His eyes immediately meet yours as he slips into a booth right next to your other tables. He has layered his denim vest over his hodge-podge leather jacket. You had added two new safety pins on the sleeve of that thing this past week alone. He would not let it go.

You groan dramatically as you pull out your notepad and pen. 

He has this shit-eating grin plastered on his face, his eyes playfully scanning your waitress uniform. It should make you feel insecure, like when every other man checks you out in your uniform, but you know Eddie is concocting some stupid jab at you.

He puts a toothpick between his teeth, rolling it back and forth. 

You did not want to admit to yourself the number of times you found yourself admiring the guy over the last couple of weeks. Your intuition was simply to push those feelings down and continue with your annoyed temperament with him. It was much easier than letting those thoughts creep in. 

“What can I get you guys today?” You ask, your body directed at Gareth and Jeff as they fuck with the menus.

“Coke,” Jeff says, matter-of-factly.

“Coke, please,” Gareth orders, emphasizing his pleasantries. 

You can always feel when Eddie’s looking at you. His big brown eyes practically pierce through your skin, “What are the specials, sweetheart?”

You lull your head back, snapping it back to finally look at him. You did not want to entertain his antics, but you had an audience with Jeff and Gareth, “Lima beans.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches, still shifting that toothpick around between his lips. “Really?”

You shake your head, placing your hands on your hips. That makes Eddie’s eyes roam down again. You know he wants to make a joke about your outfit so bad.

“No, Eddie.”

Jeff giggles at your condescending tone, all the while Gareth is still fiddling with the menu and not really paying attention. You break into a small smirk, eyeing Eddie with raised brows. 

He looks at his friends, then you, then his friends, then you again. He looks puzzled, playing up his completely oblivious act.

“Well then?” His voice rises as he pulls the toothpick out of his mouth. You watch his hand rest on the table next to the menu, his pointer and thumb rotating it. You are so fixated on his hand that you have completely forgotten the topic of conversation. When he repeats your name, you finally look back up at him. He has this knowing expression on his face like he caught you in the act. “The specials?”

In the most monotone voice, you recite the same thing you have said to all the tables you have had all day, “$5 open-faced turkey platter. With fries and gravy.”

He nods immediately, putting the toothpick back in his mouth. “I’ll take that, sunshine.”

“Gravy over the fries, okay?” You jot down on your pad, scribbling something that is not even legible to you. 

“Smother them suckers,” Eddie jokes, his voice deepening. 

“And what do you want to drink?”

He thinks for a beat, “Any drink specials?”

“Cool, so you’re actually getting a water.”

-

Your other tables leave you a combined $10 tip. No too bad, but for having to deal with their badly behaved children for an hour and a half, you were expecting a little bit more. 

You deliver Eddie’s food as soon as it is in the window. The evening has slowed down some and you have already done most of your sidework, so you nudge Eddie with your knee as soon as you place Gareth’s plate down in front of him. “Scoot. Need to get off my feet for a minute.”

He happily obliges, moving over in the booth to give you a place to sit. You sigh, leaning your head against the padded back. 

“What are you doing after you get off?” He asks, grabbing a smothered fry and devouring it in one bite. You look outside at the sun setting and shrug. You never had plans and Eddie knew this.

“My mom is supposed to be picking me up,” You explain, tilting your head so you are looking at him. He eats every meal like it’s his last and this is no exception. You never found the diner’s food that groundbreaking, everything mainly being carb overload, but Eddie eats it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. When he brings his fingers up to lick the excess gravy, you feel your mouth go dry.

“And after that?” He interrupts your thought process, his eyelashes fluttering towards you.

You huff, “Bed.”

He and the guys both wince and groan at your response. You look between them, trying to act like they are the crazy ones. What was wrong with going to bed after a long shift?

“It’s a Friday night, sunshine. Why don’t you come to the kickback with us?” Eddie proposes, dropping his water cup a bit too hard on the table.

“Kickback?”

You had never been invited to do something like that and you were not keen on exploring what the Hellfire Club’s kickback would look like. You imagine it involved a lot of marijuana and alcohol, two things you were not particularly fond of. And while over the last month, you have been able to hold more conversations with the guys, you were not excited at the prospect of being around them while they were intoxicated.

Eddie nods matter-of-factly, “Yeah, Gareth’s parents are out of town. We are going to his house to smoke and hang out by the fire.”

Gareth speaks up with his mouth full of burger, “We are burning palettes.”

Like that was going to change your mind for some reason.

You grumble, trying to act very interested, “Sounds like fun for a bunch of losers who aren’t working.”

As you say it, an older couple comes in and sits in your recently cleaned booth nearby. Duty always calls at inconvenient times. You stand up while the boys snicker at your retort. Eddie rolls his eyes, grabbing your arm before you can walk away.

“Come on. Live a little. You work too hard,” He pleads, his bottom lip jutted out. You have to work tomorrow at noon, so it would not hurt to go. It was just not in your nature to entertain a party of sorts with the rest of the crew. Any after-school activities were always a no-go. Unless it was Eddie taking you home, of course.

You shake your head, trying to get him to see your side. “I get off at 10. I will be tired.”

“I’ll make sure you get home by 1. How’s that?”

He’s not giving up, but you’re not giving in. You are too set on being able to curl up in bed with your favorite book and get some early shut-eye. 

“I’ll pass,” You turn away, heading to your next table, “You guys enjoy.”

-

Of course, your mom does not show up when you get off. 

You stand at the pay phone, tapping your foot anxiously. Your legs cannot stop moving, having no protection from the elements. When the home phone continues to ring without a pickup, you slam it back on the receiver. 

Unreal. But it's not shocking. 

You almost decide to start walking home in the crisp autumn air, but instead, you spot a recognizable hunk of metal parked at the mini-mart across the street. Better than walking miles and miles in the darkness.

You curse your mother the whole time, stomping into the store with your oversized windbreaker swishing around. You see him and Jeff at the beer cooler, grabbing a couple six six-packs. Once Jeff catches your eye, Eddie turns around with a curious look painted across his face. It relaxes the moment he sees you. A hint of concern and understanding of the situation spreads across his face when he notices your disheveled appearance. 

“Didn’t show?” He asks simply, tucking the 6 pack under his arm. You scrunch your nose, placing your hand on your hips. After two months, Eddie is pretty well versed in how much your parents let you down. Neither of you needs to elaborate in these situations. Eddie just nods, disguising his annoyance towards your own mother. You look at Jeff and he is standing there observing you two like you are telepathically speaking to each other. 

He turns to the guy, handing him a twenty-dollar bill and the other 6 pack. “Check out and we will catch you outside.”

You watch the guy struggle to grab all the things from Eddie, somehow managing everything in his arms. You are not sure why Eddie is practically escorting you outside, his arm hovering over your shoulders to usher you to his van. 

“You want me to take you home or are you down to hang out with us for a bit?” 

Your head cranes up at him. You felt bad because you were pretty sure Gareth’s house was literally a hop and a skip from where you were, as opposed to the 10-minute drive to your house. Not wanting to inconvenience Eddie any more than you already were, you give in. Finally. 

“I can hang out.”

The smile that takes over his face is genuine and a bit wicked. “Atta girl. I knew you’d wanna hang with the cool kids outside of school eventually.”

You cannot lie, his praise makes butterflies scatter in the pit of your stomach. You know it’s just a passive statement, so your eyes roll to the back of your skull,  “All it took was me being stranded somewhere with only one person to come save me.”

He places his hand on your shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, “I’ll always come save you, sunshine.”

-

Eddie is never pushy, but his friends surely are. Especially Gareth. 

When you arrive at his house, you take note of the middle-class life the kid leads. Two car garage, a large living room, and an even bigger backyard. Sprawling with trees that have shedded most of their leaves. When Gareth spots you, his eyes light up in excitement. 

“I thought you weren’t coming,” He says, shoving a beer into your hand. You were not planning on drinking, but you grabbed the bottle anyway. You can feel Eddie’s eyes lock on to you two even though Grant is ranting about whatever new grievance he had today. 

Gareth grabs the neck of the bottle in your hand and pops the top for you as you mumble through an explanation. “Mom didn’t show. Eddie to the rescue, per usual.”

He smiles as he clicks off his own bottle top, “Well, I’m glad you’re here nonetheless.”

Out of all the guys, Gareth’s interest in you was the most obvious. At least, that’s what you thought. You could always be reading the signs wrong. He was always slinging compliments at you, checking you out as you sat down at the lunch table, asking you questions about yourself when everyone else seemed too afraid to. You never fully entertained him, but sometimes you would shoot him a brighter smile than usual or compliment a button on his jean jacket. 

“Thanks for having me,” You reply, cheering your beer to him. 

That’s when you note his eyes raking down your body. He had not looked at you like this earlier, so it must be the multiple beers he had before you showed up. You were surprised by the obvious display and due to it being painfully awkward, you took a swig of the beer. You instantly wince at the flavor, wanting to gag it back up. 

“You’re drinking?” Eddie taps your arm, grabbing your attention away from the curly-headed weirdo in front of you. You take another sip, hoping it would be better the second time. Nope. 

“I guess so,” You move towards him, trying to get out of the way of the other boys carrying large palettes towards the fire. “I’ll need at least one watching these idiots set these things on fire.”

-

You have more than one. Because after one, Gareth asks if you need another. And due to the effects of the first drink making you feel lighter, you say yes. Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he does not reprimand you. He’s never one to tell you what to do.

You and Eddie have found some plastic chairs near the fire, laughing amongst each other as the guys jokingly act like they are starting a summoning circle around the flames. Between them loudly chanting fake Latin and blundering some random Catholic prayer, you and Eddie are practically in tears as you drink your beers. 

You never expected you would ever be here, but in your tipsy little brain, you are so glad you took the chance and came. Your mom’s failure turned out for the better. No thanks to her, plenty of thanks to Eddie. 

And talking to Eddie was easier. Honestly easier than Kacey before the drugs. He guided the conversation so seamlessly, never prying when it was serious, and only ever taking a joke too far when he was in a group setting to get some extra laughs. 

Everyone eventually calms down, sitting around the fire and sharing random stories. You already feel quite fragile, so once Grant starts telling ghost stories, you know it’s time to wrap up your time with everyone. 

You look down at Eddie’s hand, perfectly propped up on the arm of his chair. You tilt his watch towards you to check the time. 

1:04 am. 

“I should get home,” You say, tilting the remainder of your beer into your mouth. You have not even tried standing up yet, but the moment you do, it’s like you are walking on a tightrope. Eddie’s quick to catch on to it, too, standing up and grabbing your arm to balance you. His rings feel colder than usual. 

He giggles as you try to hold your arms out and find some sort of stabilization, “You’re pretty drunk.”

His hand is still on your forearm. You look up at him, trying to gauge if he is sober enough to drive. The bloodshot eyes and relaxed shoulders tell you that he’s not. 

“Yeah, so are you.”

His eyes soften towards you. There’s a shift in the air and somehow, the other guys catch onto it. Gareth is the first to slice through the silence. 

“Y’all can crash here,” He advises, tilting his beer towards his house. The idea that you would stay in the same house as 5 other guys was insane. You never had many sleepovers in the first place, let alone as the only girl. 

You are quick to shut it down, “No, that’s fine.”

“I got some clothes you can wear,” Gareth ignores your rejection, standing up from his chair and stumbling a bit towards you. You start to feel this unexpected panic like you are going to be stuck here with just Gareth. 

“No, I’m fine.”

Eddie’s hand wrapping around yours takes you off guard. Somehow, in some strange way, you feel your heart rate start to slow back down. His big brown eyes are always fairly reassuring, “Gareth has a guest room, sunshine. Lemme get you set up in there. Come on.”

“Eddie-“

“I will take you home in the morning. Promise,” He says earnestly, his thumb brushing across your knuckle. You squeeze his fingers, reluctantly agreeing. As long as he’s staying with you, you feel a bit more secure in this drunken decision. 

-

“I am good on the couch, Eddie.”

Eddie reenters the last room on the left. He had left you to get changed in some clothes Gareth had lent you. 

The room is right across from Gareth’s but it’s a bit smaller. You had peeked in his space when he was digging through his drawers trying to find some clothes you could wear. The bed in your room is a queen and takes up most of the square footage. But it’s very comfy with a mountain of pillows on top. As desirable as the spot was, you felt bad for the other guys who would be sleeping on the area rug in the living room or on Gareth’s dirty laundry that occupied his floor. 

Eddie shakes his head, smiling at the baggy sweatpants you are now sporting and the Hawkins P.E. t-shirt,, “No you’re not. Lay down. I’ll get you more blankets.”

You watch him pull open the closet near the door. You can tell he’s trying to accommodate you, but you are already a bit overstimulated.

“Eddie-“

He throws a blanket your way, halting you from continuing whatever shit you were about to talk to him, “Stop saying my name. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want help,” You demand, tossing the blanket onto the bed. You slightly change the weight onto your other foot, but you feel your knee buckle a bit. The alcohol makes your body practically feel like jello. 

He giggles at the way you practically tilt horizontally on the flat hardwood, “You never do but I still want to.”

Your eyes burn into his for a second. He tilts his head, revealing his Adam’s apple bobbing. You lose the topic of the conversation immediately. “Want to what?”

Your drunken mind makes those thoughts creep in even more. Sitting around the fire earlier, you realized you really enjoyed the sight of Eddie’s squinty laugh. He only does it on rare occasions, but when he does, you cannot help the wide grin that creeps across your face. Eyes completely closed, head thrown back, and his carrying cackle. You also took notice of the way his lips curl inward when he is listening intently to someone. Occasionally his tongue gets caught between his teeth when he’s really focused on something, like messing with the fire poke. 

“Help you, sunshine.”

“You’re always helping me,” You explain as you pull the blankets off the bed back. The sheets looked silky, much more improved than the old stained sheets on your springy bed. “You take me to school. You let me sit with you and occasionally steal an orange from you. You take me home from school. You save me from being stranded at work. You do too much helping.”

He just smiles, helping you settle into the bed. He pulls another blanket on top of you, jokingly laying it over your face. You pull it away instantly, shooting him a faux annoyed face.

“You comfy?” He asks, looking down at you like you are a little kid he is tucking into bed. 

Your displeased expression fades, settling into an at-ease one, “Yeahhhh..”

He giggles at that, slowly creeping backward towards the door. For some reason, that familiar nervousness starts to bubble in the pit of your stomach. A feeling only he made go away by being close to you earlier around the fire. 

“Okay,” He whispers, tilting his head towards you, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You sit up straight in the bed, pulling the covers over your chest as you do, “Wait!”

It was a stupid thought, but it etched its way into your brain. You could not stop it.

His eyebrows shoot up, “Yeah?”

“Where are you sleeping?”

“Why?” He presses with an even more confused air to his voice. 

You feel like an idiot almost immediately. You wanted him near you. You do not know why. Maybe it was being an unfamiliar space and he’s the only person you really knew. 

But that would be admitting that you like having him around. You were not too sure you wanted him to know that.

“Because I want to know,” You try to sound obvious, but your voice cracks a bit. You clear it before continuing, “In case I need to find you.”

The sly smirk that creeps across his face makes you want to crawl under the blankets and never come out. “Why would you need to find me?”

“If I have a nightmare,” Another lie and he knows it. You know it, for fucks sake. “I don’t know Eddie, just cause!”

The latter half of the ‘explanation‘ gets him. He steps towards the door frame, leaning against it with this arrogance only Eddie could pull off, “Probably on the couch.”

“Why don’t you sleep in here?”

He is surely not expecting you to say it. You do not even know where it came from. It was the alcohol. The smell of clean sheets. The fluffiness of the feathered pillows. 

He points a finger gun at you, his shift in demeanor feigning awkwardness. “Because you are sleeping in here.”

All you could do was double down. Your brain truly gave you no other choice.

“It’s a queen size bed, Eddie.”

His eyebrows raise under his frizzy bangs. He leans forward towards you, then back, shooting a glance down the hallway. It’s almost like he’s checking to see if the coast is clear. You can hear the other boys stumbling in, being loud and rambunctious as they set up the living room to sleep. 

You can see the wheels turning in his head, “Why do you want me to sleep with you?”

“Not sleep with me. Sleep next to me,” You had to correct, wanting to make sure that this was all it was. His presence is close to you. Not… inside you.

You had never really craved a guy’s attention like you craved Eddie’s. While it was not something you really wanted to explore, you knew that it was still something. You had never been intimate with another person, only kissing a boy named Greg in 7th grade, simply for a dare. You were inexperienced in wanting someone. 

Did you want Eddie? 

You could not. You will not. 

He pulls you out of your conflicted expression, giggling as he sulks towards you. He kicks the door with his foot slightly, hinging it shut, “I am a snuggler, sweetheart. You don’t want to sleep next to me.”

Eddie holding you sounds like a dream. Like a dream that you are not sure you want to have. 

You imagine it in your brain before you speak up, a small smirk morphing across your lips. His tattooed arms sliding across your waist, holding you taut with his warm chest. It fills your entire being with a sense of calm. When your mind turns into imagining him on the couch, too far away for comfort, it feels like a jab to your heart. 

“I’m drunk enough to let it slide.”

dividers from @/saradika-graphics

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[femmesport]

Almost Something - Chapter Two

warnings: none besides language i suppose?? an: this is a bit jumpy, but i am just trying to set the pacing and build up the characters and friendships a bit. i have really appreciated all the love y'all have been showing this fic!! also, i literally needed amari to be in this fic so thanks for allowing me that 😭 wc: 3k

Merely a drink. That was all Paige had last night, and yet she woke up feeling like she had been hit by a freight train or two. Her head was pounding and her eyes were red rimmed with a disgusting dryness. A heavy nausea lingered in the back of her throat.

Paige was wholly and unequivocally fucked. Like harboring potential feelings for the one person she shouldn’t level of fucked.

Paige sighed and pushed herself out of bed as if her body weighed a ton. She barely was able to push her glasses up her face and winced as she truly was able to take a look around her mess of a room.

Walking out into the living room, Paige heard muffled conversations around the table. Upon her emergence, her friends stopped talking and their eyes settled on her in the sympathetic way that made her skin crawl.

“Good morning,” Paige headed to the cabinet grabbing cereal, “what time are you guys heading to practice?”

“P,” Caroline started and Paige couldn’t have that.

“I was thinking of heading out right after breakfast,” Paige hurried through pouring her cereal and adding milk.

“P,” this time it was Aubrey and far more firm, “sit down.”

Aubrey’s eyes point to the chair sitting across from them.

Paige sighed and brought her things to the seat slouching down and hoping for the floor to swallow her whole. She could do a lot of things but having her friends stare at her as if she were a fragile thing was not on that list.

“Listen, you can lie to yourself, you can lie to her, but clearly things are not getting better. You need an outlet, you need to tell us what is going on” Caroline explains in a firm yet soft tone.

Paige’s eyes drop to her bowl and the tears have found their way to her eyes again.

“I don’t know when it happened” Paige whispers out and her voice is so weak that she winces at the sound.

“I don’t know when I started feeling this way, or when she started meaning that much to me” Paige put her elbows on the table and pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes trying to hide.

“P,” Amari starts softly, “is it possible that it has always been that way?” Paige winces and lets out a sound that sounded an awful lot like a sob.

“I don’t know.. I don’t know” Paige whispers her voice laced thickly with raw wet emotion.

“I feel like the world’s worst friend, I am sitting here crying and hurt because my best friend is going out and trying things to experience happiness” Paige voices her feelings and Aubrey sighs at that.

“P, you know it is not like that. You are okay with her finding happiness but you can also want your own” Caroline offers gently.

The pity and gentleness of their tones rattles Paige to her core. Her stone walls are quickly falling apart.

“Listen, I just don’t want anyone to look at me differently or treat me like I am some delicate thing on the verge of breaking” Paige lifts her head and her eyes are red rimmed and filled with a bone deep exhaustion.

“You’re not different or on the verge of breaking” Caroline replies, “we’re just worried.”

“I know and it is unfair of me to hate that when I would be doing the exact same, but damn” Paige’s eyes attempt to convey the feelings that she can’t say.

The room is silent and her friends search her face for any kind of a sign that there was more that she would say. When they came across nothing, they did what they did best. They did normal.

“I have classes until noon,” Amari says, looking down at her watch.

Caroline nods and then directs her attention back to her breakfast. “We can leave for practice in thirty minutes, Aubrey and I were going to walk together. Want to join?” Paige nods and lets the world continue on around her.

Her morning remained relatively silent. The kind of silence that is heavy and loaded, but the silence no one is addressing. 

By the time they left for practice, the trio had only managed a few words and acknowledgements.

The silence around her was far more soothing than her brain which seemed to get louder and more unbearable by the time they walked into the locker rooms. The silence around her was shattered by the boisterous laughter and chatter that was filled by her teammates.

Paige tried to join in. She tried laughing with her teammates and joining in on meaningless conversations. She wanted so badly for everything to be and feel normal.

And, to her credit, it did work for a bit. That was all shattered as Azzi, her best friend, entered the locker room.

Paige had made eye contact and Azzi simply smiled before heading in her direction. Normal was only so possible when forced proximity was the reality. 

Paige had shot up from her seat at her locker. She tried to be normal when muttering something about stretches and shooting practice, but her voice sounded off to her ears and her teammates' eyes lingered a moment too long.

Azzi frowned but nodded while the rest of their teammates continued on.

Paige joined a few of the underclassmen on the court for their stretches before grabbing a ball. The ball felt like lead in her hands and her body felt disoriented. Paige had been known for her ball control and having a strong shot. Today, she noted, this would not be the case. Every touch on the ball was off, her hands lingered in the wrong spots, her feet would land off and a moment late.

More teammates were joining the court and Paige’s frustration was growing. Not doing well was one thing. Not doing well and letting everyone see it, well that was an entirely different beast.

Paige tried one more shot that simply hit the rim and rode around before falling to the side. She sighed and stepped off the court and towards her water bottle.

“My shot is shit today” she groans and she slouches into the chair beside KK.

“P Boogers has an off day,” KK smirks looking in Paige’s direction, “who knew it was possible?”

Paige huffs a laugh and looks up seeing Azzi across the court. Her shots were beautiful. The way she handled the ball and the grace she held was much like watching a performance. She was graceful and appeared weightless on her feet.

Azzi looked over after making a shot and just smiled brightly at Paige. Paige tried to smile in return, but her breath had caught and she is sure she looked more pained than anything else.

The moment is short lived before the team is being called over in groups to split off and run through drills. The intensity that comes with practice allowed Paige to breathe without the insistent hum of her brian working over time. 

The first drill allowed Paige to take a step back. She focused on her mindset and getting better footwork to make up for her struggling handles. Her efforts were clean and tight. It was almost impossible to notice anything wrong. Almost.

The next drill required her and Azzi to work together. Paige was fine. Really. Well, she was fine. 

She was fine until she made eye contact with Azzi. Azzi had her normal game face that was calm, fierce, and wholly unpredictable. Paige tried feeding the ball up to her, but the ball landed slightly left of where she intended. 

The touch wasn’t right for the play she had intended. Azzi noticed. She smiled reassuringly at Paige and they tried running it again.

This time, the ball went too far forward, and it was quickly turned over. Paige huffed out in frustration, but still, Azzi smiled. Though this time it was slightly strained.

The third time was by far the worst. The ball landed close enough to Azzi, but not with enough space for her to have a clean shot. Azzi quickly turned to pass the ball to Paige, and Paige was able to get a hand on it and turn it over to Sarah who was able to shoot.

“Thank God” Paige groans. This drill had been messy and she was feeling the frustration of it all.

“P, you good?” Azzi stepped up to ask with a concerned expression that showed she was just as frustrated, “you normally have a pretty good read on me, but that was all over the place.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but the idea that she didn’t have a good read on Azzi served no purpose except further upsetting Paige. “You were never making it down far enough” Paige sighs out deflecting.

Azzi’s face fell at that. “I am not the one with consistent turn overs here, let’s clean it up.” She walked away and Paige groaned out again.

Geno had called her over and she didn’t have time to linger on what Azzi was saying.

“Paige, what the hell was that?” he grits out, hands flailing in the direction of the court, “you two have some of the best chemistry, and now you guys can’t even complete a simple pass?”

Paige felt his frustration tenfold. She kept her head down but nodded with tight features. 

She had shut down and gone cold. Sensing he was getting nowhere, Geno goes into a monologue about completing beginner level passes without heads up your asses.

The rest of practice passed in a cold blur. Her handles were inconsistent, her footwork was messy, and her passes to Azzi had lost their touch.

Paige knew everyone had noticed. She knew Coach was watching her with a hardened expression and jaw tight, certainly planning an hour long film review. She knew Azzi had noticed and was just as frustrated.

When everyone began shuffling out of practice, Paige was the first to the locker room. When she was asked about recovery, she was quick to brush it off with promises of next time. Instead, she gathered her things, shoved on headphones, and headed out.

She still had about an hour before her first class, but if she sat still she would think. Even worse, she might do. So instead, she blared music in her headphones and walked to campus to grab some shitty food to focus on instead of staying in her head.

Campus normally had shitty food, but when you were suffering at the hands of your own mind, there was nothing that would be as awful as you felt. Paige knew this all too well.

As she was eating her low-quality food and trying to think about anything else, her phone buzzed.

Azzi: Hey, are we good?

Paige pauses. Her fingers hover over her phone. For once, she has lost all words for Azzi. How would she explain this at all?

Her brain runs through a million possible responses. 

Yeah, we’re good. Why wouldn’t we be? 

It is just me.

No.

I am going through it.

Instead, Paige sighs and locks her phone. She has nothing to say that wouldn’t lead to bigger conversations that she wasn’t ready to have.

Paige shifts her focus to finishing her shitty lunch and making her way to some communications class she signed up for at Azzi’s insistence that it was the best professor ever, seriously.

Class left Paige feeling just as drained. She spent most of the time berating herself in her head for not being able to focus. Her notes were disorganized jumbles with terminology she is pretty sure Azzi used.

They had been assigned a paper and Paige missed all of the instructions. As she packed up all she could do was hope it would be sent out in an email later.

She headed out of her class and failed to consider that Azzi knew her schedule and was also likely to have classes in this building. Immediately outside of the door waiting for her was Azzi.

“P,” she says firmly as Paige steps outside of the door and sighs upon hearing her name, she pauses but doesn’t turn around. She couldn’t.

“P,” Azzi tries again, wrapping her hand around Paige’s elbow trying to capture her attention.

Paige’s whole body tenses up. She pauses for a second and takes a deep breath before turning around.

“Hey Az,” she says with a forced smile, “what’s up?” 

Azzi frowns, “you’ve been ignoring me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Paige sighs, “I’ve just been stressed with school, training, and draft prep stuff. We’re good” Paige says with as calming of a smile as she could manage. It wasn’t fooling Azzi.

“Look, you’re my best friend. I know you’re lying to me right now” Azzi sighs and Paige swears she sees her eyes gloss over, “but also, you’re my best friend. I need to trust that you will tell me if something is truly wrong.”

Paige tries to smile reassuringly at Azzi, but her heart breaks. She doesn’t mean to be pushing her away or letting her think that it’s her fault. She doesn’t mean to lie or avoid. She just cannot handle any of this right now.

“I will tell you,” Paige says softly with a smile. Azzi returns the gesture and drops her hand from Paige’s arm.

“Hey, team hangout tonight” Azzi says with a bright smile after a moment of silence and Paige cannot help but smile in return.

“You guys planning hangouts without me again?” Paige grins at Azzi who lets out a genuine low chuckle. 

Paige’s heart sputters at the noise.

“You would be included in making the plans if you would start opening upperclassmen group chat again” Azzi jokes leaning in to bump Paige’s shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, yeah” Paige laughs and then more sincerely, “I’ll be there.”

Azzi smiles at Paige so softly that she couldn’t help but melt a little bit, “see you, P.”

Azzi wraps her arms around her best friend’s middle. Paige’s heart stops for a second and she freezes with her arms laying flat at her sides. Her hands quickly catch up to the moment and wrap around Azzi’s shoulders.

In the hug, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Before the team hangout, Paige decided to join Jana, KK, and Ice at the library for a study session. She had been in her head for so long now, that she had been neglecting her friendships and studies.

“Well, look who decided we were lucky enough to be graced with her presence” Ice smirks, looking up from her work and KK gasps dramatically with Jana joining in.

“Yeah, yeah. Here to put the student in student athlete or whatever” Paige jokes putting her book bag around the chair and grabbing out her computer.

“You’re better than I am,” Jana groans looking at her computer.

Paige does spend some time working through an assignment. At least she tried. But her mind wouldn’t stop wandering.

She couldn’t stop thinking about dark curls, brown eyes, and a smile that made her melt. It was honestly kind of ridiculous. She couldn’t last more than a few minutes without thinking about Azzi.

Suddenly she was thinking of every quiet moment between practices, every shared hotel room and the hushed moments of the night. She couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who has occupied her every waking thought for the past few months and her sudden interest in Tyler.

Paige almost groans at that mere thought of his name. 

After a few minutes of flat faced staring at a blank document, Paige snapped out of it and looked around to her teammates. She noticed that all of them were too engrossed in their work to notice her struggle.

She flips her phone over and sees no notifications, but knows she needs a break.

“Hey, I have a missed call. I’ll be right back” she stands up and the other three vaguely acknowledge her before returning to their work.

She finds a quiet room and opens her contacts. She finds who she is looking for and clicks the call button waiting through only a few moments of ringing.

“Hey Paigey,” the soft voices flowed through the speaker on her phone, “what’s up?”

Paige hears her dad vaguely say something to a coworker and then a door shutting on the other end.

“Hey, dad. I just wanted to call and chat, miss you” Paige explains gently and she hears her dad chuckle a little bit on the other end.

“Are you going soft on your old man?” her dad jokes and Paige just laughs, “we miss you too.”

“How is your training going?” he asks and Paige shifts into a more comfortable subject. She shares the strengths of the team and excitement based on the results of their previous games.

Her dad fell into comfortable conversation. He shared some observations he saw from watching the previous game. Paige was always grateful for the feedback and support of her family.

“You know who I am really excited to see this season?” he asks suddenly with a lot of excitement. Paige just hums.

“Azzi” her heart speeds up at the girl’s name, “she has been playing really well. It’s like she has something to prove. She’s going to kick some ass this season!”

At this point, Paige begins floating away from the conversation. Her concentration shifts and she can only think about what her dad said.

It’s like she has something to prove.

Right now, the only person Azzi is trying to impress is Tyler. Paige cannot handle the fact that if Azzi is playing really well or is trying to impress someone, it is likely the very guy whose name makes Paige’s skin crawl.

Refusing to entertain that thought any longer, Paige settles back into a normal rhythm with her father. They discuss upcoming games and breaks and try to work out times to come visit.

The call ends, as it usually does, with promises to keep in touch.

The end of the call allowed Paige a few moments to try calming her heart. She missed her family and would normally turn to Azzi in times like these. She knew this wasn’t possible in her current mindset.

Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose, tried blinking away the emotions, and headed back inside to the library. She would not let this distract her from the things that mattered most.

Please repost, like, and leave your feedback! Thank you!!! <33

-- tea ★’*•.¸♡

[bullet-prooflove]

Do you have any NSFW headcanons for Charlie and Emery that you’re willing to share? I get it if you’re keeping a few things up your sleeve and saving for later

The few things off the top of my head under the cut because this turned into a much bigger post than originally thought.

Equality/Professionalism

It’s a very equal relationship despite there being a professional power imbalance. Charlie works very hard to make sure that there is no feeling of coercion from him in that respect. However there are sometimes when he has to pull rank and I mean, firm voice ‘that is not fucking happening’ and Em will be forced to obey even though he can see in her eyes it’s the last thing she wants to do.

How that plays out in the bedroom – They need to reset the balance.

Em is probably still pissed off when she gets home and he intentionally goads her to break the stalemate. Saying stuff like, ‘if you need to rough me up a little, slap me around to vent that frustration, go for it Em. I get off on that kind of shit.’ It turns into rough sex where it’s almost vying for control, like a fight without words. Buttons getting torn off, his lower lip being bitten, fingertip bruising. He is just as bad, pulling her hair, jamming her thighs open with his hips. Shit gets broken from the ferocity of these two going at each other. When he finally gets inside her, he’s not gentle and neither is she, he’s getting scratched up and bitten as they fuck the shit out of each other on his desk, the coffee table, the floor, wherever they end up.

Switch:

Charlie has to be dominant in his professional life, he’s a force of nature. He has to be responsible for so many people and he knows exactly how to use the carrot and the stick to achieve his goals. That kind of thing can take a real toll on a person so sometimes he needs to be taken care of, he needs to have that control stripped away so that he can relax. That’s part of what Em saw in him during that first night they had together.

While he’s not into restraints he does like the physicality of being pinned down especially if he’s struggling to get out of his own head. He likes the sensation of his wrists pinned above his head, Em’s whole body pressing against his because it makes him feel safe but also plays into the ‘being taken’ aspect. He’s not giving up control, it’s being taken from him in a safe environment.

Edging is a bit of thing for him, it’s having someone else be in charge for once. He never begs but he’s very vocal about what he’s feeling in the moment.

He enjoys praise but terms like ‘Good boy’ and ‘you’re doing so well’ don’t work for him, they’re too childlike.  It has to be more adult and specific to him like ‘you getting off on that Charlie? You like how my tongue feels on your cock?”

On the other side of this sometimes Charlie has a dominant side that comes out to play too. Sometimes this can be situational, eg: they’re at a cop bar separately for retirement drinks and he sees someone hitting on Em. That need to claim her, its fucking strong and the fact he can’t do it openly drives him a little crazy. He’ll orchestrate a situation to get her alone, it could be a smoke break, a secret text summoning her to the coat check, a dark stairwell or bathroom. It’s very much about getting her off, reminding her why she’s with him so depending on time, location and the mood he’s in < this usually depends on who has been doing the flirting with her.

Another detective: She gets to ride his fingers and then wait for his cock until they get home because that man is no match for Charlie. He knows getting her all worked up is gonna make her leave earlier so he can have her entirely to himself.

Ranked officer: More threatening because of the professional proximity and power dynamic. Em is not a good little girl but there’s a certain balancing act women have to play sometimes when a male superior officer makes a move so it doesn't decimate their career. Charlie understands that and fucking hates it. Going down on her shows he loves and appreciates her, even if she has to play that game. – you can bet after this he is running interference with that asshole knowing he’s had her coming on his tongue.

Fireman: Fucking hates them esp since one of Em’s exes was one. Will end up fucking her into the wall because seeing one flirting with her makes him completely feral. If it's the ex, it becomes 'he can't get you off like I can, can he honey?' as he's pumping into her. You can bet, he’s smirking afterwards as the night continues, knowing his cum is dripping into her panties.

Roleplay:

The glasses led to a little professor fantasy that they both didn’t know Em had. It started with Charlie doing paperwork at her house and then her climbing into his lap, commenting that maybe she’d been a bad girl and wasn’t making the grade. And maybe… just possibly there was someway she could earn it? That tapped into something Charlie did not know he was into. It ended in a little spanking, a lot of cock sucking and him coming all over her tits.

There are so many more thing I have to say but I realised how long this post was getting. If you have any specific qs about their sex life, feel free to pop them in.

[nightcrews]

Mission Sideways

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

Gaz x Reader

NSFW | Romance | Humor | Embarrassment

Word Count: 7,253

Rating: Explicit

Status: One-Shot

“Did…did you just…” “Don’t.” You whisper, mortification filtering sourly into your stomach, “Don’t fucking say anything.” “Bloody hell.” He breathes, turning his head away from you. Great. He can’t even look at you now. You might as well crawl in a hole and die, at least then you wouldn’t have to deal with whatever this was.

Additional Tags/Warnings:

Trapped in a closet | Embarrassment | Somewhat humiliating | Drinking | Drunk confessions | Oral sex | Vaginal sex | Mutual pining | Dirty Talk

••• ▰▰▰ SECURE CHANNEL OPEN ▰▰▰ •••

In your line of work, things can go from good to bad in the blink of an eye. A mission going sideways isn’t unheard of, it’s rather fairly common. They didn’t create Special Forces operatives for no reason, they needed someone who could follow a plan and create a whole new one on the fly for when shit did hit the fan. That, and it was badass to get a crew of top of the line killers together to do what they do best.

Thankfully, you’d never had to do much of the quick thinking for group decisions as a whole and not just yourself. There had been one time you’d risked life and limb by dispatching an enemy soldier with a cluster of hostages at your back, the possibility of him giving away your location as he died outweighing the probability of him definitely giving it away alive. But other than that, it was which weapon would kill the bad guy the soonest? Which path would save your skin the easiest? Which killshot would bring everyone home?

So, one random Tuesday night that found you and Gaz in the Beijing office of a high-ranking Chinese General, you weren’t expecting to have to make a decision to save your life. You left that up to Gaz.

The rest of the 141 had their own assignments, clearing the building and working through the halls for the information they needed. You and Gaz had been tasked with finding a dossier that General Huang may or may not have, in relation to recent “unknown affiliated” attacks on foreign trade vessels. You worked methodically through the office, pulling open drawers of his desk, checking every shelf on the wall, flipping through every book just in case, but the files remained hidden.

“There’s gotta be a trap drawer in the desk.” You say, watching Gaz carefully put the last book back in the bookcase, “There always is in the movies.”

Gaz deadpans a look at you and shakes his head, “Only you would equate this to a movie.”

“Uh, because it is?” You scrunch your face in his direction, kneeling down to run your hands along the wood panels of the desk, rifle thumping against the floor, “Foreign operatives raiding a General’s office for intel in the dead of night? Intel that could possibly save lives and stop a war from breaking out?”

“When you put it that way.” Gaz sounds amused from the other side of the desk, and you can picture his smile before his fingers brush against yours as you search for a secret compartment. You do your best to keep the kicking of your feet and high-pitched giggling in your head to strictly in your head. The last thing you need is for your face to give away the fact that you were so down bad for your partner, that you couldn’t even handle his fingers touching yours for approximately half a second. You won’t even get started on all the cold showers you had to take after a sparring session. Soap lived for throwing you suggestive looks over his shoulder when Gaz wasn’t looking.

Your fingers compressing a panel under the desk wipes all thoughts from your stupid crush-addled brain, and you snap to attention as the panel slides to the side, revealing a thick binder wrapped with a leather strap, “Gaz, I got something.”

He comes around to your side as you carefully remove it from its spot, kneeling next to you smelling like cologne and military gear and heaven. You unwrap it and take out the documents to inspect them, finding dozens of trade routes and correspondences with different entities on when to hit the cargo ships coming through. It was all there, laid out in black and white letters.

“Bravo 2-6 to Bravo 6, how copy?” Kyle says quietly into the mic on his chest.

“Solid copy Bravo 2-6.”

“Got the documents, about to move to RV point.”

“Copy that, Soap should just about be there.”

“Ready an’ waitin’. All quiet over ‘ere.” Soap’s voice confirms.

“Rog. We’re coming to you, Soap.”

But no sooner had he said it, than there were footsteps outside the door, accompanied by a male voice speaking Mandarin, presumably on a phone call. You and Gaz both freeze, peaking over the desk toward the door. Your pulse jumps as the boots pause right in front of it, and the jangle of keys has you grabbing for your rifle.

Gaz swears under his breath, eyes scanning the room for an exit, but finding none, other than the multi-story windows that would most certainly involve your death should you jump from them. They land on a small door on the far side of the room, belonging to a tiny closet that you’d already searched in the hunt for the binder in your hands. In the blink of an eye, Gaz has it ripped out of your grasp, shoved back into the desk, secret panel slid into place, and is dragging you across the room by your arm as keys twist in the lock of the door.

Before you can think, your back is pressed up against the wall of the closet, and Gaz against your front, both of you crammed like sardines in the cramped space. All of your gear doesn’t help matters, and you silently take stock of all the equipment you’re going to move to new spots after this. Just as the General comes striding into his office, Gaz has the closet door silently clicking shut.

You can see the General through the slats in the closet door, thankfully the kind that he can’t see you, and you strain to hear any of the conversation he’s having.

“I thought he was out of town.” You whisper into Gaz’s ear.

“He was supposed to be.” He says, a lethal calm to his voice that said he’d be having a chat with whoever fucked up the intel later.

You can hear the General having a somewhat heated discussion, but it becomes increasingly more impossible to focus as the circumstances of your situation start to set in. Or rather, you are suddenly keenly aware of the fact that one of Gaz’s legs is shoved between yours, much like yours is between his, because every time he moves it rubs against you in all the wrong—or right—ways.

You tried to ignore it, you really did, but with the thought of him being so close, feeling his entire body pressed so heavily against yours, you really were doomed from the start. It also doesn’t help that, again, you’d been well and truly fucked up over this man since you met him. And, in your opinion, it isn’t even your fault!

Gaz, by your definition, was one of the hottest men alive—both in looks and personality. The sarcasm only upped the ante. And the way he could knife a guy? Pure visual poetry. So ex-fucking-cuse you for being a little hot for him.

You had been since the day you first met him, a rookie on the task force shitting yourself but trying to act like you weren’t. Price had paired you up for that first mission, and despite still being a little rough around the edges, Gaz had treated you like an old friend and had your back the entire time. He had ever since.

He was the first person to greet you in the morning, the one who sat next to you in the mess, on infil and exfil, who’d hauled your wounded ass out of a collapsing building even after being shot himself. It’s something special, you think, finding someone who fits so seamlessly into your life, that you wonder how you survived without them. Gaz was as essential as water to you, and that fact alone was simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

Despite all that, though, the two of you had never crossed over the line of comrades. You wanted to—fuck you wanted to—but you’d never been able to place where Gaz’s interest lay.

Back in the closet, the two of you are so close, you can barely breathe in at the same time, chests crushed together and gear not helping. Your head has the option of resting against the wall, or tipping back to rest your chin on Gaz’s shoulder, but either way, you risk inadvertently kissing him if you get too close. He also has you bracketed by his arms on either side of your head, most likely because they didn’t have anywhere else to go, but in your fantasies, because he was about to kiss you within an inch of your life. Stupid. But you were a dreamer, okay?

“Gaz, how copy?” Soap’s voice all but bellows over the comms in the silence.

You cringe, eyeing the General as if he could hear your earpiece, but he just sits at his desk and chats on.

“Gaz?” Soap says again, then your callsign, “Anyone copy?”

Gaz sighs quietly, clicking his mic and all but breaths, “In a bit of a pickle, stand by.”

“Understatement.” You comment, your chin practically resting on his shoulder.

“Ah, could be worse.” He whispers, lips quirked in a smile, “Could be Soap in here.”

You whisper out a laugh, “Worse for me or you?”

He huffs out a laugh too, breath tickling your ear and sending butterflies to where they don’t belong, “Let’s just say, I’m glad I’m stuck in here with you.”

You try not to take that any certain way, but you definitely still do.

Something in the General’s conversation catches Gaz’s attention, and he shifts to try and hear better. This causes his thigh to press up right in between your legs, and it’s all you can do not to gasp in surprise as white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine. Your surprise jolts your body, which only grinds yourself against him further, and you slap a gloved hand over your mouth to muffle your breath as all your flirty thoughts about Gaz culminate into horniness.

And he keeps fidgeting! You have no clue how General Huang hasn’t discovered you both by now with the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, bending his knees from the lack of space. With every move he grinds his thigh against your pussy, and every move only intensifies your growing pleasure.

He seems to pick up on your distress after you try and shift yourself away from his leg, hands having reached up to ball in the arms of his hoodie, because he shifts back closer to you and frowns, tipping his head down to whisper, “You good?”

You definitely were not good, especially now that his breath was back ghosting down your neck, lips brushing against your ear, voice a raspy whisper. He moves again—the man was now worse than Soap—and it’s all you can do not to honest to God moan as the pleasure takes a sharper turn.

You gasp quietly into your hand, your head thumping back against the closet door as you involuntarily throw it back, your hips bucking forward into him. Gaz fucking twists again, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the impending doom between your legs, gritting your teeth and silently begging for an early grave.

After his leg grinds against you yet again, you grip his arm tightly, clinging to his hoodie as if it were the last shreds of your dignity, and whisper, “Stop. Moving.”

“What?” He asks somehow finding another reason to grind his thigh into you, and you could honestly cry.

“Gaz please stop moving.” You plead. What the fuck was General Huang doing taking so long at this fucking time of night? Wrap the call up and go, buddy.

“Why, what’s wrong?” He asks, concern evident in his voice. If you weren’t practically combusting on his leg, you would definitely find it endearing.

“Gaz—” You start trying to tell him not to move again, when he does exactly that, and you end up biting his shoulder to cover up any of the little noises that might escape you as you fall apart against him.

The feeling radiating through your body can only be described as pure ecstasy, your limbs quivering from it, and—yep, you’re grinding yourself on Gaz’s leg. Holy fuck.

One of his hands manages to find your hip, attempting to steady you and find out what was happening, which only adds to the static in your brain.

As soon as you come down, you want to dive out of the closet and beg General Huang to put you out of your misery already. Like holy fuck, the horror and shame was enough to end your life right there.

“Did…” Gaz pauses, “Did you just…”

“Don’t.” You whisper, mortification filtering sourly into your stomach, “Don’t fucking say anything.”

“Bloody hell.” He breathes, turning his head away from you. Great. He can’t even look at you now. You might as well crawl in a hole and die, at least then you wouldn’t have to deal with whatever this was. Soap was going to eat this right up.

You shift your weight, hips starting to cramp from the angle you were crushed into, when your thigh presses up in between Gaz’s this time. You feel your eyes widen before you brain really catches up, and Gaz’s whole body jerks in your embrace.

He’s hard. Honest to God bricked up.

“Now’s your turn not to move, love.” He rasps out, turning back to look down at you with half lidded eyes. It was a look that you’d only ever had wet dreams of.

You cock your head, and being the person you are, decide to test the boundaries. Lifting your leg, you press it against his boner and watch as his head tips back and lips part, before he snaps back to reality and shoots you a look.

“Sorry.” You say innocently, batting your eyelashes. You ‘accidentally’ do it one more time for good measure, getting him back for all the times he’d done it to you.

“Fuck me.” He breathes to himself, pressing more of his body weight against you in an attempt to immobilize you. You let it work, staring up at him as he stares back, and you’re pretty sure a match would have lit the entire place ablaze from the energy sparked between you. As it is, your stomach flops and you go a little light headed.

Just as you thought maybe Gaz was starting to lean down toward you, General Huang shouts something into the phone, startling you both. He stomps across the room and out the door, slamming it shut before the sound of keys in the lock has Gaz pushing out of the closet.

You eye the windows across the room, wondering if it really was worth just ending it all so you didn’t have to face the embarrassment, when Gaz disrupts your intrusive thoughts by heading over to the desk. He bends down to open the secret drawer, grabs the binder out, and holds it out to you. You take it and then stare at him stupidly until he keys up his mic.

“Bravo 2-6 to Bravo Team, back on track, both of us pushing up to RV.”

“Good copy, Gaz. Exfil is two klicks out.” Price says.

“Lets go.” Gaz says, motioning toward the door.

“Gaz—”

“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just finish the mission, yeah?”

You nod, turning to head toward the door, and pretend you don’t see him reach into his pants to readjust himself. You also pretend not to commit that to memory for later use.

The others are waiting at the designated rendezvous point, and you slap the binder into Price’s waiting hand, “It’s all there, Cap. Huang’s been the one behind all the recent attacks.”

Price claps you on the shoulder and gives Gaz a proud look, “Good work.”

You hear exfil before you see it, welcoming Soap’s familiar presence at your side as the helicopter blades beat down on you. He bumps your shoulder with his, and you don’t immediately look up at him.

Second only to Gaz, Soap was your constant—your friend, confidante, partner in crime. You trusted him implicitly, taking comfort in his pure friendship. After a hard mission, a failed mission, even a good mission, you looked to Soap for his ability to soothe anyone’s mind. He looked for you, too, and you can only hope you provide the same presence for him.

He bumps your shoulder again, and you turn your gaze away from the chopper to find his ocean blues full of curiosity. Too full.

“So what happened?” Soap asks.

You squint suspiciously at him, “What do you mean? Nothing. Nothing happened.”

He looks at you like you just grew a second head, “So you weren’ in a pickle? What took ye so long then? Too busy winchin’ in a closet somewhere?”

“Winching?”

Soap rolls his eyes, “Kissing.”

“No!” You say, affronted, as if you hadn’t just came on Gaz’s leg and nearly kissed him in a closet.

He gives you a suspicious look this time, humming halfheartedly as he follows you to the newly landed chopper. You file in after Gaz, slipping into your usual seat next to him for the flight back to your temporary base. You risk a glance up at him, knowing uncertainty is probably flashing like a neon sign on your face.

To your horror, Gaz is already staring back, and you look away in embarrassment that you were caught. But fingers on your wrist help you relax a little, and a message tapped in Morse against your skin alleviates some of the worry that had begun to creep into your bones.

We’re okay.

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

Despite that, for the next few days, you and Gaz dance around each other. Really it was one-sided. He would leave as soon as you entered a room, and if he walked into one you were already frequenting, he turned right back around and left. It was torture unlike any you’d ever trained for.

You knew how to withstand the mind games of an experienced interrogator. Knew how to hold out against the various tools of torture and methods to physical pain. You could detach yourself, disassociate, deal with losing consciousness, suffocate fear. You knew how not to break.

But no one had ever taught you how to withstand losing a presence you’d grown so accustomed to. How to deal with watching them come into a room, see you, and find the nearest exit. How to go from cracking jokes with each other one day, to barely speaking the next. You don’t know how you aren’t supposed to break from this.

So, the day you finally get back to your home base, when Soap announces they’re all going for drinks at their favorite local pub, you jump at the opportunity to drown your sorrows. To your surprise, Gaz comes with.

It’s when you’re four drinks in, that Soap corners you at the bar, blue eyes alight with alcohol and mischief, “Alrigh’ lass, what fuckin’ happened?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, sipping your fifth drink.

“In Beijing.” Soap presses, voice drowned out by the crowd and the music playing from the jukebox, “You an’ Gaz have been avoidin’ each other like the plague since ye went to the general’s office.”

You shake your head, which only makes things dizzier, “Nothing happened, Soap.”

“Bullshit.” Soap says, “You two were thick as thieves, an’ now ye aren’t talkin’?”

“It’s…” You search for words that would tell a different story, but what’s the point? Maybe it would feel better to tell someone about your fuck up, to get it off your chest. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time you talked about such topics with him, the Scot having been clued into your infatuation a long time ago. You sigh, “I fucked up, Soap.”

“How so?”

“I might have…came…on him.”

He stares at you for a long moment before tipping his head in question, “Ye’re gonna need te elaborate on that one.”

“We had to hide in this tiny fucking closet because General Huang showed up, and when I say tiny, I mean tiny. We barely fit.” You explain, “So we’re pressed up against each other, right? And our legs are shoved in between each other. Well Gaz keeps moving around, and it’s,” You motion down there, “you know, up against me, and I just…fucking orgasmed on his leg.”

“Oh fuck.” Soap says, but looks like he wants to burst out laughing.

“Yeah, and then he got hard.”

“Oh fuck.” Soap grins, leaning into your space, “He came too?”

“No, thank god!” You press a hand to your chest, “But now he barely even looks at me. I fucked it all up, Soap. He probably thinks I’m the most disgusting piece of shit on the planet.”

Soap looks bewildered as he takes a drink of his beer, nearly sputtering as he asks, “Are ye out yer heid, lass?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Ye think Gazzy isn’ talkin’ te ye because he thinks ye’re disgusting?” Soap barks out a laugh, and you resist the urge to swat his arm as a few people look your way, “Lass, Gaz won’t look at ye because he’ll pop a boner if he does!”

“Come on, be serious, Johnny. I feel like shit. I literally bit off all my fingernails about this.”

Soap’s face is red from held back laughter, “Oh fuck, bonnie, ye’re killin’ me. Ye really are. Gaz is right mad about ye, and you comin’ on his leg probably made ‘im nearly pass out. I’m dyin’ just thinkin’ about it.” He pauses to wipe his eyes, ever the drama, “I guarantee he hasn’t stopped thinkin’ about it since then. Take it from me, once somethin’ like tha’ happens, a hard-on canna be stopped.”

“Okay but how do you know that?” You ask, hope swelling in your chest, “That Gaz getting hard was over me and not just a natural bodily reaction that he didn’t want?”

“Cause he’s crazy fer ye, hen.” Soap says earnestly, “Lad’s been half in love with ye since he met ye.”

“How do you know?”

“Everyone knows, lass.”

You can’t help but look over to the table where the rest of the 141 sits, your heart aching as you watch Gaz laugh at something Price says. His smile is so bright, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. He leans back in his chair, taking a drink of his beer, and slaps Ghost on the shoulder. He looks so incredibly content. So beautiful.

As if he could feel your stare, his eyes flick to yours, and his whole face goes warm with his smile. You smile back, clinging to this one scrap of familiarity he’d given you since you returned. His dark eyes ground you to the spot like they’d entranced you, warm and cocoa-brown, a gentle caress and a shocking jolt all in one.

You were forever bewitched by him.

“See, lass?” Soap says quietly, hiding his smile behind his pint, “Everyone knows.”

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

By the time Price has wrangled you all back to your wing on base, Soap and Ghost are walking arm in arm down the hallway, competing about who would die for the other more grandiosely. Price strides behind them looking like he needs an Alka-Seltzer. And that leaves you and Gaz to bump shoulders in silence.

Everyone splits off to their respective rooms, calling out a goodnight as they do.

“Night.” Gaz says your name, bumping your shoulder one last time before turning to his door. You walk a couple more steps forward, listening to Gaz’s bedroom door close, before a wave of courage washes over you like you’d only ever felt in a life or death firefight.

Clenching your fists, you straighten your spine and march to Gaz’s door, knocking on it before you can change your mind. He opens it, looking mildly surprised to see you, when you blurt, “I’m sorry!”

“You’re…” He blinks, “Why?”

“For the closet.” You say, deflating a bit, “I made things weird, and I’m sorry. I just…my body just did it and I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. And I know that sounds made up, but I swear to God, Gaz, I’m not trying to be some sort of fucking pervert or anything, I’m just really, really attracted to you, and that probably makes things even more weird now, but it’s true, and that’s why what happened in the closet happened, and—” You take a deep breath, aware that you’re rambling, “And I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I just hate not talking to you.”

Gaz looks momentarily caught off guard, smiles softly for a moment, and then sighs, stepping aside, “Come in, lets not give Soap anymore fuel.”

There’s a scoff from the direction of Soap’s room.

You let Gaz close the door behind you, and watch as he sits down on the edge of his bed. The room is a standard barracks room, but Gaz has put his personal touches here and there. There’s team memorabilia from his favorite football club, some souvenirs from missions you’ve gone on, and photos of his family as well as 141. There’s also a wax melter in the corner by his bed, giving off a soft, warm glow in the otherwise dark room. Lilac fills your nose and puts you more at ease.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Gaz says, and you ready yourself for his anger toward you, but instead, he says, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” Gaz frowns, the action making the scar on his cheek dimple, “Fuck. I’m the one who should be on my knees begging you to forgive me.”

That wouldn’t be so bad—

“But you didn’t do anything.” You say, forcing yourself not to think about Gaz on his knees, staring up at you with those wide dark eyes, eyebrows turned up, begging—and you’re thinking about it.

Gaz shakes his head, “I’ve been avoiding you since we got back.”

“Oh.” You say, hurt stabbing your heart despite already knowing he had been.

“But it’s not for the reasons you think it is.” He swallows thickly, “I’ve just been…thinking. About what happened. And I can’t stop thinking about it.

“Like, thinking about it how?” Jesus Christ, you’re a Special Forces operative, have some fucking eloquence.

“Thinking about being so close to you. About hearing your breaths. About…feeling you come against me.” He sighs, wetting his lips, and his eyes grow heavy with something dark and feverish, “Wanting to make you come myself.”

O-kay you were not expecting this turn of events when you came here tonight. You thought you were going to explain yourself, grovel to him a bit, swear it would never happen again, and hope for the best. Not listen to Gaz tell you he wanted to get you off for real this time.

“I thought I made it weird.” Gaz continues like he hadn’t just said what he does in your sex dreams, “Getting hard over you while you were standing right there? Fuck, that was scarring. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”

“Funny, that’s how I felt about coming on your leg.” You say with an awkward laugh. You wish someone would actually just shoot you.

Gaz chuckles too, “And even worse, like I said, I kept thinking about it. So when I’d see you around base, I’d get a fucking hard-on almost instantly. Didn’t want to risk you seeing it.”

So Soap had been right, the bastard.

“Well, if it helps,” You feel your face flush neon, “I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

“About?”

“Everything you mentioned before—being so close, feeling your breath, feeling you.” You dare to look at him, swallowed whole by the roaring fire in his eyes. The heat there, the want only adds to the liquid courage in your system as you continue, “Thinking about what else might have happened if we’d been in there longer.”

“Oh?” He arches an eyebrow, his slim fingers wrapping around your wrist to just hold it, “And what else would you have wanted to happen? That closet was pretty tight.”

You shrug nonchalantly, but inside, your heart is hammering away and you’re on the floor of your mind rocking back and forth, “Don’t act like you weren’t about to kiss me, Kyle, I won’t listen to you.”

He huffs out a laugh, suddenly pulling you between his legs. His head is level with your breasts, hands resting on the back of your thighs. When he looks up at you, his dark eyes glint, eyebrows pulled up in a pout, “Too bad I never got the chance. I really wanted to.”

“Yeah too bad.” Your hands travel from his shoulders to the back of his head, “Not like I’m not right here or anything.”

“And you’d want me to?” He asks, voice still playful but with an edge of seriousness, “Kiss you?”

“I have since I fucking met you, Gaz.” You finally admit to him, “I’ve been obsessed with you for just as long.”

“And here I was thinking I was the only one.” His thumbs rub circles on your thighs, “Trapped in that closet panicking because I’m head over heels for the girl I’m smashing. And not the way I wanted to be.”

“Definitely not what I had in mind when I thought of being crushed by you.” You agree.

“Then, you want to know what else I’ve been thinking about? Other than what happened in Beijing?”

“Hmm?”

He looks down at your breasts thoughtfully, then back up at you, his hands smoothing up your leggings to squeeze your ass, “I could tell you, or I could show you.”

You nod, stomach dipping, “I’ve always been more of a hands-on person.”

One long arm reaches up to grab you by the back of your head, pulling you down to smother your mouth with his, lips warm and needy. You fall into his lap, scrambling to get your legs on either side of his as his tongue drags against your lower lip. You don’t have the willpower to draw this out, to tease him, opening your mouth to allow his tongue to glide with yours. The taste of him overwhelms you, alcohol and gum and Kyle, and you wish the incident in the closet had happened a whole lot sooner because damn.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you into him as close as possible, breath warm against your lips whenever he opens his mouth to catch his breath. You wrap your own arms around his shoulders, breaking away from him to use your weight to push him back against the bed. His chest rises and falls with his pants, hands gripping your waist as you lean back down to kiss him again.

“Tell me again,” Gaz says against your lips, “why we haven’t done this sooner?”

“Fuck if I know.” You answer, “I didn’t know you were interested.”

“You do now.” He says, and you can feel him smile. His hands frisk up from your hips, pulling your shirt with it. Those dark eyes search your face for any sign of hesitancy, but you give him none. As if you hadn’t dreamed about Gaz getting you naked before.

The fact that you aren’t wearing a bra has his eyes closing and lips curling into a smile, and you shrug, “They’re uncomfortable.”

Gaz hooks a leg around your waist and flips you onto your back in the blink of an eye, his fingers making quick work of your leggings and panties. His eyes roam your body, drinking in everything he hadn’t been able to see before. You let him look, basking in the glow of his attention. You loved the way your body looked, weren’t shy of someone seeing it, and having the person you’d always wanted to see it actually see it? Euphoric.

“God you are something, love.” Gaz mutters, pulling his hoodie over his head. You’d seen him shirtless so many times, practically drooled over it in the gym, and now being able to run your hands over his muscle, the tattoos, the scars, you don’t think there’s any going back from this. He was the point of no return disguised as dark skin and old knife wounds.

“Speak for yourself.” You say, arching an eyebrow at the v dipping below his jeans.

He looms over you, one hand squeezing one of your breasts as his mouth finds your neck. It trails lower, down over your collarbone and to the other breast, tongue swirling over your nipple before nipping at it with his teeth. You make a small noise in your throat, and then gasp when his fingers pinch the other nipple.

“You have amazing tits, love.” He mumbles, voice half muffled by said tit.

“And you have an amazing mouth.”

He laughs, eyes flicking up to yours, and he smiles devilishly, “You haven’t seen the half of it, yet.”

“Big talk.” Your voice jumps as he bites your breast rather harshly, and the ache between your legs grows, “Hope you can back it up.”

“I can.” He says confidently, and, just to prove his point, he abandons your breasts to kiss a path down your body, until he’s settled between your legs. Your thighs are thrown over his shoulders, and he leaves bruising kisses along the inside of them that you know you’ll be staring at for the next few nights. He hooks his arms around your hips and pulls you into his face, and when his fingers finally part you and his tongue licks a stripe of fire right up to your clit, you finally let your head tip back in bliss.

Gaz had not been lying when he said you hadn’t seen the half of what his mouth could do. His tongue, warm and slick, pressed firm circles against your clit, arching your back off the bed as your pleasure built up as embarrassingly fast as it had in the closet. He seemed acutely aware of this fact, because every time you felt your stomach tighten, body coiling tightly, he’d dip his tongue low to ease you from your orgasm. Back and forth he did this, building you up, only to bring you back down. It was give and take, and it was driving you fucking insane. But the sharpness you felt every time you almost came was unlike anything before it, and it was suddenly daunting just how intense it may be.

“Fuck, Gaz, come on.” You whine after he brings you back down again, the frustration of being so close so many times making tears prick at your eyes, “I’m dying here.”

“So dramatic.” He says against your pussy, and you barely resist the urge to grind your hips into his face for something, anything.

“Please, Gaz, I’m actually begging.”

He chuckles, but this time, when he presses his mouth to your clit, two fingers slip their way into your pussy. You slap your hand over your mouth as you cry out from the intrusion, pleasure lighting up every nerve in your system. And even if he tried to bring you back down, Gaz would not have been able to stop the orgasm that grips your entire body in fire and ice and dark and light. Your calves wrap around his head, pulling it more firmly into your pussy, fingers pulling harshly at his short hair as your moans bounce off the concrete walls.

Gaz’s tongue helps you ride through it, continuing the circles as his fingers curl inside you. You should maybe be embarrassed that all it took to make you come was one thrust of his fingers, but you can’t think around the tremble of your body and numbness in your limbs.

When it finally ends, you lay light headed against Gaz’s pillows, watching him sit up and crawl over you in a daze, “Who taught you that?”

“Me, myself, and I.” Gaz says with a smug smile, “And lots of trial and error on willing participants.”

“Feel free to use me as an experiment whenever you want.” You say earnestly, trying to smile, but you’re pretty positive it’s more of a crazed look.

He hums, kissing you once before leaning back to unbutton his pants, “You had me at ‘feel free to use me’.”

“That’s fine too.”

He gets his pants off, and you finally get to stare unashamedly so at his dick. And it is a dick. One of the nicest—no, the nicest dick you have ever seen. He takes it into his hand, sighing at the touch, and pumps himself a few times to relieve some of the ache. When he lets it go, you watch it bob, undoubtedly throbbing as it had been in the closet.

“Is it okay if we skip the blow job this time?” He asks, kneeing your legs apart as he drapes himself back over you. His cock nestles itself along your pussy, hot and hard and—yep—throbbing against you, “I just really don’t think I could last with your pretty little mouth on me.”

“I’ll make it worth the wait.” You boast, and you do believe you can back it up just as well as Gaz had, if the raving reviews on your blowjobs had anything to say about it.

“I’m sure you will.” He breathes, mashing your mouths together and crudely shoving his tongue into your mouth. You wrinkle your nose at the taste of yourself, but it came down to picking and choosing your battles, and you’d rather have Gaz’s tongue in your mouth than not.

He lifts his hips just a little, shoving a hand in between your bodies to guide himself between the folds of your pussy. Just as you think he’s about to push in, he hesitates and asks, “You’re sure you want this?”

You open your eyes, meeting his dark gaze, and something soft bleeds into your chest and floods your heart, “I’ve never wanted it more with anyone else.”

A tender look flits across his face, and the softness enveloping your heart deepens. Holding your gaze, he pushes the head of his cock into you, and you gasp as you feel him stretch you open, filling you to the brink of too much. His eyes glaze over almost instantly, mouth going slack as his hips bob more and more of his cock further into you. He lets out a hiss when he’s buried himself fully inside, letting his forehead drop to rest against your shoulder as he pulls his hips back. You moan as you feel the drag of every single inch of him, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder-blades.

His hips snap forward, rocking your body with them, and you can’t help but clamp around him as he lets out a quiet moan of his own. He sits up then, his hands gripping your hips tightly as his own continue their slow roll into you. He hums with every thrust, breathing heavily through his nose. His head tips back, the muscles of his stomach flexing with every thrust of his hips.

And holy fuck there is no way you could ever fuck someone else again. Gaz has gone ahead and ruined you before he’d even finished fucking you.

He catches you by the backs of your knees, his cock slipping out of you as he pushes your legs back as far as they can go, until your knees are resting on either side of your head because you’re a flexible bitch. He fucks right back into you in one long stroke, hot and thick, and the moan you let out can only be described as filthy.

The new angle has him hitting deeper, and you find yourself holding onto your own ankles, tucking your legs under your arms for dear life as his cock takes you apart.

“That’s right, good girl,” Gaz pants, the sound of his thighs slapping against yours making your head spin, “take it just like that for me.”

His thrusts are hard and fast, drilling you down into the mattress so roughly you bounce back to meet him. Distantly you think the bed might be squeaking too loudly, and if it’s not, the headboard is definitely slamming against the wall bordering Soap’s room, but one particularly deep stroke has you forgetting who Soap even is.

Gaz slams into you again, but instead of pulling out, he ruts into you, humping himself against the pillow of your ass as if the thought of not being as far inside you as possible is unbearable. You let go of your legs as he falls over top of you, continuing the frantic grind of his hips, and let them wrap around him in relief.

“Feels amazing.” Gaz whimpers against your neck, head tucked into the crook of your shoulder, “So fucking good. Gonna come soon.”

You can only nod as your pussy clenches, and he hisses, grinding into you a few more times before pulling out completely. He wraps a fist around his glistening cock, jerking himself until he’s moaning, hot, thick ropes of come streak across your belly. He whimpers as his hand frantically pumps his cock, hips bucking into it as more come unloads onto you. You watch him, enraptured by his every move, every sound.

You were so fucked. By him. For him.

As soon as the last of his come was spattered onto your stomach, he flops next to you on his back, panting heavily up at the ceiling. You want to roll over to press yourself to his side, but you’re still half-paralyzed from your orgasm and Gaz’s dick. That, and you’re still covered in his come.

Gaz tips his head to look over at you, grinning slightly as he says, “How you doin’, love?”

“I think you nearly killed me.” You groan.

“That a compliment?”

“The highest form.”

“I’ll wear it with honor then.” He says, rolling onto his side to plant a kiss to your forehead, and then groans to his feet. You watch him disappear into his bathroom and then reappear with a damp washcloth, feeling your face heat up as he gently wipes you clean.

“Thanks.” You say, suddenly shy despite having been fucked within an inch of your life five minutes ago by the guy.

Post-sex had never felt like this before—tentative, fragile. It was probably because you’d never had feelings for the people you hooked up with in the past, leaving before you had to be told to. You waited for the inevitable hints Gaz would throw your way, an awkward smile, a cleared throat, a declaration that he was going to bed and you should too.

But he simply crawls into bed next to you, leaving you with the side closest to the wall, and pulls you up against his chest. You blink in his embrace, daring to let yourself get comfortable there. With Gaz, you felt safe. With him, you belonged.

“Stay.” He says softly, voice reverberating through his chest against your ear.

You smile to yourself, all shy thoughts dissolving into fondness instead, “Yes, sir.”

Gaz groans good-naturedly, then says “Thanks for coming on my leg in that closet.”

“Don’t mention it.” You murmur, falling asleep for the first of many nights with your sergeant, floating on whatever cloud allowed that sort of debauchery.

••• ▰▰▰ SECURE CHANNEL CLOSED ▰▰▰ •••

For this and more, come check me out on AO3!

[hazard-haze]

Eddie and Volt headcanons (no player)

Soooooo

My brain has decided this shit is my new hyperifxation

And that these are my new comfort characters

But I heard that everyone was getting a hate ending with them and guess who got friendship with them first tryyyyyy! So uh, skill issue/j heres some headcanons for ya'll :)

-He doesn't do it often because he knows Eddie hates it, but Volt can 110% pick up Eddie and will abuse this power if he needs to

-Eddie is Volt's anger translator. It usually goes something like this:

Volt: "We are sorry you weren't satisfied with our service, but this is the best we can do and I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Eddie *passing by behind him*: "Pay your fucking tab and get out!"

-Volt cannot keep his hands still, he tries to play it off suave-ly (?) by just tapping his fingers and running his hand through his hair repeatedly but when he gets really excited or angry about something he will wave his hands with big, fast, eccentric gestures.

-Volt wears eyeliner, sometimes Eddie helps him put it on.

-Eddie is very talented at most things he does, fixing, building, mixing drinks (he can even do some tricks with shakers), and there's a plethora of odd things he's picked up throughout the years. However this makes him get pretty frustrated when things don't work out the first couple times he attempts something. While not the main reason, this is part of why he was so frustrated and irritable during most of his main plot. Volt sometimes has to remind him that it's okay to not have everything figured out immediately, or pull him from his work if he's starting to stress out or exhaust himself too much.

-On the topic of pulling Eddie from his work, that is a feat. Volt full well knows he can't just ask Eddie to take a break, usually he has to either ask him to do something easier as a favor, or blame the break on himself.

"Oh Eddie, I know your in the middle of something but could you wipe the bar down? I have no time before we open."

"Eddieeeee, I have no one to watch the new season of Cougar vs Cougar with! Would you take a break to and come watch it with me? Please! Just for a little bit! Just one episode!" (They got through like 2 1/2 before Eddie passed tf out)

-Oh yeah, Volt loves reality TV and Eddie pretends to not be at least a little invested.

-Eddie can draw. Volt cannot. Volt is very jealous of Eddie in this regard.

-Infodumpingggggggg. They infodump to one another without even realizing it, it is so much of how they communicate. They will ramble and bounce ideas off each other, mostly about the club but about other stuff too.

-On the flip side. They can also communicate by saying pretty much nothing, just through brief glances. I think it would partly be because they are literally split from the same thing but it's more in that way when you widen your eyes slightly at your bestie and that equates to like a full paragraph of text.

-Eddie is short af, Volt is tall af.

-Volt makes fun of Eddie for being short

-Like seriously ya know that audio that's like "I know we don't always see eye to eye" "that because your too short to do so"

-Eddie will get revenge. He can kick/punch really hard but he can also come up with some other very clever ways of revenge. Do not mess with the guy who has access to the tools.

-Neither of them really like just hard liquor. Volt likes sweeter drinks and Eddie likes quality craft beers. If either sees the other drinking something like scotch/whiskey they can usually assume somethings wrong.

-Volt has sooooo many ideas for the club, several of which are not exactly... possible. Eddie has to be the one to break the news to him that No Volt we can't break down the retaining wall of the bar and turn it into an inanimal fish tank. Why? Because without it the roof would collapse!

-Volt's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

-Eddie's love language is acts of service.

-Going deeper into that, Volt loves physical touch, as previously mentioned. Eddie however does not. But they make it work, Eddie can tell when Volt needs a hug or just to have someone next to him, Volt can tell when Eddie is getting overstimulated or just needs space.

-They both have their ears pierced. Volt did it for both of them.

-Eddie actually quite likes talking to people, I mean he's definitely tended the bar at some point, he just doesn't like talking to annoying people. He's sarcastic and his humor is a bit deadpan and he's more reserved, but he 100% can be very funny and hold conversations very well with patrons and even better with friends.

-That being said, bro does not chat while he works on maintenance. If anyone, including Volt, is working with him, he isn't saying shit unless its telling them what to do, or looking over their work. If someones lucky they get a "Good job."

-Neither have ever been a fan of the dark, but they especially would not be after the black out.

-They both hate silence, I mean they work in a night club, at this point it just feels unnatural.

-Kinda already mentioned this but Volt gets quiet angry and Eddie gets loud angry. If Volt goes silent, you know you fucked up. On the opposite end, it will sometimes be assumed that Eddie is mad because he's being quiet but that just how he is, if Eddie actually is properly yelling you know he's upset.

-Nerve damage babyyyyyy. It is all up Eddie's arms, contributes to why he's not super touchy because his arms get that awful pulling, itchy, pain when something touches them.

-Volt can get some nasty fatigue. The electricity fluctuates? Bro is immediately drained, head rush, migraine, the whole shabang.

-Not really headcanon but neither of them are good at admitting they need help or at accepting it when its offered.

-They both know each others triggers tho, and make sure to tell the other to rest when they need to. Neither take their own advice.

-Eddie hyperfocuses like crazy. If he sits down with his tools, something to fix and no one around he will not move from that spot for hours.

-Volt is always jumping from project to project, person to person, never slowing down. There's a lot to do in the breaker box and he is more than happy to juggle all of it.

-Both of them forget to sleep because of these facts. and eat (do they eat?). and talk to other things. and talk to each other. and-

-They would be cat people. Volt has definitely brought up getting an inanimal from Mateo but Eddie is always hesitant (even though he would 100% end up loving it to bits if they got one)

----

Ya'll I think I'm a loser. Instead of being out on a night off I am sitting in my bedroom writing headcanons about an actual breaker box in a dating sim that I'm not even attracted to, I just think their silly. What is my life T-T

[joces-wrld]

IN WHICH— chris keeps putting you back together, just for you to break yourself again

| sort of angst, not proofread.

| the REST of this writing marathon!!

you knock on his door at 12:47 a.m. again.

you don’t even have to say anything when he opens it. your eyes are red, makeup is smudged, hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands like you’re trying to disappear. he doesn’t ask questions. he just steps aside, lets you in, and holds you when you fall apart for the third time this month.

third time this week, really.

your ex said something cruel again. made you feel small. like you were too much and not enough all at once. and somehow, some—fucking—how you still love him. still think he’s the one.

chris doesn’t get it.

he never will.

but he holds you anyway. makes tea you won’t drink and puts on your favorite comfort movie. he pulls the blanket over your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head like that alone could fix everything.

he knows it won’t. but he still hopes.

“i don’t know why i let him do this to me,” you whisper. “i feel so stupid.”

you’re not stupid. just soft. just hopeful. just too willing to believe a boy, who doesn’t deserve you, will suddenly change.

but chris can’t say that, not without sounding bitter.

so he just says, “you’re not stupid,” and pulls you closer.

you fall asleep on his chest, breathing slow and warm against his hoodie, like this is home. and for a second, he lets himself pretend it is.

you’ll wake up tomorrow, and everything will be okay for a while. you’ll smile at him in the kitchen, steal his phone to take pictures, laugh at something dumb he says. you’ll promise you’re done for good this time. done with the boy who keeps breaking you. done with hurting.

and for a few days, maybe a week, you’ll mean it.

you’ll text chris first. you’ll let him hold your hand in public. you’ll tell your friends how much he’s been there for you, how he always makes you feel better, how he never makes you cry.

but then he’ll text you. him.

and suddenly chris is just a safety net again.

a soft place to land.

a temporary fix.

because you’ll go running back to him, again.

“i just needed closure,” you’ll say. “it didn’t mean anything,” you’ll insist.

and chris will nod like it doesn’t gut him.

because what can he say? he’s just your friend. the one who loves you in all the quiet ways you never seem to notice. the one who memorized your favorite snacks, and your late-night cries, and how you like your hair held back when you’re sobbing on his bathroom floor.

he’s the one who fixes you.

but never the one you choose.

and it’s killing him.

he promised he’d be there till the end, but maybe this is the end. maybe the softest kind of love is the one that learns when to stop being your bandaid. when to stop letting you come back only to leave again.

but tonight, you’re in his bed, asleep, heart shattered. your body curled into his like muscle memory.

and he knows how this ends.

he just doesn’t know how to walk away.

not yet.

maybe not ever.

a/n: this was written in a hospital, sorry if its not the best! i'll probably do another version of this later on

tags— @clairo4life @xsturnkay @h3arts4isa @mf-divaaa-08 @bugs-tags @moond0llie @izzylovesmatt @courta13 @twylas114 @sturniolos1uts

[betweensnoopy]

see you again ⋆ ･˳

walking into the loud, crowded house, you could instantly smell alcohol and weed. your nose turns up to the smell and you face your friend, who’s already in the party mood.

her smile fades as soon as she see your face and she rolls her eyes in a playful way. ‘oh my gosh, we’re not even half way in the house and you already want to leave? i thought you wanted to go out, y/n?’

she was right. you thought that going out would help you get over your break up but all you want to do is lay in bed and cry your eyes out.

‘c’mon let’s go have fun! maybe you’ll find somebody better!’ she dragged you in and push y’all’s way through the crowd and right to the liquor. there were all types of alcohol—tequila, beer, vodka, whatever you named—it was definitely there.

your friend grabbed the tequila and poured 6 shots, 3 for her and 3 for you. ‘wait wait wait! this is too much..’ you rasped. she ignored you and continued to pour the shots.

‘I don’t need you worried about your ex or anything else while we’re at this party. girl, you’re gonna drink these shots’ she hands you your first shot and cheers you. you had a feeling in your stomach, not because you were scared.. well you were scared a little bit but, because it’s been months since you drank and you don’t want to be that one drunk girl at the party.

you quickly drink the shot, a burning sensation goes down your throat. you go to grab a cup of orange juice until your friend stops you. ‘nope, no chasers.’ she says and snatches the cup out of your hand.

a guy, who looks very tipsy—walks over to you and your friend and eyes her up and down.

the guys asks her to dance to the song that just screams sweaty, drunk bodies grinding on each other. she accepts to dance and gives you a look. ‘go have fun, y/n! finish your shots!’ she yells over the loud music and leaves you there—by yourself.

you eye down the two tequila shots. she’s right, you should have fun. you just got out of a relationship and is going out for the first time in forever. you need to turn back into your carefree, single self again and have fun.

you quickly take the two shots and make yourself a drink and step out the dance floor.

you finally started to let loose and danced to a couple songs. you know, really enjoying this party, even dancing with this one guy you came across.

you were having fun until you saw him.

the man that broke your heart, staring right at you. the man who’s the reason your at the stupid party in the first place.

your heart dropped to your stomach, what was he doing here? hamzah wasn’t really the party or any social activity type of guy.

you haven’t seen him the months. his hair is a buzzed bleach now and not the black curls that you love, or well loved. he looked more muscular than the last time you saw him, his eyes looked darker than his usual brown eyes.

hamzah looked totally different from when you guys broke up, and so have you—you two looked like two strangers to each other.

you looked away from hamzah and continued dancing with this stranger, putting on a fake smile—but you could feel his eyes still on you. his eyes basically burning holes into your back.

you tried the take your mind off your ex-boyfriend who’s standing in the corner, looking like the creep. you grind harder into the man behind you, his hand on your hips guiding you.

‘how about we take this somewhere else?’ the man says into your ear, before you can answer you were snatched away from the guy. you nearly fall due to the fast speed this person was walking.

your heart beating fast, you thought you were getting kidnapped and the guy you were dancing on didn’t when run after you. you look up and see that bleached buzz, it was hamzah.

before you could say something—he shoved you in a empty bathroom and locked the door. ‘what the fuck are you doing out there?’ he exclaimed.

you face scrunches up, what the fuck is he talking about?

‘what the hell do you mean? i’m enjoying being single, you know since you fucking dumped me!’ you snap back. hamzah pinches his nose bridge before looking down at you.

you walk up the mirror to fix your dress and fix your hair, hamzah’s eyes filling you ‘don’t worry, you still look the same way you did when you dancing on the guy, like a whore.’

without even thinking, you turn around and slap hamzah across the face. ‘fuck you, hamzah!’ you shout.

he has no reaction, fucking weirdo. ‘fuck me?’ he muttered.

‘yes, fuck you.’ you say. he looks down at you with hooded dark brown eyes, lips plump just asking to be kissed.

the two of you looked at each other until hamzah smashed his lips onto yours, you could taste the alcohol on his tongue. the kiss was tough and messy, your hands go on each side of hamzah’s face.

he breaks the kiss, turning you around and pushes you against the counter. your hands tightly grip the sides of the sink as he pulls up your dress and pulling your panties to the side, wasting no time.

his lips go on your neck—making little hickies all around it, visibly marking his territory.

you lightly gasp at the feeling of his fingers rubbing your entrance. ‘your already wet? you’re living up to your name, whore.’ hamzah grins.

you look up at him in the mirror ‘don’t call me th-’ he cuts you off by sticking his middle and ring finger inside your wet cunt. your head drops low and you lightly bite your lip.

‘what was that? I didn’t hear you..’ the man mutters. his fingers pump in and out of you at a torturing pace. hamzah places his hand on your throat, squeezing lightly—pulling your head back to kiss you from behind.

his curled fingers speed up, making you moan in his mouth. behind the muffled moan coming from you, you could hear the squelching from your pussy.

he fucked you with his fingers, knowing that it always get you loose. your creamy fluids spill on his fingers, dripping down on the tiled bathroom floor.

‘look at you, fucked out just by my fingers. you miss this down you.’ hamzah whispered as he looked at you through the mirror.

he groans at the sight in front of him. ‘look at me, y/n. look at how pretty you look with my fingers inside you.. fuck.’ hamzah cursed.

you slowly open your eyes to see him staring at you. the same stare that makes your knees weak everytime. he takes his fingers out of you, glistening in the bathroom light. you let out a little whine at the lost of contact, your cunt just throbbing.

hamzah puts his forcibly puts the same fingers that were inside you in your mouth. ‘taste yourself, see how good you taste, y/n.’ his voice rasped.

you slowly suck on his fingers as he watches you in the mirror— a number of curses coming out of his mouth.

he takes his hand out of your mouth and get a taste himself. he begins to unbuckle his pants, the tent in his pants is just raging. you reach down to help him, slowly palming him in thought his boxers.

you pull his cock out, hitting his stomach as you do. hamzah takes over and strokes his cock.

he rubs his tip against your entrance, gaining a small moan from you before he pushes all the way in. immediately, you feel full—it’s like you’ve never adjusted to his size.

hamzah doesn’t start off slow, no. he started off rough, fucking you like he hated you.

‘wait.. ham.. oh fuck..’ your eyes rolled back under your hooded eyes. your hands grip the sink for support. his mouth attaches to your neck once again as he pounds you.

the muttered music from the party played outside of the bathroom, you were hoping that it was enough that no one can hear how loud hamzah’s hips were slapping against yours and your high moaning.

this feels completely wrong but yet, so good. his hand wraps around your throat—making you look at him. ‘fuck, y/n. you must missed me fucking you like this, don’t you? say it. say you miss me fucking your guts.’ his mouth is so filthy.

it took you a while to get the words out, you were so overstimulated with him pounding into your aching pussy and slightly choking you.

‘i miss.. you.. s-shit.. fucking me like this..!’ you moan. hamzah groans at the words, his pace going even faster.

you lightly try push hamzah, putting a hand on his stomach. ‘nuh uh, don’t try to push me away. goddamn.. you know you want this.’ he moans as he pushes your hand away.

your makeup and hair was fucked up and smudged. you looked a hot mess but hamzah loved every sight of it, knowing he’s the one that caused you to look like that. your dress pushed all the way your waist, panties soaked and pushed to the side.

his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly, mouth opening into a ‘o’ shape.

‘that’s the spot? i know it is.’ hamzah spoke in your ear. your mouth opened but nothing came out.

his cock so deep—pushing the feeling of an orgasm at brink. ‘hamzah.. im close..’ you mutter.

‘you gonna cum? do it, fuckin cream all over me.’ hamzah groans. his cock pounding you over and over and over—until you came and your body fell limp against his. hamzah came right after you, letting out a deep moan, shooting his ropes inside you.

it’s quiet now, just muffled music in the background. he stayed inside for a minute, feeling your warmth for once again.

he carefully pulls out, his cum oozing out of you just turns him on again.

your dress wasn’t even fixed or actually anything, you still looked a mess before he left after getting dressed again.

‘it was nice seeing you again, y/n’ your ex-boyfriend says before leaving the messy bathroom.

TAGSLIST: @weirdogirl888

hey guys! ik it’s been a while since I’ve posted but trust i have some things in the drafts that i need to finish. I hope you guys enjoyed this! remember my requests and tagslist are open!

[conchoronzon]

Hi, I love CV Vore and your stories are simply great. I have a predator boyfriend who lets me watch every now and then, which always turns me on, and I've been wondering a question for a long time that my boyfriend couldn't really answer, or maybe didn't want to. 🙈🙈 So I'm asking you: When a CV predator devours someone and digests them in its testicles, do the predators feel no pity for the victim if it were a friend, for example, or no pity in general? How is that?

Hm... That's not so simple a question. You know, there are non-preds who eat meat and feel bad for the whatever animal ultimately ends up in their gut. Some don't care at all. Some get so overwhelmed, they become vegetarians or vegans. There are lots of reactions, and that's how it is with preds.

Lots of factors go into this. Is the prey willing or unwilling? Does the cock pred mostly digest using his cum or does he crunch them up with his balls? Does he have the sort of sack that makes digestion goopy and pleasurable or the type that's graphic and painful? Do his prey tend to stay awake through digestion or is there some means by which they fall asleep before they truly get to melting? Is the prey a reforming type? What's the pred planning on doing with their load: eat it, waste it, fuck it in someone, save it, or get someone pregnant with it?

There are a lot of questions that can help you figure out if a pred might be the kind to feel pity or even guilt for making someone into their cock snack.

Imagine this: You're one of your boyfriend's friends. You know he churns guys into big fat fuckin' loads. One day on break from college, you come out to your family, and your step-dad calls you all sorts of names. You vent or cry to your friend, and next thing you know, you're sat on his bedroom floor, watching as his sack churns that homophobic man into a cum shot that your friend half-splatters on the walls and half-pumps into your guts. He's a good friend. After that, you can't stop thinking about it. When you hang out with him - one-on-one, in public, at parties, whatever - you glance at his bulge. You wonder about the last person you ate. You wonder if it's so plump because he eats guys or not. You remember how full he made you. It's slow at first. You think about it every now and then. But then you go online. You look at vornos and read stories about it. One day, you find that's all you jerk off to, the idea of melting away in your friend's nuts. You dream about getting married and taking a honeymoon with your future husband down his cock; nothing more romantic than getting churned together by the best man. So one day, you guys are having a few drinks, and you confess. You're not in love with him or anything, but you do want to be his cockfood. He claims he couldn't do that to a friend. But then a few weeks later, he shows up at your door. "It's all I've been able to think about." And that's your last night on this earth. He stuffs you into his cock and teases you as he melts you down, asking if this was as good as you thought it'd be. He soaks your bedroom in white and collects some of you in a little jar. He stores it to decide what to do with some other time. He only does that for his favorite prey.

You tell me: if that were you, would you want to be pitied? You'd be getting what you wanted, what you need.

Now, did I write that scenario in the second person to really get you to think what it'd be like for your boyfriend to churn you to cum? Am I trying to get it so you start fantasizing about it, getting jealous about the squirming guys you watch him melt? Of course. It'd be really funny to me if asking this question leads to you getting sloshed. Your boyfriend probably will pity you as you get churned. He'll feel guilty. He might get mad at me. But oh well.

That's all to say, context is everything, my friend

[havenoffandoms]

Of Mutants and Men (Geraskier, Gen)

Read it on Ao3

In all his years of being a Witcher on the Path, Geralt always tried to stay out of politics. It’s a lesson that’s been ingrained in him since his youngest years at Kaer Morhen. His teachers, Vesemir more vocally than others perhaps, had been absolutely categorical about the role of witchers in the world. If you know what’s good for you, Vesemir would remind him and his classmates incessantly, you will keep your noses out of the business of kings and the assholes who have something to gain from being involved in politics. It only breeds conflict, Master Rennes would add in a subsequent lesson, not least because fanatics only need one person to sway their way to feel validated in their stupidity. It is not a witcher’s job to play mediator to a bunch of spoilt brats whose temper tantrums have disastrous consequences, Master Varin pointedly underlined any time he had a drink in him (or any time the opportunity presented itself, which was far too often in Varin’s case). Geralt’s teachings have been very clear about taking sides in the conflict of men, elves, or dwarves - don’t fucking do it, no matter what. 

Master Rennes and Master Varin will be turning in their graves right about now, and it goes without saying that Vesemir can never know about Geralt’s adventures in Bremervoort. 

Easier said than done when Jaskier is already working on his newest, best selling ballad. 

“A good rhyme for surf?” Jaskier asks, dragging Geralt back to the present moment. 

“Uh… murph?”

“Oh dear,” comes the unenthusiastic response from a slightly offended bard, “well, we won't make a poet of you yet!”

“I am as good a poet as you are a Witcher.”

That, in turn, pulls a disgruntled guffaw from the other man, exactly the reaction Geralt was betting on. He tries not to smile at how easily Jaskier rises to the bait. He has a reputation to uphold, after all, and there are too many witnesses to break character now. 

“I'll have you know, witcher-” Jaskier points an accusatory quill in Geralt’s face, his elegantly shaped eyebrows furrowed in a discontented frown. “That I did not do too badly with a sword while you were busy pirouetting your way into certain death on that kraken! Which is more than I can say about your so-called rhyming abilities! What even is a ‘murph’?”

“Quiet, Jaskier.” Geralt shoots the other man a pointed look, nodding at the frolicking merfolk in the water. “This is a sacred union, show some respect.”

“Pah! Respect!” Unable to resist the call of romance, Jaskier's eyes do end up drifting back to the scene before them. Even though his features soften at the sight, Geralt picks up the moody wouldn't know respect if it slapped you in the face that falls from Jaskier's lips. Leaning down conspiratorially until his lips are a breaths away from Jaskier's ear, Geralt whispers:

“You make it too easy for me, lark.”

“Far from me the thought to dampen your good mood, but must it be at my expense?” Jaskier complains, though Geralt instantly notes the way the bard’s shoulders relax as he leans into Geralt’s space. Too forgiving, so is Jaskier. Geralt just knows that had Zeleste not fallen victim to Melusina’s clutches, Jaskier would've forgiven the man his faults, too. 

“Exasperation has never looked more dashing on anyone else I know. It is a burden you bear very gracefully.”

“Oh, you flatterer!” Jaskier playfully shoves at Geralt’s shoulder, with too little strength to achieve anything other than ruffling the witcher's uncomfortably tight doublet. “Very well, you win. For now.”

As Sh’eenaz and Agloval disappear into the deeps, the shell-shocked guests slowly rise from their seats to head back to the castle. King Usveldt, disgraced and having lost the respect of most of his subjects, has since retreated into the comfort of his home, where he will no doubt drown the sorrows in expensive wine and lavish feasts. Geralt doesn't envy the man, nor does he pity him. Usveldt got exactly what he deserved. 

“Witcher!” a voice, unfamiliar and ethereal, calls him from the edge of the water. Geralt glances over his shoulder and meets the gaze of the siren King Basim. “Witcher, a moment of your time?”

“What else could they possibly need from you now?” Jaskier folds the piece of parchment he's been scribbling on throughout the ceremony and stuffs it back in the inside pocket of his doublet. “Want me to come with you, dear heart?”

“No need.” Geralt meets Jaskier's gaze, his tone softening now that the crowd has somewhat dispersed. “Go back to Roach, tack him up for me?” 

“Only if you're sure,” Jaskier relents, though the worried crease between his eyebrows doesn't go unnoticed by Geralt. “Shout if you need me, yeah? I won't be far.”

“Off you go, witcherling.”

“You are so calling me that in front of your family next time we're in Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier calls out over his shoulder as he saunters away, his lute firmly strapped to his back. Geralt watches the bard leave, a small smile edged on his lips. Only once Jaskier turns a corner and disappears from view does Geralt make his way to the edge of the water. 

“Your Highnesses,” Geralt greets the couple of sirens in his heavily accented Elder, “it was a beautiful ceremony, that of your daughter and her new husband.”

The King and Queen are kind enough not to remark on Geralt’s clumsy syntax. He's not had much opportunity to practice his Elder recently. 

“We thank you for your words, vatt’ghern. And for your help during the battle,” King Basim adds, his eyes holding Geralt’s gaze easily. “We are indebted to you. You have our gratitude and friendship.”

Geralt nods his head in acknowledgement at the siren king's warm words. 

“King Usveldt compensated me for my part in this. I do not expect payment from you, also,” Geralt is quick to reassure them. 

“Perhaps you don't expect payment, but you sure deserve it.” This time, it's Queen Dahut who speaks on behalf of her husband. “We have no coin to offer, but that doesn't mean we will not compensate you for a job well done. Here.”

The Queen extends her arm, her closed fist hovering over the water expectantly. Geralt takes a few steps forward, until the seawater laps gently at his booted shins. He crouches so he's at eye-level with the Queen and reaches for her hand, stopping shy of touching her. A small vial is dropped into Geralt’s open hand. 

“What is this?” the Witcher asks as he studies the purple liquid sloshing inside the ornate vial. 

“You spoke of how beautiful our daughter's wedding was.” Basim stares pointedly at the vial in Geralt’s hand before locking eyes with him again. “And we have noticed your… attachment to that bard of yours.”

Geralt freezes, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as his gaze drops to the vial in his hands again. He curls his fingers around the glass, careful not to shatter it while also pondering how rude it would be to toss the damned thing back into the ocean whence it came. 

“We don't mean to pry into your relationships,” Queen Dahut assures him, hypocritically so though Geralt is not foolish enough to so blatantly spit on their gift. “But if there is one thing this near-war has taught us it's that love can be a very powerful weapon, to be used for evil as much as for good. What we're giving you is a choice.”

“A choice, eh?” Geralt says, unable to mask the bitterness of his tone. 

“The choice to turn into your lover's form,” Basim clarifies, just in case Geralt is too slow to catch on. 

“Afraid this generous gift might be wasted on the likes of me,” Geralt tells them, already handing back the vial to Dahut. “Jaskier is a human, as am I. A mutated human, but human all the same."

“Yes,” Dahut agrees, though there is an edge to her tone Geralt can't quite place, “and how attached are you to your mutations, Geralt of Rivia ? How often have you laid awake wondering what it would be like to be just human and nothing more?”

Too often for comfort, Geralt doesn't say. Every night on his very first year on the Path, when instead of accolades and praise Geralt’s efforts to rid the Continent of monsters was met with contempt and prejudice. The life of knighthood he'd wished for himself was a far cry from his reality as a mutated monster hunter, so far-fetched that Geralt had to kill that part of himself if he hoped to survive his second year on the Path. Turns out fair maidens aren't so quick to give out favours to scarred, cat-eyed men carrying two swords on their backs and usually covered in some kind of monster guts, or stinking to the high heavens of sewage. Geralt couldn't remember what colour his eyes were before the mutations, but there are times when he wouldn't mind finding out. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened over the vial again. 

“Please accept this gift, with our thanks,” Dahut insists, her eyes knowing. “It is your choice what to do with it.”

Before Geralt has a chance to answer, both Basim and Dahut disappear under the surface, never to be seen again. 

*

“Ah, there you are, dear heart!” The relieved smile stretching across Jaskier's handsome face is like a balm for Geralt’s soul. Not that he'll ever admit to that out loud. “Was wondering where you were.”

“The King and Queen insisted on a reward for my services,” Geralt explains off-handedly, hoping Jaskier won't ask any questions about the vial in Geralt’s pocket, the weight of it burdening him like dragging a boulder on a chain. But expecting Jaskier not to ask questions is like expecting water not to be wet, and Geralt really should've known better than to bring up that stupid conversation at all. 

“Oh, another reward! Is it more coin? Unlikely, seeing as the merfolk don't really deal in our money. Did the Queen give you her necklace? Bet that gem’ll go for a pretty fortune!”

Geralt ignores the questioning, hoping Jaskier will talk himself into a circle as he's known to do, then get distracted by something else equally asonyne to blabber about for the next few hours. Jaskier is the type to talk himself into an early grave. 

“So?” the bard prods once Geralt settles himself in his saddle. 

“So what?”

“Your reward from King Basim and Queen Dahut. What was it?”

Fuck. 

“Their friendship and eternal gratitude,” Geralt supplies, too quickly to be natural and not for the first time does he thank his mutations for his inability to blush under Jaskier's scrutiny. “Come on, Roach.”

“Woah, hey, hold up!” Jaskier steps in front of Roach, who doesn't take kindly to this fop of a man barricading his path, and lets him know as much with an irritated snort. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I'm not,” Geralt lies, badly. 

“You're acting all shifty. I can tell, you know!”

“Not one of your best qualities,” Geralt mutters under his breath as he manoeuvres Roach around Jaskier. 

“I heard that,” the man declares before grabbing a hold of Roach’s reins and only narrowly dodging the offended bite from the gelding. “Geralt. Why are you being so secretive about this? I thought there were no secrets between us.”

And whether it's those words or the fact that Jaskier looks genuinely distraught at the thought of Geralt hiding anything from him, what with his big pleading eyes and his stupidly expressive face, Geralt isn't sure. All he knows is that he finds himself unable to keep up the mystery any longer. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he pulls the vial out of his pocket and tosses it at Jaskier, who almost doesn't catch it before it hits the ground.

“Geralt, what… What is this?”

“My payment. The same potion Sh’eenaz gave Agloval.”

Geralt watches as a series of complicated emotions flashes across Jaskier's face, ranging from surprise to confusion, before finally settling on something carefully neutral that has Geralt’s insides twisting anxiously. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Geralt agrees, at loss for what else to say. Jaskier examines the vial in his hand, his brows furrowed in concentration as he does so. 

“I see. And…” Jaskier pauses, pondering his next words carefully while averting Geralt’s gaze. “Is this something you're considering?”

And that's the big question, isn't it? Geralt doesn't have a fucking clue. Part of him is definitely curious, but another, albeit smaller part of him, resents the idea of having to change who he is, what he is, in order to fit Jaskier's worldview. They've been travelling for over a decade together, not only as travel companions but also as something more, something neither of them has felt the need to define in too many words. This thing between them feels good, better than anything Geralt’s felt before, but it's also fragile and unchartered in a way that throws Geralt off balance. 

“Because if you are,” Jaskier continues when it becomes apparent that Geralt can't find the words to express himself right now, his voice impossibly tender as he meets Geralt’s gaze again, “it is your prerogative, of course. So if you choose to take this, I just need to know that you won't do it for my sake. Or for anyone else's sake other than yours.”

The words take Geralt by surprise, because this is not how he expected to see the conversation going. He realises that he anticipated Jaskier to want him to take this potion, to become more human and less Witcher. Being confronted with the exact opposite scenario is almost more frightening, because now it's up to Geralt to decide what he wants for himself and isn't that a fucking thought? In nearly six decades no one ever really cared what he wanted from his life. It's never been part of the deal. A Witcher doesn't get to choose another path than the one he's been created to walk. Except now, Geralt does have a choice to make and he finds himself unable to think straight.

“For what it's worth,” Jaskier adds, a loving smile now tugging at the corner of his lips as he levels Geralt with a look so full of adoration it makes Geralt feel sick to his stomach. “I like you for who you are, Geralt. Not because you're a Witcher, not because you can do cool pirouettes and slash your way through a monster kraken when you drink one of those potions of yours. I love you because you're funny in a way not many people bother to understand, because you speak to your horse like he's a person, because you won't kill a monster simply because you're hired to do so. You're a principled man who cares deeply even though he doesn't show it. There are so many things I love about you, you being a Witcher doesn't even crack the top twenty. Mutations, no mutations. It's all the same to me. As long as you're happy within yourself, I am happy.”

As Jaskier speaks, Geralt lets out the anxious breath he's been holding since he left King Basim and Queen Dahut. His chest feels lighter and the feelings of nausea ease, giving way to something gentler, something warmer. Geralt manages a lopsided smirk which is met by Jaskier's beaming smile and mischievous wink. 

“Come now, Roach.” Jaskier pats the gelding’s neck affectionately before feeding him a juicy apple, buying his forgiveness with that single gesture. “Let's move on to our next adventure. Cairngorm, here we come!”

As Jaskier leads on, the vial safely tucked in his breast pocket, the world suddenly straightens on its axis. 

[yellllowstar]

slowly I'm recovering the beauty of discovery

(creature by half•alive)

(textless + timelapse below cut)

[wantbytaemin]

watching the clips from the [LOUD TRAIN] with the little fanboy dude interview and AUAUUHHHHHHHBHHHHHH

[thisfairytalegonebad]

Being mad I'll have to work tomorrow while most other people are taking the day off vs not even knowing what to do with myself today