#he is deep in enemy territory

[spearofthetenno]

Made Arthur play maid obviously

I mean that’s obvious-

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt. 

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips. 

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you. 

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?” 

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.

yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.

[anxietyrobot]

i love thinking about lil crossovers with promise and scourge and other ppls medieval mystery drama aus

unfortunately one of the running jokes is that promise is more attracted to all the other scarabs/knights more than his because his is a violent pos who hates him ajklfdaf

[https-bobreynolds]

save her

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x thunderbolts*! reader

summary: during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

warning: mentions of bloods, injuries, a curse word mentioned, anxiety and self-blaming. mentions of y/n. also, reader’s a badass who has powers like wanda.

author’s note: i’m not gonna lie, this is my BEST fic yet and i’m pretty sure it’s gonna be hard to beat so i hope i did the action sequences justice!! this is inspired by @disillusioniary ‘s comment on my bob headcanons post!! hope you like it <3

the thunderbolts* was currently on a mission deep in enemy territory. your target was a highly fortified secure facility that contained weapons of mass destruction. the mission was complicated because the target was heavily protected by an elite special ops division, so you were all expecting heavy resistance.

the team was currently moving through a heavily guarded corridor. the area was well fortified and manned by heavily armed guards. every corner was armed with motion detected weapons, and there were multiple barriers in strategic locations to make progress more difficult.

you had been briefed before the mission, and you were aware of the risks you were all taking. the mission brief was clear: reach the target and retrieve the weapon, or destroy it if you can’t recover it.

every member of the team was confident they could complete the mission, but they were also fully aware that there was a very real chance they wouldn't make it out alive.

the team was approaching the target area, and things were getting tense. they could hear voices coming from the other side of the door, and they knew they were about to meet a lot of resistance, there was at least a hundred of them… but they were still calm, still focused on the mission. they all knew the risks, but they were willing to take them.

bob was in the middle of the team, sandwiched between bucky and john. he was feeling nervous, his heart racing in anticipation. he had never been in a situation like this before, had never been in the middle of a fight like this. he felt like a fish out of water, he felt out of place, like he didn't belong here.

he was lost in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down... he was feeling a lot of things all at once, and his nerves were getting the better of him. he was trying to keep it together, not wanting to show the other how scared he was... but his breathing was coming out in short, quick bursts.

you noticed him from behind, quickly patting his shoulders in reassurance, giving him a nod and a smile when he looked back at you with his doe eyes, thankful for the reassurance, and making him feel so much better, knowing that you were there to support him.

that brief sense of peace was quickly tarnished when bucky made a signal with his hand ‘1, 2, 3’ and within seconds, the door exploded wide open, revealing a large amount of soldiers ready to kill them all.

all hell broke loose. bullets started flying, alexei was screaming “FEEL THE WRATH OF THE THUNDERBOLTS!!”, and the team scattered, taking cover and firing back. bob was crouched behind a corner, his heart pounding in his chest. he could barely see past his own fear, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold his gun... then he heard a voice, one of the others calling out to him.

“bob- look out..!” you yelled, jumping in front of him, quickly moving your hands to literally, work your magic through. you are a master of telekinesis, chaos magic, and mind manipulation- though not as strong as your mentor, wanda maximoff, yet.

he snapped out of his fear induced trance and turned to look at you, just in time to see you jump in front of him. he could see the energy surging from you, the magic surging through the air, he felt a wave of disbelief wash over him... was this really real?

“focus..!” he heard someone yell out, only God knows who, in the midst of the chaos. he shook his head at that, trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening around him. the battle was all around them, the bullets flying and the explosions thundering. it was sensory overload, and he was trying to stay focused.

“bob, try and get the weapons, will you??” yelena said from across the room, as calmly but still firm as she could, shooting at the enemies. bob swallowed his own spit, adam’s apple bobbing, ‘m-me??’ he thought to himself, wondering why the hell was he here instead of washing the dishes back at the tower.

his thoughts was disturbed as he heard an “i’ll cover you, go!” from you, energy surging once more, covering the man with a chaos-magic shield.

bob took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart... he could see the weapons on the other side of the room, and he knew he had to get to them. he was scared, but he knew he had to trust you to keep him safe. he nodded to you, trying to summon the courage to make a move.

he quickly ran, feeling a surge of adrenaline, bullets bouncing off from your magic shield. it made him feel safe, really, but you were getting tired, having to protect not only yourself but bob. only realizing now, that you’re holding off the enemies in front of you with one hand while protecting him with the other.

‘almost there…’ he thought to himself.

the moment he was there, his mind were in shambles, trying his best to think straight. ‘the mission was either to retrieve or destroy…’ and the latter seemed much easier than the first one.

he grabbed onto his gun and shot directly at the weapons, seemingly having to forgetten the fact that they are in fact, highly explosive.

after that, everything just seemed to go in slow motion- the moment the huge explosion occurred: alexei quickly pulled yelena into a bear hug, protecting his little girl from the debris, and they were fine- as they both were furthest away from the weapons.

bucky quickly threw a punch on a soldier before he ran and slid away from the explosion, leaving him to safety. walker got his shield to protect both him and ava, still getting pushed by the impact of the explosion though.

you however?

you completely lost focus on your surroundings and focused it all on his, placing both your hands in front of you, at him, using the energy surge to create a much more powerful shield for him- the impact of the explosion immediately throwing you and several shrapnel onto the wall, causing you to spit out blood, cuts everywhere.

“shit, y/n, are you okay??” bucky asked, from somewhere in the background.

bob couldn’t look, couldn’t believe what he had done... the explosion had been massive, and he was expecting to be injured, to have been hit by shrapnel... but none of the debris had touched him- you were protecting him, shielding him from the explosion... he felt guilty, guilty that he had done this to you. he tried to look back at you, hoping beyond hope that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, trying to find a way to help... he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. he crouched down next to you, trying to assess the damage... he could see that you were struggling, and it was tearing him apart.

“i-i’m alright, bob…” you said slowly, trying to reassure him as if you weren’t a few seconds away from fainting, eyes starting to feel so… heavy.

bob didn’t know what to say, he just crouched there, shaking, as if he’s the one in pain. “you know damn well she’s not.” a familiar, dark voice suddenly came to his head, it was the void.

“you did this to her”

“this is your fault”

bob’s heart sank, his mind racing with guilt... it was all his fault, he had caused this. he could see that you were struggling, that you were in pain, and it was all because he had failed to think rationally.

“i… i don’t k-know what to do… i don’t know how to help her…” bob scrambled, feeling like he was spiraling, trying so hard to remember the first-aid kit tutorials that you showed him several nights ago, “why can’t i… w-why can’t i remember??”

“you can’t save her...” the dark voice immediately says, as bob’s thoughts were being consumed by guilt and fear, like he was drowning- like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a whirpool of anxiety.

“but i can.”

bob froze, he knew that voice... it was the other one, the one that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“p-please…” in a second, bob closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him away, wanting nothing but you to be safe, “save her…”

the next moment, bob opened his eyes, now with golden rings around it, it was no longer bob, it was the void. bob was long gone, replaced by a cold and calculated demeanor, his black silhouette... his gaze fixated on only one person, you.

bob the void immediately stood up, and in an instant, flew across the room, throwing punches at the remaining soldiers who dared stand against his way. he was like a storm, destroying everything in his path... he moved with such grace and speed, like a work of art, each punch executed with precision and accuracy.

it was almost like an… overkill, even, he didn’t care about their wellbeing at all. he just kept throwing punches even if they were already unconscious. unbeknownst to him however, you were becoming weaker and weaker. the blood loss making your eyes droopy, your breathes shorter.

the more he fought, the more angry he got... he could feel the rage building up inside him, could feel himself losing control... but he didn’t care, all he cared about was taking the soldiers down, one by one.

he found himself on top of a poor soldier, punching him to oblivion. he couldn’t stop- until he heard a familiar voice, john’s to be exact, “bob. that’s enough.”

but that alone wasn’t enough to stop him, ava, who was holding your weak body, yelled at him, “you have got to save her, bob.”

for a moment, it seemed like the void might listen… his fist was inches away from smashing the soldier’s face in again, but he froze, almost shocked by what he heard.

‘save her’ he repeated in his mind, as if reminding himself. her. the girl who had bob in a chokehold, the girl who had shown him affection that nobody has in more than twenty years, the girl who’d do anything for him.

he abruptly stood up, walking back to them, to you... the others immediately prepared themselves, ready to defend themselves in case he gets volatile, “you can’t save her, not by punching people… not like this… but the sentry can” yelena says, desperate to save her friend.

the void stood there, trying to make sense of what he had been told… ‘the sentry?’ he thought, ‘how can the sentry possibly save her?’ he couldn’t understand, but he wanted to try, for her.

he suddenly remembered, the sentry is a being… so powerful… so almighty… that he can heal others with a simple touch. “i can… save her…” the void bob muttered, feeling a sense of determination wash over him… he had to try, he had to save you.

in a few second, his black silhouette started to fade away, going back to bob’s figure- but the others could tell that it wasn’t him, not with golden rings around his pupils anyway.

he was quiet, slowly moving closer to the girl. but it wasn’t because he was afraid or anything like that, no. it was because of his pride, knowing that he is the only one who could save you.

he knelt down next to you, his gaze fixed on your injured frame... he could see the pain you were in, the suffering you were going through... it made his heart ache to see you like this, but he would never admit to that.

he looked at the others, one by one, as if saying ‘look at me, look at your savior’, before he touched your arm, hands glowing a golden bright aura.

the others watched in awe, they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next- never could they have imagined your scars and wounds healing in just a mere seconds, your breathe coming to a better pace, and your eyes, opening once more.

you groaned, your eyes fluttering open as you slowly came to... you could feel something different, something had changed... you weren't in pain anymore, you weren't feeling sick anymore... you were good as new.

“bob..?” you asked softly, looking at the man with the golden eyes. he let out a small sigh of relief before his eyes went back to his normal state, closing it shut, and fainting right next to you.

you were immediately alarmed to see him collapse next to you, worried that he was hurt somehow. you checked him for injuries, and when you couldn't find a single one, you looked over at the others, searching for an explanation.

“don’t even ask.”

part two

[rmview]

you disappear after a fight, mafia!SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader  ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of how the mafia stray kids boys react when they tell you to leave during an argument and you disappear!

contents — angst, hurtful words, disappearing, possible kidnapping, regret.

bang ♙ chan

the argument wasn’t supposed to spiral like this. it started over something small — a careless comment from one of his men, a territorial glance, your frustration over always being kept in the dark. you’d snapped, and for once, you didn’t back down when chan raised his voice. 

“i’m not your possession, chan! i’m a person, not one of your men you can order around!” 

he was tense, jaw clenched, pacing the floor of his private office while his fingers ran anxiously through his hair. the stress of rival families breathing down his neck, shady deals, and betrayals had worn him thin. but none of that was an excuse. he knew it the second the words left his mouth. 

“then get lost. go. if you can’t handle this life, if you can’t handle me, then get the fuck out.” 

the silence that followed was suffocating. 

you stared at him, stunned — not because you’d never fought before, but because you never thought he would throw you away like that. not when you’d stayed, despite the danger. despite everything. 

“fine,” you whispered. no tears. no pleading. just cold resignation. 

you turned and walked out before he could stop you. but hours passed. then a day. then two. and you didn’t come back. 

at first, chan was stubborn, convincing himself you needed space. he kept the others from looking for you, burying himself in work, pretending it was what he wanted. 

but then your phone went dead. your apartment was untouched. no signs of you at your usual spots. none of the safe houses you both used. his men couldn’t find a single trace. and suddenly, the crushing weight of those words came back to him like a tidal wave. 

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered to no one in particular, sitting alone in his office with his head in his hands. 

felix was the first to call him out. 

“hyung, something’s wrong. she wouldn’t just disappear.” 

the guilt festered in chan’s chest, sharp and suffocating. what if someone got to you? his enemies weren’t the type to show mercy. and if they found out how much you meant to him — how much you still meant, even if he was too much of a coward to say it — 

“find her,” chan snapped, standing so quickly his chair toppled back. “turn over every street, every contact. i don’t care what it takes. bring her home.” 

but deep down, what terrified him more wasn’t the idea of you being kidnapped. it was the possibility you left because you finally realized you deserved better. 

he stared at the bracelet you’d left behind on his nightstand — a cheap little trinket you once said brought you luck. he hated how empty the apartment felt. how cold his bed was without you in it. 

if you were out there, alive and avoiding him, chan swore to himself he’d tear the world apart to find you and make things right. and if someone else had taken you? well — the city would burn. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into the dark, clutching your bracelet. “i’ll fix this… i swear i will.” 

but the silence was unforgiving. and you were nowhere to be found. 

felix ♙

the warehouse was thick with tension, lit only by the flickering overhead lights. felix’s voice, usually calm and grounding, came sharp this time — edged with something unfamiliar, something bitter. 

“i told you to stay the hell out of it, y/n!” 

you flinched at the volume, heart hammering in your chest. you hadn’t meant to get involved. one of the lower-ranked men had made a mistake, and you stepped in to help, thinking it would ease the situation. but instead, it spiraled into this. another fight. another harsh accusation thrown your way. 

“i was just trying to help, lix,” you muttered, your throat tight. 

“help?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, his usually soft gaze hardened. “do you have any idea what could’ve happened if they found out how close you are to me? you think this is a game?” 

your stomach twisted. you’d heard this speech before. about how dangerous it was. how being involved with him painted a target on your back. and yet, you stayed. you always stayed. 

but today, something inside him cracked. maybe it was the stress. the way rival syndicates had started closing in. the threats. the backstabbing. and for a moment — he let the wrong words slip. 

“maybe it was a mistake letting you stay this long.” 

the world stopped. 

you stared at him, your breath caught, disbelief spreading like ice in your veins. felix froze too, the weight of his own words immediately crashing down. the expression on your face — one of betrayal, of heartbreak — made his stomach turn. 

“wait —” 

“no,” you whispered, holding up a hand. “i get it.” 

and before he could take it back, you walked away. 

felix stood frozen, heart pounding. his mouth opened to call you back, but his throat was dry. his pride, his fear, kept him silent. 

you didn’t show up that night. or the next. your apartment was empty. your phone went straight to voicemail. even his contacts couldn’t trace you. 

at first, felix tried to tell himself you needed time. that you’d cool off. come home. you always did. but days turned into a week. and with each passing hour, the knot in his chest tightened. 

his nights became restless. he’d sit in his room, clutching the small silver chain you’d once given him, the one with a tiny charm he never took off. he’d stare at it, running his thumb over the smooth surface, remembering how you laughed when you clasped it around his neck. 

“i’m your good luck charm now,” you had said. it felt like a lifetime ago. 

felix barely spoke to the others. his usual warmth dulled into something cold and distant. even bang chan noticed. 

“you’re spiraling, lix,” chan said quietly one evening. 

“i let her go,” felix admitted, his voice breaking for the first time. “i said something i didn’t mean and now — now she’s just… gone.” 

chan’s jaw tightened. “have you considered maybe someone took her?” 

that thought had haunted him every day since. if anyone knew what you meant to him — and in this world, secrets didn’t stay hidden for long — they’d use you against him. and he wouldn’t survive it. 

he clenched the chain tighter. “i’ll find her,” he swore under his breath. “even if it’s the last thing i do.” 

but in the quiet of his room, with nothing but shadows for company, felix was left with a single, unbearable question. what if she left because of me? 

and no amount of bloodshed would fix that. 

lee ♙ know 

the room was thick with cigarette smoke, the sharp scent of gun oil hanging in the air. minho paced the length of his office, jaw clenched, eyes dark and stormy. you stood your ground, though your heart pounded beneath your ribs. this wasn’t the first time tempers flared between you. but this was different. there was something in the air tonight. a pressure neither of you could escape. 

“i told you to stay out of this,” minho growled, slamming a hand down on the desk. papers fluttered, a glass tipped over. 

“and i told you i wasn’t going to stand by while you get yourself killed!” you shot back, voice trembling more with emotion than fear. “i love you, you stubborn bastard. do you even get that?” 

he froze for a fraction of a second, something soft flickering in his gaze before it hardened again. the world had taught lee know to keep his heart buried, to use sharp words as armor. and right now, his instincts screamed to push you away before you got hurt. 

“love me?” he scoffed bitterly. “if you really loved me, you’d know your place.” 

the words hung in the air like a slap. you felt them like a punch to the gut. minho saw it too — the way your expression crumbled, your eyes dimming, shoulders dropping. 

“i didn’t…” he swallowed hard, but pride — damn his pride — kept him from saying what he should have. 

“no, it’s fine,” you whispered, the fight draining out of you like water from a cracked glass. “i get it.” 

you turned, walking toward the door, your figure framed in the dim light. every step you took was another crack in his armor, but minho didn’t move. couldn’t. when the door closed behind you, the room felt suffocating. 

for the first hour, he told himself good riddance. that this was for the best. you’d be safer, far from this bloody world. you didn’t belong in the shadows anyway. 

by nightfall, regret began to gnaw at him. by morning, when you didn’t come home, it had twisted into raw panic. he called your phone. no answer. sent one of his men to your apartment. empty. no note. no sign. no explanation. 

minho wasn’t one to show weakness, but by the third day, even his men noticed the cracks. the way his temper flared, his orders sharp and reckless, how he didn’t sleep, barely ate, eyes flicking to the door every time someone entered as if half-expecting you to appear. 

when felix cautiously approached him with your bracelet — the one you never took off — found near the docks, something inside minho shattered. 

“you think…?” felix started carefully. 

minho snatched the bracelet, fingers curling tight around the delicate chain. 

“i’ll find her,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “whoever has her… or if she left on her own… i’ll find her.” 

but alone, with only the silence for company, minho replayed those final words over and over. if you really loved me, you’d know your place. 

he didn’t mean them. god, he didn’t mean them. it was meant to protect you, to scare you away from this life before it ate you alive. but now — he wasn’t sure if he’d destroyed the one thing worth protecting. and in the suffocating quiet of his office, lee know swore on his life: he’d find you. 

even if it killed him. 

hyun ♙ jin 

the city skyline glittered beyond the penthouse windows, a thousand pinpricks of light against the dark. but hyunjin wasn’t looking at any of it. he was staring you down, eyes wild, hair a tousled mess from running his hand through it a thousand times since this fight began. the tension between you crackled like an open wire, sharp enough to sting. 

“why can’t you just stay out of it?” he barked, voice frayed at the edges. 

you stood your ground, though your heart felt bruised. “because you keep bleeding for people who wouldn’t blink if it was your body lying cold in the street, jinnie. i won’t sit by while you get yourself killed.” 

hyunjin’s face twisted, a storm of fear and fury and frustration swirling behind those beautiful, dangerous eyes. god, you had no idea how much you meant to him. how terrified he was every second you were tangled up in his world. but like a fool, the only way he knew how to protect what he loved was to push it away. 

“you think you matter to me more than this family?” he spat, the words ugly, the venom in them making him flinch even as they left his mouth. “you’re a goddamn liability. if i knew you’d be like this… i wouldn’t have bothered.” 

you recoiled as though struck. 

hyunjin’s chest heaved. silence filled the space between you, broken only by the pounding of his heart against his ribs. your lips parted, as if to say something, but you just nodded. 

“okay,” you said softly. “okay, hyunjin.” 

and then you turned and walked out. he didn’t follow. he couldn’t. 

the door clicked shut with a finality that left the air thick, suffocating. hyunjin dropped into the leather chair behind his desk, head in his hands. what the fuck had he just done? 

for hours, he stared at the dark, empty doorway. told himself it was for your own good. that if you hated him, you’d leave and be safe. but the echo of your last words haunted him. 

okay, hyunjin. 

it was the absence of your scent in the apartment, the stillness of your side of the bed that night that broke him. and by morning, when seungmin showed up with a grim face and a message: 

“she’s gone.” 

“what do you mean, gone?” 

“no one’s seen her since last night. she’s not at her place, not at work. phone’s off.” 

a creeping dread crawled down hyunjin’s spine. at first, he convinced himself you were cooling off. needed space. a day, maybe two. but then a call came in from a contact at the docks — an earring, one of yours, found near an abandoned warehouse. hyunjin’s blood ran cold. 

a million scenarios tore through his mind — kidnappers, a rival gang making a move, or worse. he felt his heart rip open at the thought that you’d left because of what he said. and now you were gone, and he might never get the chance to say he didn’t mean it. that he was a coward. that he loved you so fucking much it terrified him. 

by the third day, hyunjin stopped going to meetings. stopped answering calls. he was a ghost in his own world, drinking too much, eyes bloodshot, replaying your last conversation on a loop. 

and every time he passed by the bedroom, he’d catch himself reaching for you. 

okay, hyunjin. 

the sound of it would echo in his skull. and now, with no leads, no trace, and a hollow ache eating him alive, hyunjin vowed to burn the city down to find you. because losing you wasn’t an option. 

not when he’d barely started to admit he needed you to breathe. 

jeong ♙ in 

the rain hammered down against the warehouse roof, slicking the world in silver. jeongin’s hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles blanched white, jaw clenched like a trap about to snap shut. you stood across from him, chest heaving, drenched from chasing him down, refusing to let this fight end the way it always did — with you being the one to back down. 

but this time, you were too late. something in jeongin’s expression had shifted — a volatile mix of fear, anger, and helplessness all masquerading as cruelty. 

“you don’t get it, do you?” his voice came out sharp, biting, desperate. “this isn’t your world, y/n. it never was. you’re a weakness i can’t afford to carry.” 

the words stung, but you stood your ground. “i didn’t ask to be protected, jeongin. i asked you to stop shutting me out like i don’t matter. like i haven’t been standing by you through everything.” 

he scoffed, but the way his throat bobbed betrayed him. “and you think that makes you safe?” he snapped. “it makes you a target. and if i knew you’d be so stubborn, so reckless — i wouldn’t have fucking let you in.” 

you flinched like he’d slapped you. the moment the words left his lips, regret hit him like a freight train. but it was too late. he saw your face crumble in real time, your eyes gloss over, the ache in your chest so visible it nearly shattered him on the spot. 

“i get it,” you whispered, voice cracking. “you win, jeongin.” 

and then you turned and walked out into the rain. 

jeongin didn’t move. couldn’t. he told himself not to — that it was better this way. that if you hated him, you’d stay away, and you’d live. but when the hours ticked by and your phone went to voicemail, when the safehouse you sometimes hid at was cold and empty, and no one in his crew had seen you, unease settled in his gut like a storm cloud ready to burst. 

the first night, he stared at his ceiling until dawn, fighting the urge to call, to apologize, to beg. the second day, felix showed up at the door, his expression tight. “she’s gone, hyung.” 

“what the fuck do you mean gone?” 

“no one’s seen her. she’s not answering anyone. and —” felix hesitated, swallowing. “there’s talk. a car was found by the docks. her phone was inside.” 

jeongin felt his knees nearly buckle. a cold sweat broke out across his skin. “who took her?” his voice dropped to something lethal, barely human. 

“we don’t know yet.” 

and just like that, the storm inside him broke. 

jeongin tore through the city like a man possessed. every contact, every rival crew, every informant — he interrogated them all. threatened, bribed, broke bones. no one got away untouched. every second without you felt like his chest was being hollowed out. because as cruel as he’d been, as sharp as his tongue could cut, he loved you in a way that terrified him. and now, you were gone. 

each night he went back to his apartment, it felt emptier, the silence so loud it drowned out his thoughts. the blood on his hands didn’t matter. the empire he’d built felt worthless. because you weren’t there to scold him for getting hurt, to steal his hoodies, to tease him about his dimples. 

and every time it rained, the sound would bring him back to that night — the look on your face, the pain in your voice. 

you win, jeongin. 

but he hadn’t won a damn thing. and now he swore, if it took tearing the city apart brick by brick, he’d find you. and when he did, god help anyone who’d laid a hand on you. because there was no fury like mafia jeongin scorned — and no force on earth would keep you from him again. 

han ♙

the argument had started like so many others between you and han — sharp words, too much emotion, both of you too stubborn to back down. the stakes in his world were high, and it made him reckless with his temper and cruel with his words when he felt cornered. and that night… he went too far. 

“you should’ve stayed the hell out of my life,” han spat, his voice louder than he intended, raw and frayed at the edges. “i warned you what being with me meant — you think this is some fairytale? that i’m some good guy under all this?” 

you’d tried to stay calm, biting back tears, knowing how he got when he was afraid. because that’s what this was — fear dressed up as fury. but it didn’t make the words cut any less. 

“i stayed because i love you, jisung. but you — you’re so busy pushing everyone away, you don’t realize you’re breaking the people who give a damn about you.” 

he laughed, bitter and humorless, shoving a hand through his hair. “good. then maybe you’ll finally get the hint and leave before someone uses you to hurt me.” 

you stared at him. “that what you want? for me to leave?” 

his eyes met yours for a heartbeat. too long. too much. and then the mask went back up. 

“yeah,” he forced out, voice cracking just enough for you to catch it before he turned away. “get lost. i don’t need you.” 

you left. you slammed the door so hard it rattled the frame, and he just stood there in the echo of the empty room, his chest heaving, hands trembling. the silence was deafening. 

he told himself it was better this way. that this was the only way to keep you safe in a world where people like him had blood on their hands and targets on their backs. he drank himself numb that night, hoping to forget the look in your eyes when you’d left. 

but forgetting you was impossible. and when he woke the next morning and found your phone still on the table, and your location not showing up, an eerie, gnawing dread settled in his gut. 

it got worse when you didn’t show up at your friend’s place. when no one had seen you at work. when your emergency contact hadn’t heard a thing. felix showed up mid-afternoon, pale and grim. 

“jisung… there’s a problem.” 

the words sent a chill down han’s spine. “what kind of problem?” he rasped, voice thick with hangover and panic. 

“there was a tip… someone matching y/n’s description was seen near the docks last night. with a couple of guys — from mingi’s old rival crew.” 

everything in him snapped. his heart felt like it stopped, then kickstarted into overdrive. the world blurred around him as rage and terror clawed through his chest. all his instincts, all his guilt, surged at once. “no,” he breathed. “no, no, no —” 

he was on his feet, barking orders before felix could even finish explaining. “i want every goddamn rat in this city hunted down. if someone took her — if they touched her—” his voice cracked, but his expression was pure murder. “they’re dead.” 

the thought of you out there, scared, alone, maybe hurt because of him… it wrecked him. because the truth was, han jisung loved you so much it terrified him. and in trying to protect you by pushing you away, he’d only made it worse. now you were gone, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to say what he should’ve said that night. 

that he didn’t want you to leave. that he needed you. that he was scared. and he swore to himself — if he found you, if you were still alive — he’d make it right, even if it took the rest of his life. 

because losing you was the one thing he wasn’t built to survive. 

seung ♙ min 

the fight that night wasn’t like the others. it didn’t start with sharp sarcasm or low jabs meant to irritate. it started quiet — a look, a question you didn’t mean to land like a blow. 

“do you even care anymore, seungmin?” 

he stiffened where he stood, jaw clenching, dark eyes flicking to you across the room. the tension between you two had been unbearable for weeks. the danger he tried to keep at bay was closing in. rival families making moves, his men getting hurt, deals falling through. you were the only softness in his life… and he hated himself for needing it so badly. 

but seungmin wasn’t good at letting people close. he loved hard, quietly, and when the world turned volatile, his instinct was to cut ties before anyone else could rip them away. 

you knew that. you just didn’t expect to be the one he’d cut. 

“i asked you a question,” you said, voice tight, arms crossed though your hands trembled. 

he swallowed, tried to look away — couldn’t. and because fear felt like anger in his chest, because losing you felt too much like weakness, the words slipped out cold and lethal. “if you were smarter, you would’ve left a long time ago.” 

the silence after felt suffocating. your lips parted, like you’d say something, but no sound came. his own chest hurt, like the words he’d just thrown at you ricocheted back, sharper than he intended. 

you nodded slowly, eyes shining. “okay.” 

you didn’t scream, didn’t beg. you just turned, grabbed your bag, and walked out. not bothering to slam the door, not glancing back. seungmin stood there, a ghost of a man, staring at the door like he couldn’t comprehend what he’d done. 

the hours after blurred. he kept expecting his phone to buzz, a message to appear, a familiar knock at his office door. but the silence stretched on. his men came and went, reporting about shipments, skirmishes, meetings — none of it registered. 

when changbin finally showed up, looking grim, a bad feeling coiled in his gut. 

“what?” seungmin asked, voice hoarse. 

“she’s… gone.” 

his stomach dropped. “gone where?” 

“that’s the problem. no one knows. she’s not at her place. didn’t show at her job. her phone’s off.” 

a cold sweat broke out across his skin. his head pounded. “did someone take her?” 

changbin hesitated, and that pause said more than words ever could. “there’s a chance,” changbin admitted. “we’re trying to track down any leads.” 

seungmin’s heart, normally so guarded and steady even in the face of death threats and shootouts, lurched painfully in his chest. 

and all he could think about was your face the night before. how he’d thrown you away with words designed to keep you safe but only ended up leaving you vulnerable. he felt sick. 

“i want every contact on the streets. i don’t care if it’s some street rat or one of minho’s spies — find her,” seungmin ordered, voice steel and acid beneath the panic. “anyone touches her… they’re dead.” 

his men scattered. seungmin stayed behind, sinking into his chair, head in his hands. because the truth was, you were the only person who saw him as more than the cold strategist, the mafia boss with ice in his veins. you saw the boy who loved indie songs and late-night drives. the man who worried more than he’d admit. 

he’d told you to leave. told you he didn’t care. he didn’t deserve forgiveness. but that didn’t stop him from praying you’d survive long enough for him to try. and if someone else had taken you? god help them. because seungmin would burn the whole city to ash to bring you back. 

chang ♙ bin 

the fight started in a flash. it always did with changbin. he wasn’t the kind to simmer — he burned hot, sharp words and loud voices, his way of coping with the fear that one day you might leave him before he lost you to his world. 

but tonight… tonight hit different. 

“i’m sick of you keeping me in the dark!” you shouted, eyes wet, standing in the middle of his office while his phone buzzed with missed calls, his men waiting outside the door. 

you knew what he did — the deals, the bloodshed, the debts paid in bullets and silence. but you loved him anyway. and you were done pretending it didn’t eat you alive when he came home bruised and distant, when bodies dropped and he shut you out like you were some fragile thing he had to protect by destroying. 

“i don’t need your permission to handle my business,” changbin snapped, pacing the room, fists clenched. 

“i’m not asking for permission, bin. i’m asking for honesty. or am i just some convenient distraction you fuck when you need to feel like a person?” 

the words landed harder than you meant. changbin froze, a muscle twitching in his jaw. his face twisted — part hurt, part fury. 

“maybe you are.” 

the silence was instant. a shattering, deafening kind. the kind where you realize you crossed a line you can’t uncross — and so did he. you blinked at him, breath catching. “say that again.” 

his voice cracked, just barely. “if you’re gonna be this goddamn difficult, then get out. go. i don’t care.” 

it was a lie. but you heard it like gospel. and this time… you left. 

bag over your shoulder, keys in hand, you stormed out past his men who turned away, pretending not to notice the storm that had just rolled through. changbin didn’t chase you. didn’t call after you. his pride was too loud in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own heart breaking. the door slammed. 

he threw a glass against the wall. shattered it. then another. swearing under his breath, chest heaving, tears he’d never admit to stinging the back of his throat. 

“fuck.” 

time passed in a blur. an hour. then two. then three. 

at first, he thought you were cooling off. letting him stew in his guilt, like you always did when his temper got ahead of his heart. but when jisung showed up, pale and serious, changbin’s stomach dropped. 

“she’s gone,” jisung said softly. 

“what do you mean gone?” 

“no one’s seen her. her apartment’s empty. phone’s off. her car’s still there. no sign of where she went.” 

changbin’s blood went ice cold. he felt his chest cave in, a sharp ache he’d never felt even after getting shot or losing men in alleyway deals. nothing compared to this. his voice came low, deadly. “who did this?” 

“we don’t know,” jisung admitted. “could be one of bangchan’s enemies. or maybe… maybe she left for good.” 

that was worse. that was so much worse. 

changbin clenched his jaw, hands shaking as he grabbed his gun and jacket. “put the word out. i want eyes everywhere. if anyone so much as breathed near her, i want their head.” 

and in the quiet that followed, as his men scrambled, changbin sat back in his chair and let the weight of what he’d said crush him. he could handle betrayals. blood debts. rival families. he could even stomach the thought of dying in a back alley one night. but losing you? losing you because of his own reckless words? 

he’d burn down the world if it meant bringing you home. even if you never wanted to see him again. 

notes: that was a rollercoaster xD i got carried away writing after so long and ended up giving the anon’s request a mafia twist since i’ve been wanting to start my mafia series for months now but never got a chance :’) there’s not going to be a part 2 for this since anon wanted an angsty ending sooo i hope you guys enjoy this as it is xp thank you for reading ~

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ husband john price - 03

cw : angst, miscarriage, reader is on the chubby side

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcollection - prev ⋆ next

as john sat in the middle of his living room, his head in his hands, he thought about everything that had turned to shit in the last few weeks. he was tired, his body exhausted from the deployment, the stress… the heartache. he couldn't go to bed—not when you wouldn’t let him comfort you as you cried. it was too much.

when he arrived on base, he went straight to his superior's office and told them he wanted to accept the desk job. no more deployments for him. he explained that, subconsciously, he had been training simon to take his place—he knew his lieutenant was ready. after hours of negotiations, they had finally accepted. now, he had to tell his team.

over the years together, task force 141 had developed a deep bond. john loved his boys, but he had other little boys waiting for him at home. he knew they wouldn’t be thrilled with his decision, but they’d understand.

to say they had been shocked would be an understatement. they knew john was getting old, but this was sudden. he had never really expressed any desire to leave the field. simon even went as far as asking if his wife had put him up to this, to which john just laughed, telling them you didn’t even know. it was going to be his little surprise when he came home. he also told them about the new baby. they had been excited about the news.

"tryin’ tae build a whole fitba team there, captain? poor missus cannae catch a break wi’ a bear like you," johnny had said, hugging his captain over the good news. john had received a pat on the back from simon and another embrace from kyle. he was going to miss them.

"let's go out with a bang then, captain, yeah?" kyle had said. one last assignment, then he’d be home for good, right?

how could he have thought it would be this easy?

their intel had been a setup, leading them straight into a trap. chaos ensued—the team was split up, communications were cut, and they were deep in enemy territory. they were being hunted. what should've been a quick extraction turned into three weeks of survival. john had been on his own. he'd seen simon dragging an injured kyle, and that gave him hope they were still alive. he'd prayed johnny had made it out too.

what john hadn’t known was that the rest of his team had made it back within days. no word from their captain for weeks, and the higher-ups had been forced to declare him missing in action. mia. three words that sent a chill through every soldier's spine. sometimes, being dead was easier. after the shitshow that went down, command had strictly prohibited any attempts to mount a rescue.

that was why you had opened the door to three men one morning. you had never met them, but you knew. they didn’t need to say a word. if it hadn’t been for simon’s reflexes, you would’ve dropped to the floor, hard. small pattering feet made their way to the front door, drawn by their mom’s sobs. johnny had rushed to them, telling them he was a friend of their father. pulling them outside to play, he reassured them everything was okay. they were too small to notice the tears in his eyes as he gently guided them out.

simon had dropped to the floor, you still in his arms. he wasn’t one for physical touch, but after john’s disappearance, he had needed comfort too. he had never been more grateful for his balaclava than that day. kyle stood in the entryway, quietly letting the tears fall down his cheeks. he had been the one to notice.

blood, running down your thighs.

everything had been a blur to you. one moment, you were happy at home with your children, and the next, your life had completely fallen apart. alone in the room, you had barely listened when the doctor explained that your baby was gone. you had had a "spontaneous abortion, induced by a significant physiological or emotional stress event."

at least your baby was with their father.

at the same time, your husband had returned from the dead. after long weeks of running and hiding, he had found an old radio and fixed it up. he had cried upon hearing laura's voice from communications. a few hours later, he was back on base.

he had been rushed to the med bay—tired, malnourished, with some wounds still healing—but he was home. he asked about his team.

"yeah, they made it home, captain. we were all waiting for you," the sweet nurse had told him before he closed his eyes.

when he opened his eyes again, he was still in the med bay, but kyle was there. the sergeant had a small smile on his face, and john could see tears filling his eyes—just as there were surely tears in his own. he asked about the others, and kyle reassured him that they were all okay. after years together, john knew there was something else. kyle took a deep breath, and then he spoke.

"it's your wife, captain."

that's how he ended up here. on his couch, in the middle of the night. aside from your heartbreaking sobs, the house was quiet. your children were with their grandparents; john hadn’t seen them yet. he had been told that they didn’t know their dad was missing—they just thought their mum was sick and needed to be left alone.

sighing, john made his way toward his bedroom when he could no longer hear your crying. maybe you had fallen asleep. you both had come home today. you’d been told john was alive and well while you stayed in the hospital for a few days. you knew your anger was unjustified, but you just couldn’t move past it. your mind was playing tricks on you: if john hadn’t been away, your baby would still be safe and warm in your belly. deep down, you knew it was wrong to think like that, but you were heartbroken and didn’t know any better.

you stilled when you heard the bedroom door open. the last time he tried to comfort you, you had screamed terrible things at him—things you regretted, but it was too late. as he got closer to the bed, you realized you were longing for his embrace. just to feel him close, his arms around you. so when he got into bed and reached for you, you let him.

you let him pull you toward his body, even though it wasn’t your husband’s body. not the one you knew. he had lost so much weight; it had been years since he’d been this skinny. you hated it. it reminded you of all the things that had happened, all the things he had been through to come back home. you started crying again. the feeling of his arms tightening around you only fueled your sadness. you had been so cruel to him, but yet, here he was.

"shh, my love," john whispered softly, tears of his own running silently down his cheeks. "i promise everything is gonna be alright." if you hadn't been with him for so long, you would have missed the hurt in his voice. more tears streamed down your face.

you had both lost so much, but you trusted him with your entire body and soul. he promised everything was going to be alright, and you believed him.

[s0fter-sin]

alpha!ghost who's always hated the sound of an omega's purr; he’s always found it patronising, manipulative, an attempt to twist his biology - twist him - into submission like he's some animal

until he hears soap purr for the first time and it's about as choppy and comforting as a machine gun. there's nothing smooth about it, nothing seductive or wily; it's broken and guttural and the most honest noise ghost's ever heard outside his own growls

he doesn't use it to coo him into complacency, doesn't try to bend him to his will or smooth over his bristles. he's never tried to distract ghost from his anger, never used his intrinsic control over him to gentle him. hell, he seems to forget he can even do it, ghost hears it so rarely. it's only a touch above his growls, subharmonic and demanding attention instead of the pretty titter of a pampered omega

ghost hears it for the first time when he’s covered in blood not his, after he slits an enemy pinning him down from navel to chin; dark blood instantly soaking him. the body’s practically cool with blood loss already when he tosses it aside and rolls to his feet to find soap stock still, staring at him with a feral gleam in his eyes

he drops his jaw with a deep inhale, rolling the scent of blood and pissed alpha pheromones in his mouth and his chest rumbles with all the subtlety of a chainsaw

it's suddenly all ghost can do to keep himself from dragging the body and dropping it at soap's feet like a courting gift of old; to carve out his heart and rich organs and present them for his approval, to hold them to his mouth and never break eye contact as he takes his first bloody bite

ghost shakes it off, strangling the chuff trying to claw out his throat, and heads for the rv point and feels absolutely nothing when soap falls into step behind him without a word; his purr that more closely mimics an alpha's rumble an echoing memory

soap's far from a meek, compliant omega and he's no conniving prince wrapping alphas around his finger either; he's just as much a protector, an aggressor, as any alpha. he's never been ashamed of his instincts; never shied away from nuzzling into price's throat, purring for his pack alpha with no regard to the uncomfortable crowd surrounding them. never hesitates to wrap gaz up and drop him in his nest when the beta reeks of stress and sickly insomnia

and he never stops himself from baring his fangs with a guttural hiss whenever another omega dares to purr at ghost

it's a threat and a warning in one; something only the most foolish omega would ignore. he knows ghost has a complex relationship with omegas, knows it isn't something so pathetic as biological prejudice. something about omegas makes his lt's scent go flat and steely, as close to distress as he thinks he can manage and it makes something dark and old rise in his chest

territorial rage broils off him, strong enough to make the omega whine and back off with their tail between their legs without even taking a step towards them. the scent is sour and pungent enough to drown out ghost's subtle distressed smell, to hide it, and it makes him snort; shaking his head to try and clear it

soap all but trots up beside him, chirping in greeting. he sneezes playfully, lets him know the rage scent wasn't for him; never for him. he replaces it with happy-friend-pack, replaces it with nitroglycerin and burning sparklers and butts his forehead against his sternum instead of crowding into his throat and purring the way he wants to

he earned his way into ghost's pack, into becoming an omega not just accepted but welcomed and he won't jeopardise his hard won progress by pushing his purr on him

he lifts his head and grins as ghost cups his nape in a faux-scruff, something offensive and borderline taboo and if he were anyone else, he'd rip his hand off with his teeth. but it's ghost and ghost does strange things, things that reassure him on a deeper level than any purr or chirp could ever hope to, so soap presses into his gentling hand and bares his teeth in the thinnest facsimile of a smile at the retreating omega

all ghost has to do is aim him in the right direction and he'd bring the omega back to him in pieces; would gift him their torn out throat so they could never purr at him again

his chest rumbles subconsciously and soap gnashes his teeth, forcing his purr back down when ghost squeezes his nape

he thumps his temple into his and a puff of air tickles his ear, the closest thing soap's ever heard to a chuff from him and he couldn't stop his purr if he tried; choppy and broken as it is

you inhale enough explosive fumes and it's bound to damage something

ghost huffs again and soap presses up to nibble appeasingly at his clothed jaw, a question and an apology in each bite

ghost just takes the tip of his ear between his teeth, shaking it with a teasing growl and soap laughs as he tackles him just for ghost to bow over his back and wrap his arms around his waist; effortlessly picking him up and tossing him away

soap stays low and growls right back, a wild smile splitting his face. ghost meets him with a sneeze and his grin grows impossibly wider

if he can't hunt for his alpha, can't purr for him with blood on his teeth, he'll happily wrestle with him instead

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

[oaksgrove]

The Codebreaker

pairing: Platonic!Task Force 141 x Reader

synopsys: You had always kept your distance from the team—focused, distant, and hidden behind a mask. But when a mission goes wrong and you get gravely injured, the team is forced to confront what they’ve never seen: the person behind the mask.

warnings: Angst, injury, near-death experience, trust issues, emotional tension, some swearing, Ghost being protective, emotional revelations, Ghost and Reader’s situationship…

word count: 1798

No one in the 141 knew much about Phantom.

You were a ghost among ghosts, a shadow wrapped in tactical gear. A tech expert, the best they’d ever seen—able to slice through encrypted networks like butter, reroute enemy drones mid-air, and turn any battlefield into a controlled digital playground. If the mission required intel, misdirection, or cyber sabotage, Phantom had it covered before anyone even finished asking.

But off the field?

You blended into the background, as if you were part of the walls. Not unfriendly, just… distant. Spoke only when necessary, never rude but always concise. Answered when asked, nodded when acknowledged, but never lingered in conversations longer than needed.

You weren’t cold, just hard to grasp.

A constant presence but never the center of attention.

The others noticed, of course.

Soap had once muttered to Gaz, "He doesn't take up space."

And he was right.

You never interrupted, never inserted yourself into banter or stories. When you were in the room, you were invisible in a way that had nothing to do with their tactical skills. You occupied the corner of the rec room with a laptop, earbuds in, or sat with a sudoku book in your hands, solving puzzles in complete silence. Always listening but never there in the way the others were.

Even in base, You never exposed their face or body. Gear came off only in private, always ensuring no one caught so much as a glimpse of skin. High-collared undershirts, gloves, layers—never a stray detail out of place.

The team accepted it without question.

Phantom, how you were called, was an expert at keeping unknown.

And everyone just assumed you were a man.

Soap had tried, on multiple occasions, to break through that quiet shell, determined to make some kind of dent.

"Do you ever relax, Phantom?"

"I’m relaxed now."

"Christ, mate, that’s sad."

Phantom hadn’t reacted, just kept solving their sudoku puzzle.

Gaz had once thrown a pack of gum at you during a mission debrief, just to see if you’d catch it without looking. You had, effortlessly, then tossed it back without a word.

Price trusted you without hesitation. He never questioned the silence, never pushed for more than they were willing to give. If Phantom said something was secure, it was secure. If Phantom gave a time frame, Phantom met it.

And Ghost?

Ghost understood you in a way the others didn’t. He never pried, never asked. He knew what it was like to live behind a mask, to carry a name that wasn’t really a name.

Phantom wasn’t close to the team—not in the way they were with each other. But they were part of it. A constant presence, woven into the unit’s rhythm.

And that was enough.

Until the mission where everything fell apart.

"We’re in and out. Quick, clean, no unnecessary noise" Price said, voice steady as he laid out the plan.

A cartel base deep in hostile territory. High-value intel buried in their systems, locked behind multiple layers of encryption. The team needed Phantom to get in, extract the files, and be out before anyone knew they were there.

Easy.

For them, at least.

"I’ll crack their network before we breach," You said, tapping at your wrist console. "Should have access to their security feed before we even hit the ground."

Price nodded. "Ghost, Soap—you’ll be Phantom’s cover. Gaz and I will clear the outer perimeter. We move fast. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Good. Wheels up in ten."

Phantom did a final check of their gear, making sure their mask was secure, their gloves snug against their fingers. The mission was simple.

They’d done riskier ops before.

So why did something feel… off?

The op started smoothly.

You breached the cartel’s network before your boots even hit the ground, feeding the enemy false security reports and rerouting camera feeds. The team moved through the compound like shadows, taking down targets with ruthless efficiency.

They reached the objective with zero complications.

Too easy.

You worked fast, fingers flying across their portable console as they pulled the files. They barely glanced up when Ghost muttered, "Make it quick."

A few more keystrokes—then a small confirmation beep.

"Got it."

Price’s voice came through comms. "Extraction point secure. Move."

And that’s when everything went to hell.

The moment they stepped outside, the alarms blared.

"Shite," Soap cursed.

Your blood went cold. "That’s not me. I disabled their systems—"

Gunfire erupted before they could finish the sentence.

The cartel had known they were coming.

A goddamn trap.

"Move!" Price barked, his voice sharp through comms.

The team pushed forward, cutting through enemies as they raced toward the extraction point. You stayed low, recalibrating your wrist console to jam the cartel’s reinforcements.

Everyone was so focused on the fight that they didn’t see the sniper.

Not until it was too late.

A sharp, searing pain tore through your chest.

You staggered, breath catching, as your body folded under the impact. Their gloved hand pressed to their vest, but it was already warm, slick. Blood. Too much of it.

Distantly, you heard Soap’s frantic voice through comms.

"Sniper! Tech's hit—shit, they’re down!"

Boots pounded against the ground—Ghost, closing in fast.

"Stay with me, mate," he ordered, voice tight as he dropped beside them. "Keep your eyes open."

You tried, really tried, but breathing wasn’t working right.

Every inhale rattled, wet and sharp, drowning them from the inside. Panic clawed at their ribs.

Ghost’s hands were on their mask.

"Gotta get this off," he muttered.

A sharp pocket knife was pulled from his belt—a sleek line drawn across your mask—then cool air hit your face.

Ghost froze.

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

And then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you felt like drowning.

Pain swallowed you whole.

It was the first thing you felt, the first thing that told you—you were alive. It burned, sharp and relentless, twisting inside your ribs like a serrated knife. Every breath rattled, wet and broken, lungs struggling to work through the thick haze of agony.

Something beeped steadily nearby. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, cold and sterile. The weight of blankets pressed down on you, too heavy, too confining.

Hospital.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the IV in your arm. The world blurred and steadied, the dull light above flickering as you forced your gaze to shift.

You turn your head sluggishly, and that’s when you saw them—you weren't alone.

Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap.

They stood around your bed, too still, too silent.

Their usual confidence, their sharp-edged ease—gone. In its place was something heavier. Something unfamiliar.

"How bad?" you rasped.

Soap let out a breath—sharp, unsteady. "You almost died, lass."

Lass.

The word lodged deep, piercing more than the bullet had.

Right, they knew now.

Something cold curled in your stomach.

Price’s voice broke through the heavy quiet. "Shot went through your lung. We barely got you out."

You swallowed, gaze fixed on the IV in your arm. "It doesn’t change anything."

A scoff. Bitter. Tired. Ghost.

"Yeah, it does."

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t a reprimand, or an accusation.

They were quiet. Weighted.

Gaz ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Bloody hell, Phantom. We didn’t know what to think."

They were still processing it. Still recalibrating everything they thought they knew. Phantom could see it in their faces—the way their eyes traced over her now, like they were seeing her for the first time. Like they were realizing how much they didn’t know.

"Should’ve told us," Price murmured, not unkindly.

Not a command. Not even a question. Just… something else. Something you didn’t know how to name.

You wet your cracked lips. "Would it have made a difference?"

Ghost’s jaw tightened, gaze darkening. "You wouldn’t have been bleeding out on the ground with a mask suffocating you."

Silence.

Cold. Heavy.

Soap let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked… lost. Frustrated. "Do you even trust us?"

The question settled like a weight on your chest.

Did you?

You had spent years making sure no one got close enough to ask. It had always been easier that way—no questions, no attachments, no complications.

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Price’s voice was quieter now, steady. "Look, we’re not mad. We just—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "We care, kid. That’s all."

Gaz nodded. "You’re family, Phantom."

Family.

The word dug into your ribs like shrapnel.

Your fingers curled into the stiff fabric of the blanket, lungs too tight, throat raw.

Soap sighed, rubbing his temples. "Christ, lass. We thought we lost you." His voice cracked. Barely noticeable. But it still struck like a bullet between your ribs.

Ghost was silent. Arms crossed, shoulders tense. His usual unreadable mask firmly in place—except for the way his fingers twitched against his sleeve.

Like he was holding something back.

Like he was holding himself together.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to people giving a damn about whether you came back or not.

"I’m here," you muttered, unsure if it was meant to reassure them or yourself.

Ghost’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable but piercing.

"Yeah," Ghost murmured. "Barely."

You wanted to joke, to brush it off, but there was no dodging this.

Not when you had seen the way they’d looked at you the moment you woke up.

Not when the usual mate had been replaced by lass and she.

Soap let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Y’know, I should’ve guessed. You were always too fuckin’ quiet. The real mystery is how we didn’t clock it sooner."

You raised a brow. "Because I made sure you didn’t."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well, I’m starting to think we should’ve pried a little harder."

"You would’ve gotten nowhere," you muttered.

"Yeah, I’m getting that."

There was a long pause, thick with something unspoken.

Then, Ghost shifted closer, standing at the side of the bed. "You’re one of us, Phantom." The words were calm, certain. "Doesn’t matter what’s under the mask. Never did."

Your throat tightened.

Price sighed, stepping forward and placing a careful hand on your shoulder—solid, grounding. "We’ve got your six, Phantom. Always."

Gaz nudged your foot lightly, the closest thing to a brotherly shove he could manage with you stuck in a hospital bed. "Next time, don’t scare the shit out of us, yeah?"

You exhaled a soft, tired laugh. "No promises."

Soap groaned. "Jesus. We’re doomed."

Laughter rippled through the room, something lighter breaking through the tension.

You let your eyes drift over them—these men who had been her teammates, her squadmates, but were now something else entirely.

Family.

It still felt foreign. 

strange even.

But maybe, just maybe…

You could learn to live with it.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth

[shellshocklove]

brat! | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is having a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, reader wears a dress, heels and lipstick but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, manhandling, a little exhibitionism? fingering, choking, spitting, a little dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), cock worship, spanking, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), creampie, one use of the word ‘daddy’, no use of y/n

a/n: this was fun! and naughtier than i thought it was gonna be 💀 i’ve never written a reader so far removed from my own personality lol and i’m kind of obsessed with how this turned out. anyways stream brat by charlie xcx and happy reading! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced before your eyes. The beating in your temples in tune with the bass vibrating in your chest. Around you the faceless bodies moved in slow motion. The heat rose around you as the sweat clung to your skin.

You’re sure you’ve lost your friends. Well, not lost lost. They were in the dancing crowd somewhere. Behind you, the same ugly guy had been rubbing up against you for a minute too long. You knew because you’d tipped your head back once and his borderline bowl cut hair, polo shirt with deep sweat rings under his arms, and tan chinos, were not it.

His breath stank of tequila when he leaned into your ear, “Hey,” he slurred, “wanna get out of here?”

And that had been your cue to leave.

With a scoff, you turned around to get a good look at him. You’d sized him up, made a show of it, and laughed in his face. Then you pushed your way through the crowd, coming up for air by the bar.

The earlier buzz you’d been sailing on, had weaned off a long time ago. It had been last minute, you weren’t even going out tonight, just having dinner with your childhood friends while you were home for the summer. But then one of them had ordered shots for the table just as the last plate had been cleared, and soon you were at the club cruising on a couple of glasses of wine and a lousy shot. Not that it mattered, usually you ended up twirling some sorry man around your finger long enough to get yourself a couple of rounds, before you’d excuse yourself to the ladies’ room and leave with your friends.

Looking down the bar, you searched for tonight’s victim.

To your right a group of girls huddled around the edge, waiting for their own drinks by the looks of it.

Not them.

Down to your left, a boy with a face full of acne fumbled with his card as he paid for a round of beers. He didn’t even look old enough to be in here, but that wasn’t your problem. You had to hold back a laugh as you watched him struggle to figure out how to carry the five beers he’d ordered back to his friends. He ended up gathering them in a circle to wrap his hands around, and you’d seen this go wrong plenty of times to feel the pull of an amused smile on your lips.

When he’d vanished into the crowd, your eyes flicked back to the bar, to the man sitting there– and he was a man. Probably somewhere in his fifties you reckoned, but he looked gorgeous. A real dilf. Your interest was piqued.

You slid down the bar.

He didn’t look particularly amused where he sat at a bar stool, nursing a beer in his hands. Who sits at the bar in the club? He looked nice. Brown hair, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. When you got closer you could see a flannel resting beside him on the bar.

Is this what older men wear to the club these days?

He didn’t seem to notice you as you sat down next to him – either that, or he ignored you. You kinda wished for the latter, it would make it more fun.

You gave him a few more minutes of silence, of your presence, to see if he’d say something to you. When he didn’t you asked him over the music, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

You said it innocently, but like it was obvious and he hadn’t caught on yet. His head turned towards you, still unamused, but with his eyebrow raised.

Okay, you could work with that.

You didn’t say anything as he studied you, drank you in like you’d done to him from afar. You felt his gaze over your clinging dress, your bare shoulders, before they found your eyes.

Something tickled in your core, and you were reminded of how long it had been since you’d been properly fucked– fucked by someone who wasn’t some drunk guy at your college’s parties, but fucked by someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned towards you; a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Does that usually work f’you, sweetheart?”

You weren’t expecting his rebuttal, but you liked it. He wasn’t some boy who’d trip over himself for the privilege of being in the presence of you. The boys – they made it too easy – but this man would make you work for it.

Putting on your most saccharine smile you slid closer to him, “You looked so lonely over here– thought I’d keep you company.”

A scoffing laugh escaped him, and his head dipped, “’s that so?” His eyes found yours again.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you ignored his question, and brushed your heeled foot up the length of his calf.

“Ain’t ever been here before,” he kept his eyes on your face, his drawl pulling at the words and twisting up your insides.

“So, a virgin, huh?” you teased, and that seemed to amuse him.

“What– you’re here to pop my cherry?”

This time an amused smile pulled at your face. You liked this man. “Not without a drink first,” your foot slid down his calf, “what do you take me for?”

A bright sense of pride filled your chest when you made him laugh, filling you up with confidence.

“D’you want me to answer that?” he rebutted.

He didn’t say it with any malice, it was teasing and playful, and it pulled at the veil inside you. A genuine smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, “Probably not.”

“What can I getcha, then, sweetheart?”

“G&T?” you said, and bit down on your bottom lip coquettishly.

Turning away from you, the man got the attention of the bartender. You watched his profile, followed the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. You decided then and there that your night was gonna end in this man’s bed.

“Sooo,” you sang, when you’d gotten your drink, “first time here, huh?” The man just nodded, before he sipped his beer.  

Not much of a talker, huh?

“You here alone, or? With the wife maybe?”

That pulled a laugh from him. “I’m here with my lil’ brother… bachelor party,” he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten dragged in here, “he’s gettin’ married next month.”

“Ah,” you nodded and took a sip of your drink. “So, where are you heading next? A strip club?” you teased.

The man just shot you an unimpressed look, and you thought about how you’d never seen a man look so out of place, ever.

“What? The wife won’t let you?”

A sharp huff escaped him, “Ain’t got no wife no more,” he said matter-of-factly.

You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile from forming.

Bingo.

“I take it you’re a man who does what he wants, then?” you said it innocently, and subtly slid your hand over his knee. His eyes caught yours at the touch, and you swore you saw something change in them.

You’d hooked him now, all you had to do was reel him in.

He turned his body towards you – he did it slowly, like every muscle he moved had been calculated beforehand. Then he leaned in closer, his hot breath huffing against your ear.

“Takes one to know one, ain’t that right?”

Under your skin, you buzzed, your heart beating out of your chest at the new proximity. You had to stay cool, play it off, act unbothered. So, you pulled away slightly, and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“What?” he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow, “Ain’t used to people talkin’ back?”

When you didn’t say anything right away, a smug grin coated his lips, “Yeah, I know girls like you.”

“There’s no girls like me,” you argued back, his confidence both pissing you off, and turning you on at the same time.

“Oh, but there are– Spoiled daddy’s girls who ain’t had anyone tellin’ them no their whole life. They do what they want, and play with who they want– I know a brat when I see one.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away, that infuriating smug grin not going anywhere. The worst part was that he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But you like that don’t you?” you challenged, “I bet you live in some sad house in a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac, go to the same boring job every day, and wish your wife never left you.”

A flash of hurt could be seen across his face as those last words left your lips, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far. A beat of silence passed between you, the buzzing beat of the club music keeping the tune of the tension building.

You were about to apologize when he finally spoke, “You’re a rude one, aren’t ya?”

His voice didn’t sound as hurt as you’d thought, and you realize he was playing your game. You almost had him.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

“That depends on you, sweetheart.”

Outside the club, Joel (the man had finally introduced himself) leaned against the bricks of the alley as you fished a cigarette from your purse. According to your phone, your uber would be there in ten minutes. The fresh air had sobered you up slightly, exchanging the buzzing alcohol in your veins with excitement.

You didn’t know what you were in for.

Over your skin, you felt his gaze roll over you, and you let him look. Let him study your body filling out your sheer, white, almost see-through dress. You didn’t offer him a cigarette; he’d have to ask for it himself, or take it, if he wanted a drag.

“So,” you took a drag of your cigarette, savoring the first tar-y breath, before exhaling through your nose, “where are you taking me?”

Joel shifted his weight against the bricks as his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Whatchu call it? My sad house?” he said, his voice bordering on cold if it wasn’t for the smug smile covering his features.

You gave him a sultry look as you stepped closer, crossing one heeled foot in front of the other, slowly.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you tilted your head with an uninterested face, “Sounds fucking boring to me.” Your finger climbed up his chest, eyes traveling from his chest to his face. His stern face gave nothing away, as you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.

Finally, he’d had enough. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, and tightened, before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. You let out an exaggerated huff as your body hit the bricks, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. He pushed himself up against you, and you couldn’t contain the satisfied grin on your face, pleased to have pushed his buttons enough to finally act.

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, brat.”

A rough hand danced up the side of your thigh and under the hem of your dress. Challenging him, you squirmed against the grip of his other hand around your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, and he was so close now you felt his breath ghost over your lips. With a twist of your arm, he pinned it behind your back, Joel now completely in control, and a buzz of arousal spread through your body at the thought.

“You listen’ up now, and I’m only gonna say it once: you’re gonna do as I say, when I say it, and no talkin’ back, we clear?” His voice was stern, but his dark brown eyes gave him away; how they’d widened with lust, blown out and dark. Your panties already soaked at the thought of what he had in mind for you tonight.

“Yes,” you said playfully, biting down at your bottom lip through a smile.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected as his rough hand on your thigh slid closer and closer to the seam of your thong. “Good girls who do as they’re told get rewarded, you understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath as you felt his fingers brush over your clit lightly. He was testing you now, teasing you, and pushing your buttons. You felt like you were on fire, burning from arousal; it licked up your thighs and flickered bright in your core.

Where was that fucking uber?

“But you ain’t no good girl,” he snickered, sliding his hand past your panties, “teasin’ me– tryna provoke me,” he shook his head, and a slick sound of your arousal could be heard as he worked two thick fingers through your wet folds.  

His finger poked at your hole where it ached for him. The thick tension between you weighed heavy with arousal as Joel leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Imma have to punish you for that, baby, put you in your place.”

A gasp left your lips as he pressed two fingers inside. The stretch stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain, liked it. A satisfied grin blossomed over your face as he started moving his fingers. They felt so good inside of you, so thick, almost like a cock, and the way his palm rubbed against your clit– it gave you just enough stimulation to push you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Look at you, slut,” his breath was hot as he whispered in your ear, “so desperate to get fucked.”

A strangled moan escaped your throat, and you couldn’t help but grind against his fingers to chase the pleasure he was giving you. The degrading words and humiliation only made you wetter. Joel couldn’t get any more perfect– so far, he'd played his part to the T.

“In your– fuck!” You moaned as the pad of his fingers brushed up against your g-spot. Just a little more now, and he’d have you coming on his fingers.

“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart, y’need to speak up,” he taunted, continuing the pace of his fingers.

“In your d-dreams, old man,” you tried to spit out, but the pleasure he gave you was taking over, making you stumble over your words.

Quickly, Joel withdrew his fingers, sliding them up the front of your cunt, giving your clit a slap, before he backed off completely. You gasped; face pulled tight in a disappointed frown.

“What the fuck!?”

And then he fucking laughed, fucking laughed at you.

“I already told you, sweetheart, only good girls get rewarded.”

He stepped closer again, his hand cupping your cheek while the other pressed the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. “Clean up your mess, and we’ll see ‘bout that reward.”

Parting your lips, he stuffed his fingers inside your mouth. They tasted of you, a sweet-salty taste. You closed your lips around them, and sucked, letting your tongue tease around his fingers the way you’d tease his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he grinned, and it sparked a small flame of pride in your chest.

When he was pleased with you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He let them glide over your lips, smearing your lipstick and coating your lips in your own saliva as a set of headlights illuminated the street. Then, he patted your cheek, nodding towards what you assumed was your uber as it rolled to a stop in front of you, “Go on, get in the uber.”

In the uber Joel was quiet, ignoring you as were forced to make small talk with the driver (you’d give him a bad review just for that). When you thought the small talk had been torture enough, Joel slid his hand up your thigh, resting his big palm right at the seam of your leg as he looked out the window. If your panties weren’t already soaked from what he’d done to you in the alleyway of the club, then they definitely were now as the anticipation only grew.

Joel’s house wasn’t sad at all. It was quaint, and suburban, but homey. Nice. No expensive designer furniture, but sturdy and of good quality either way. He had no rare art, but a decent amount of family photos and what looked like a child’s drawings. You stopped in the middle of the stairs to admire them. In one of them Joel looked as old as you were now, with a baby in his arms, in another he had his arm around the shoulders of another man who looked a lot like him, just with darker hair. His brother probably, the one getting married. The little baby was a little girl, and she grew up in front of you; birthday parties, first days of school, soccer uniforms. Your eyes landed on a photo of her in a graduation cap with Joel and the other man at her side, grinning wide with a college diploma in her hands. This man wasn’t who you’d thought. He had a family– a daughter your age. The wall of memories squeezed at your heart, made something inside you always kept hidden break forth–

“You comin’?”

Joel waited at the top of the stairs for you, his face pulled into a confused frown. You skipped up the stairs, happy to have left your heels by his door. When you got to the top, you pushed at his chest, “Just looking at your sad things.” With a roll of his eyes, he led you to his bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, but his voice was distant, the bite from the club was gone.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to play with him.

“No,” you blinked innocently, your eyes wide as you watched him unbutton his green flannel, “you’ll have to make me.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh, “I’m serious, sweetheart, I need to talk to you first.”

Talk?

“You can’t get it up, is that it? You’re too old?” you teased but sat down at the bed either way.

“You really are mean, aren’t ya?” His laugh sounded like a surrender. “A man wantin’ to be a gentleman and establish boundaries before he ruins her, and this is what he gets?”

Shaking his head, he walked closer, and cupped your head in his hands. “I plan on bein’ rough with ya, sweetheart, and I think that’s what you want too, isn’t it? Get fucked so hard you can’t think?” You nodded your head in his arms, the velvet bass of his voice going straight to your core.

“Listen’ closely– if I do anythin’ you don’t like, you say ‘red’ and we stop, and if you can’t speak then you pinch me, you hear?”

You nodded again.

“Words, baby, need y’to say it with that pretty voice.” His thumbs brushed over your cheek.

You nodded again, “Yes, sir… if I want you to stop, I say ‘red’, or pinch you.”

“Good girl,” he praised, “Anythin’ else?”

“Um…” Your front teeth caught on your bottom lip, “I’m on birth control– you can come inside me if you want.”

A noise rumbled in Joel’s chest. “Such a naughty girl,” his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips, “letting a stranger come inside her, huh?”

You nodded again, a wicked smile breaking against his thumb before you opened your mouth, and bit down. Not hard, just enough to pull a reaction from him, and you did.

Like a switch, the warm whiskey eyes faded into a deep black. The grip on your chin slid downwards, where it found your neck. He didn’t squeeze, but his grip wasn’t gentle either, holding you in place like a warning.

“You ought to treat me with more respect, brat…” he spat, his thumb digging into the column of your neck, “Apologize for your rude behavior.”

Against his hand, you shook your head to the best of your abilities, his grip tightening with your movement. You wished he’d choke you properly, make your head all fuzzy and empty– filled with nothing except for him.

“No.”

His face turned to stone above you, and you felt a giddiness flutter in your stomach.

 He didn’t like that.  

In one quick motion his hand was ripped from your throat as he stepped away. He didn’t look at you as he sighed, his hands falling to his belt buckle, sharp metal clinking.

Taking advantage of the moment, you admired the man before you. How big and broad he was. How his t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, biceps bulging against the woven fabric. You studied his hands as they fiddled with his buckle, thought about how good they’d felt inside you earlier, the pleasurable sting as they’d stretched you out.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice cold.

When you didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands.

“Get. On. Your. Fuckin’. Knees.”

His grip around your wrist was tight, as he pushed you down. The hardwood floor dug into your knees as he manhandled you, sure to bruise tomorrow. He stood his ground in front of you, legs slightly parted as you were now eye level with his inviting bulge. He was big, and you felt your eyes widen. Even hidden away in his jeans you could see it, see the length of his hard cock strain against his thigh – it made your mouth water as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Look me in the eyes,” he told you, and your eyes flicked upwards – obedient for once. “Eyes up here at all times– Don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”

He made it hard to do as he’d ordered, popping the button on his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. You wanted to see his cock, touch it, feel it inside you. He couldn’t possibly expect you to not look when it was right there.

"Disobedient slut.” 

The slap came quicker than the stolen glance, and your hand came up to graze your cheek on pure instinct. It stung under your palm, like a thousand little knives.

“What did I jus’ say?” He spat out the question, his hand gripping your chin to force eye contact.

“Look away?” you tried, your voice rising an octave.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he sighed, leaning closer, “I ain’t wanna hear any more of your fuckin’ attitude.”

His grip tightened on your chin and your mouth dropped open by itself, “Open your mouth– that’s it… wider, just like that.”

Then he spat, right into your mouth.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, but Joel’s grip on your chin held you still– kept your mouth open, as you felt his spit slide further and further into your throat. You had a feeling you shouldn’t swallow until he told you, so you didn’t, your head pliant in his hand as you let him study you. A wide grin spread across his face as he moved your head from one side to the other, his rough fingers denting into your skin as you waited for your next command.

“Swallow, brat.”

He let go of your face, and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit with an audible gulp. “Good girl,” he muttered and stood tall, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

The rough sound of denim against skin filled your ears as he freed himself. You were on your best behavior now, gathering your hands in your lap, sitting pretty for him as you locked eyes with him coquettishly.

“That’s better,” he said, “Actin’ like a proper good girl now,” he praised.

It took everything in you not to look, as he stepped closer.

With a fist tight around his cock, he brought the head to your mouth. He tapped it on your lips, smearing the precum beading at the tip and ruined your lipstick.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but he couldn’t know that. Pinching your lips together, you shook your head with wide coquettish eyes. His eyebrows pinched together in a frown, eyes narrowing at you as he pushed his cock against your lips.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, f’me,” he ordered.

Pretty. He called you pretty, and it was enough for you, you gathered, and stretched your mouth open for him.

“That’s it, wider.”

You twitched in surprise as he slapped the length against your tongue. It was heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum mixing with your saliva as he rubbed the head over your tongue, in and out, in and out – coating his big cock in your saliva, “just like that, baby, get it nice ‘nd wet.”

Closing your lips around the mushroom tip, you ran your tongue around it in circles, teasing the underside and the slit, before you tipped your head back. His cock bobbed in front of you obscenely, a frown formed on his face again and you knew he was about to tell you off.

Gathering a blob of saliva in your mouth, you spat on his cock instead. A low humming laugh rumbled from Joel’s chest, as he collected your spit and rubbed it in over his shaft in slow strokes. The spit dripped down, down over your front where you felt it darken the fabric of your dress. Subtly, you reached your hands behind your back to pull at the zipper.

“Yeah, that’s right, get those pretty tits out f’me.”

He let you maneuver out of your dress while he stroked his cock slowly in front of your face, and finally, you could get a good look at him. He was bigger than you’d thought from his bulge. Veins lining his thick shaft as you watched the way his fist moved up, massaging the tip gently, and down again in a slow, steady rhythm. At the base unruly curls of dark hair shone in the spit gathering, and you let your eyes wander downward to his balls where they hung heavy.

You wanted to taste them, too.

With your dress discarded on the floor beside you, you sat up slightly, spreading your legs and tucking your calves up to your thighs. Almost naked, safe for the thong splitting your cheeks, you arched your back slightly, making sure he got a good view of your ass.

A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest, and a hand came down on your head, “You want my cock, don’t you, slut?” he spat, slapping his cock on your right cheek, spreading your spit on your skin.

“Do you make all your girls wait this long or is it just me?” you tutted, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again.”

Slapping his cock harder against your cheek, he leaned forward letting a blob of spit drip from his own lips, coating both his cock and your face as he rubbed it in with his cock.

It was obscene, degrading, and you’d never been wetter.

In desperation to taste him again, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. The hand he’d used to stroke himself, wrapped around your skull, caging his cock between his hand and your face as he started thrusting against your face, his heavy balls rubbing against your chin with every slow push.

It was messy, sloppy, and wet. He held your head steady with his other hand, while he continued rubbing his cock over your cheek, nose, and forehead. His spit mixed with your own as you lapped at the underside of his cock; trying to taste as much of him as he’d give you.

“You dirty little whore,” he smiled, “You like that don’t you?”

Under him you whimpered, clit pulsing with want as he made you his plaything, did what he wanted with you.

“Yeah,” you moaned unabashedly, licking greedily at the underside of his cock.

At that, he laughed, and the grip on your head loosened as he pulled back. You only had time to take a deep breath before he stuffed his cock down your throat. It was abrupt, and harsh – the hefty length of him making room for himself inside your mouth.

You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat. He held you there still, one second, two seconds, three seconds. Your hand found his thigh where you tapped at him, and finally he pulled away.

You gasped for air, your breath wet with spit as small tears pricked at your eyes. His hand landed on top of your head again, grounding you to the moment as he searched your eyes, checking in.

No, you tried to convey, you’re not too rough.

Pleased, his cock bumped against your lips again, and you dropped your mouth open for him again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting his cock back in your mouth, “let’me fuck that throat open.”

Dropping your jaw, you tried to make room for him in your mouth. It wasn’t easy, your lips stretched wide around the girth of him as you tried to calm yourself, to open your throat for him to abuse. His cock was easily the biggest cock you’d ever sucked, and you told yourself you needed to relax.

He pressed himself deeper, and you let out a whimper. “Work with me, slut, hold still.”

Trying your best to obey, you breathed through your nose, staving off your gag reflex the best you could as the head knocked at the back of your throat. His other hand cupped your chin, keeping your head still between his large hands. A tear rolled down your cheek when he rutted into your mouth, testing the waters.

“Good girl,” he praised, fucking gently into your mouth. Saliva gathered in your mouth, drooling down your chin with each thrust. “Such a fuckin’ mess– Look me in the eye as I fuck your throat.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping you steady as you locked eyes with him. It was difficult, tears clouding him in a vignette, but you did as you were told. He studied you closely, tested your boundaries, completely in control.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled back again. A wet string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. A proud smirk coated his lips, while his hand stroked your head in praise.

The small moment of relief passed quickly, and soon his cock was back in your throat, bruising it in a steady rhythm.

“Take that fuckin’ cock all the way down your throat, whore,” he spat, his thrust a little rougher now that he knew you could take it.

He had you at his mercy now as he ruined you. Ruined your throat, ruined your body, ruined you for other men. Tears mixed with snot, which mixed with spit as it ran down your chin, dripping lewdly onto your tits where it made a mess.

Over you, Joel rambled.

“Good fuckin’ slut.”

“Choke on that big fuckin’ cock.”

“You love it don’t you?”

And you did, you loved it. Joel made you feel useful for once in a life – a fucked up thought, but then again you never said you weren’t fucked up. Joel’s words were filthy and dirty, and as humiliating as they were he made you feel wanted.

You just wanted to be wanted.

Another gasp of air filled your lungs as he slipped from your mouth. His grip on your head was tighter now, his cock throbbing in front of you. As much as you wanted him to fuck you, you wouldn’t complain if he came down your throat. He’d given you so much already.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let go of your head.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath, sniffling as you wiped at the snot that clogged up your nose. His hand came down to squeeze at the base of himself, clearly staving off his orgasm.

“What,” you croaked, your voice hoarse after his assault on your throat, “you’re so old you can’t come now?”

His eyes darkened as they locked with yours, and a giddy bouncing feeling twisted in on itself in your tummy. You wanted to see what he’d do to you– how he’d fuck you, and if you’d have to push his buttons to see it, you gladly push the big red button.

His hand wrapped around your bicep, digging into the skin as he dragged you to your feet and pushed you towards the bed.

“Still a fuckin’ brat I see,” he spat, “We can’t have that can we?”

Putting on your best puppy dog eyes, you bit down on your bottom lip. “Who me?” you said innocently.

“Bend over, slut,” he ordered, his voice coated in a tone that said he was fed up with your bullshit. Strong arms turned you around, manhandling you, and pushed your front down on his bed, “’nd spread your fuckin’ legs.”

With a kick to your ankles, he forced your legs open. Tipping your head up, you locked eyes with your reflection in the window, like a camera lens capturing your ruin at Joel’s hand. He hovered over you, his eyes trailing over your naked body, laid out for him to take.

The first smack came quickly, hard, and brutal on your ass cheek. It made you jump, the muscles in your ass clenching as you tried to reel yourself in. Joel’s rough hand soothed over the burn immediately, and you turned your neck to find his eyes.

“I wanna hear an apology from you, brat,” he said calmly, one finger hooking into the lace of your thong.

You shook your head. Stubborn. “No.”

His head fell between his shoulders, while his finger hooked in your thong tightened its grip, and with a hard tug, he ripped it in two.

“Then I’m gonna have to punish ya.” He said it with a deep sigh, like he had no other choice.

You couldn’t hide the excitement that filled you at those words, your cunt now dripping with need. A need for Joel.

With the scrap of your thong now discarded his hand danced over your ass. You tried not to hold your breath, but he drew it out, and you couldn’t help it. The tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t focus.

Smack!

He spanked your other cheek hard, and the tension was released with a whimper. A tickling feeling of pins and needles spread through your cheek.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

They came in quick procession, your hands gripping the sheets for a lifeline as he put you in your place. Moans fell from your lips without abandon, and you felt yourself drip down your legs.

Smack!

“Look how wet you are,” he noticed, running a finger through your seam, “You like it? Only desperate whores like to get spanked.”

He leaned over you, his soft belly (when had he removed his shirt?) pressed against your back, coarse hair tickling your skin, as you felt his hard cock rub up against your sore ass.

“But that’s what you are, ain’t you? A desperate fucking whore.” His breath in your ear, had goosebumps erupt down your spine, and you sobbed out a whine.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, and pulled away – taking his warmth with him.

Smack!

Tears pushed their way behind your eyes, not because you didn’t like it, but it stung like a motherfucker. Joel wasn’t all brutal, he rubbed your skin between hits, but fuck if it didn’t also hurt with pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

Turning around you shook your head, big wide eyes watching him as he spanked you again.

Smack!

“You’re tearing up, little girl– It stings doesn’t it?” he asked, voice laced with fake pity.

You nodded.

“Well, maybe you should be a good girl then– say you’re sorry.”

Smack!

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, voice cracking.

Finally.

Joel stopped immediately, his hand twisting around your waist to flip you on your back. His eyes danced over your body, almost tenderly but still full of lust. His hand moved up and down your sides, down the thick of your thigh before they gripped your ankles and tugged.

A squeal escaped you as he manhandled you, his large hands cupping your face while he fitted himself between your legs. “Good girl,” he cooed, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head in his hands, popping your lip out in an innocent pout.

“No,” he cooed, removing a hand to fit between your bodies.

You gasped when you felt the head of his cock bump your clit, the first real stimulation you’d had since you’d left the ally by the club. Your hips bucked by themselves, chasing the friction of his touch.

“Who owns this cunt?” he asked you, dark eyes staring into yours as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds.

“You do, sir,” you sighed immediately, your whole body aching for him.

A wide wicked grin spread across his face, “Lookit you bein’ such a good girl– finally know your place, huh?”

With no warning, you felt the blunt head of him press at your opening, and then Joel pushed inside you. Your mouth parted in a gasp at the intrusion; eyes glazed over in bliss as you felt yourself get split in two around the girth of his cock. He was so big, filling you up inch by inch, a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself.

“There you go, baby– you jus’ take it. Take all that cock inside,” he grunted, eyebrows pinched tight.

All you could do was moan as you felt him bottom out inside you, “Shit,” you gasped, “So fuckin’ big.”

“I know, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he praised, starting to rock his hips into you.

He picked up the pace quickly when he was sure you could take it, splitting you open on his cock as he made you takeit. Under him you could feel yourself float away in the pleasure. His hand came up to wrap around your neck and a big smile spread across your face.

You felt so warm. Joel felt so fucking good.

He reduced you to a puddle, a puddle of pleasure and ecstasy. It was better than any drug you’d ever taken. Better than the first day of summer vacation. Better than anything you’d ever known. The sound of skin against skin faded away into a tranquil rhythm of pleasure. You belonged to him now, lived only for him and the way his cock felt inside you.

“Feel how deep that is?” he asked you, somehow having maneuvered your knees to press into your chest.

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, desperate and whiny. You needed to fucking come. Inside you, his cock bumped into a spot no other man had reached before, and a fluttering feeling coiled itself in your core.

You were so close now.

“Joel,” you gasped, searching for the words as he continued his pace, balls slapping hard against your ass.

“No,” he told you, teeth gritted, “You hold it, slut, you hold it ‘till I give you permission.”

Later, a thought of how he’d had you so close to coming without even a tap at your clit would graze you, but in this moment your thought were only filled with Joel. A hand found his bicep, you needed something to hold on to or you’d burst, and squeezed. Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder.

“Hold it.”

Tears streamed down your face, as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

Please, Joel, please, sir, please.

“Come.”

Arching your back off the mattress, you shook as you finally tipped over the edge of bliss. The sounds escaping your throat weren’t your own, they were someone else’s, someone possessed with pleasure.

A “Thank you,” fell from your lips, but you don’t think he heard you. Above you, Joel’s movement became more and more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

“You take it,” he growled, “take all that fuckin’ cum inside.”

He slammed his hips hard against you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside you, and came with a loud primal groan. His cock twitched within your walls as he emptied himself inside your cunt, the warmth of him filled you up as he painted your walls with cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck, “That cum feels so good inside, don’t it?” he cooed, and you nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back and thrusted inside you again, fucking his cum deeper inside.

He stayed inside you as you both caught your breaths. His weight felt good on you, you were safe, as you floated somewhere between reality and a space you’d never been pushed to before.

And you missed him when he pulled away, sliding his half-hard cock from your fucked out cunt, dragging you with him up the bed. You reached for him, laying your hand open against his sheets, but he didn't see it, eyes mesmerized by his spend dripping out of you. His fingers slid through the mess, pushing his cum back inside as his eyes found yours.

Then something in the air shifted, and whatever had come over you, was gone. His fingers left streaks of wetness down the inside of your thigh as he pulled away. For the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say.

You were ruined now – he’d ruined you for everyone who wasn’t him.

You sat up, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him, watch how his eyes trailed your body.

“Smoke?” you asked, your voice more unsteady than you’d thought.

Joel shook his head as you slung your feet off the bed to find your purse. He sat up against the pillows resting against his broken bed frame. Your eyes raked over his naked body as you fished a cigarette from your packet; drank in his strong arms, his wide chest and followed the dark hair of his happy trail down his belly to his soft cock between his thighs, still coated in your combined cum. Between your legs you could still feel his thick spend leak out of you.

You brought the cigarette to your lips, and just as you were about to light up Joel’s rough voice spoke, “Out the window,” he ordered with a nod in the direction of the window.

Everything was back to how it was before.

A dramatic huff escaped you, “All right…” you muttered.

You felt too heavy– he’d messed with your head; made you show him the real you. He couldn’t see that. So instead, you put your mask back on, turning to face the window to conceal the mischievous smile threating to spill across your face.

“Daddy.”

Behind you, as you cracked open the window, you heard the bed creak. You played it cool, lighting your cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Joel’s breath teased at the back of your neck and over your bare shoulder, making goosebumps dance down your spine, “Thought I’d fucked the attitude out of ya,” his voice was stern.

“Guess I was wrong.”

part two -> here!

i hope someone liked this? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[pricegotmedickmatized]

ok so since y'all seemed to like bear!price, let's run it back with the hybrid/shifter stuff!! let's talk about black panther!simon with a field mouse reader

black panther!simon who's taller than price but lankier seeming, and you find yourself doubting that he's as strong as his captain until you see his body actually working (once he hefted a fallen tree that was blocking their way in the jungle. he didn't even have to work that hard) and you realize the 'lankiness' is fucking deceptive

black panther!simon who's mask incorporates his furred, slightly pointed ears, making them sharp and sinister at the points, the human skull open at the bottom so he can flash a wide mouth of sharp fangs, poised to tear into flesh, retractable claws sliding out to slash a throat. no need for a knife when he's got blades in his mouth and his fingers to silence scouts and guards

black panther!simon who they thought would never be able to work with a team. too territorial, too solitary, too apathetic towards most others. but when you have a bear who sees you as his wayward cub, and a wolf and a collie that see you as pack, it's jut easier to give in and let them make you theirs. even if simon has to constantly be rubbing his head against their necks, ensuring they've got his scent. they're his territory too now

black panther!simon who is stealthy, more than a ghost in the night, he's fucking invisible. he can move without being heard, without being seen, melting completely into the backdrop of the night, a haunting nightmare to his enemies - if they manage to survive encountering him. they often don't. he's a true predator, and he hates to leave a kill incomplete

black panther!simon who can't stop staring when their team is assigned a new medic, a cute little mouse who squeaks and hides around the medical table when he goes in to get cleared for a mission, and he takes one look at her big, dark, round eyes wide and wet with fearful tears, thin tail lashing through the air, huge ears flattened to her head, and he's instantly hard

black panther!simon who looks at her and wants, decides that he wants to know what she tastes like, if her pussy is as sweet and little as the rest of her. he's never liked to play with his food, not much, but how could he resist when she's so cute, trying to sink her little teeth into the meat of his arm he's got wrapped around her like she could actually fight him off?

black panther!simon who puts her in his bed and gives her a pumpkin seed (fed to her by hand) in reward for each thing she tells him about herself. he drinks in the way her gaze shifts as he interrogates her (gentle, way easier than most of his interrogations but he doesn't want to break her, not like that at least, not when she's got something else coming), and her fear and suspicion melts into a vivid curiosity, a glassy eyed admiration

black panther!simon who rewards his little mouse for her information by telling her he's going to keep her safe, make it so even other predators know she's off limits. but to do so he's got to mark her up. and she's going to be brave and take it, won't she?

black panther!simon who buried his fangs in her fragile neck (only barely breaking skin, just enough to leave a good mark), eyes rolling back in his head as she squeaks and chitters endlessly while he ruts his cock deeper, an inch at a time, until those big dark eyes are glassy with cockdrunk lust and spilling fat tears down her cheeks, her cunt dripping as he fucks her deep

black panther!simon who's big enough, strong enough to break a cute little thing like her, but he's not breaking you, mouse, he's just breaking you in, you were made to take cock, to make those cute little noises when he's balls deep, and he's gonna use you for what you were made for: carrying his litter. gotta keep you marked up so people know who you belong to, and you do belong to him, mouse, now and forever

[mydrink-n-my2step]

YANDERE FARMER x TWITCH STREAMER READER

A/N: Howdy! I'm back again with a new series. My first ever fanfic series. I hope y'all enjoy, strap that cowboy of yours down and read this.

TW//: Smut, Bathtub masturbation, original character has you jorkin' his peanits, age gap (OC is 20, you are around 25), knives, spiders, teasing

5.8k words

“Fuck!” 

Today was supposed to be a lovely day for you. After you had gained 2,000 followers on Twitch, you wanted to celebrate your win with your number one cheerleader: your grandmother. She had already bought you a celebratory cake and some balloons for your little party. Followed by a little gift from her. She had a charm bracelet from James Avery crafted for you with a gaming console and a little heart that says “I love my granddaughter!”

You had left her house over 45 minutes ago. She warned you about leaving at night into the woods. However, you reassured her that you would be fine. The car ride home was somewhat okay, until you saw the car battery light flash. Your car had alerted you as well. You were scared because you were in the middle of nowhere. The nearest Autozone was an hour and thirty minutes away. Shit! 

A minute later, you could hear your car sputtering like crazy. It scared you when the car stopped on its tracks, leaving a tire imprint in the dirt road. You punched your car horn in a fit of rage, unaware of the fact that you might let someone or something dangerous know where you were. You retracted, remembering that your ex-boyfriend is a mechanic, and somehow you still had his phone number. Though it was a rocky relationship, you two did come to terms with remaining friends, so having his phone number seemed normal. 

Okay, you dialed his phone number, waiting for him to pick up. “Hello?” He responds, sounding tired. You felt bad for calling him at such a late time. Though on the other end, he was busy bumping uglies with another girl he had found at a bar. “Hey, could you come help me? I know it’s on such short notice, but my car broke down in the middle of the woods.” For a moment, the other line went silent. Then, you heard someone click their tongue. “Girl you know how far you are? I’m not going to leave my bed at 11:34 at night to pick your dumbass up!” 

“Well fuck you to then!” You said out loud for him to hear you. Then you heard a giggle on the other line. “You wouldn’t help your friend because you’re too busy fucking some other chick!” 

“We’re not friends Y/n, I don’t befriend my ex.” was all he said before hanging up on you. Ouch! You wanted to rip your steering wheel of and throw it across the dirt road. Break something or whatever! You were so fucking pissed off at the piece of shit man. But not for long. 

Behind you were blaring white lights from a truck that was coming by, you could hear the bass that was boosted, the person behind the wheel was playing Luke Bryan. You were in enemy territory. Pack it up.

Or so you thought? When the person parked in front of you and hopped out of his red and white 1990 Ford-250. Fear instantaneously overwhelmed you. You, a girl in the woods in a broken down car, with a random hooded man walking to it ever so slowly like he was plotting for your death! Okay Y/n, calm down. He’s probably wondering why you’re blocking the road. Maybe he is here to help you, be more optimistic–

Knock Knock! 

The man’s gentle knocks still startled you out of your deep thinking. You were scared to roll your window down and talk to him. But the fear decimated a bit when he removed his hoodie. Only his hat covered his eyes and dirty blonde hair, which looked like it wasn’t taken cared of, but who cares. 

“Are you lost?” He spoke, however his voice was faint from the window and the sound of his loud ass truck. You furrowed your eyebrows, you were seriously about to cuss this man out right now over your stupid ass ex. The man pointed his fingers down, indicating that he needed you to roll your window down. So you gave up, holding onto the pocket knife you had stolen from your grandma underneath the wheel by your knees, preparing to use it against him. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I um, see that your car has broken down. Do you feel comfortable coming with me while I tow your car to my place? I can get her fixed for free.” 

“Uh, no, that’s ok, sir. I have a tow truck coming for me right now.” You lied, and it was pretty obvious too.

“You sure ‘bout that? Because there are no tow services for 65 miles onward. And nobody normally gets lost in our neck of the woods. Please, you don’t have to lie to me, just let me tow your car, I can get it fixed.” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes. He had noticed and was close to saying something but bit back his tongue. You exit the car, he held his hand out for you to take, hesitant, you looked at him. He seems to be genuine with his gestures. He took it anyway, walking you to his pickup truck to sit in while he hooks your car up to his truck. Once he was done, he climbed into his truck. 

Something about this man calmed your nerves a bit, but at the same time, you wouldn’t let your guard down. Your left hand was still holding onto that pocket knife you took from Grandma’s. Your eyes wouldn’t leave his eyes, his auburn eyes that were finally visible and locked on the road ahead. You, a southern girl, weren’t too shy around country folk, however, you felt intimidated by this hulk of a man. You assumed he was around 6 feet 4, you were pretty tall yourself, and he seemed taller as well.

“What’s on your mind? You’re staring an awfully lot.” He asks, glancing at you for a brief moment before returning his attention to the dirt path. “Oh, um, nothing,” you said, placing the knife by your leg. It was pretty stupid of you to do so, and it was proven stupid when he hit a bump on the road, causing your knife to slice through your pants and skin accidentally. It wasn’t gnarly, but it was enough to bleed through your clothes.

“Shit,” you swore, causing him to stop on his tracks. The tall man faced you, noticing your hand was covered in blood. He sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the truck. A few seconds later, you saw him on your side of the truck. He had opened the passenger door, and then he pulled his hoodie over his head, also taking his plain white t-shirt off. He folded it vertically. Wrapping it around your thigh and tying a knot around your thigh. When he was finished, he shut the door on you before you could thank him. He hopped into his seat for the last time, sighing in with an attitude in his tone. As if he told you himself that he wasn’t going to make any more stops until he made it to his house. 

The minute he turned his way out the dirt pavement, he pulled into a driveway that led him to his garage. He had pressed a button that opened his garage. When the garage was opened, he drove straight inside, stopping his tracks when he hit something. The taller man had switched his ignition off, taking his seatbelt off to exit his car. You reached for the door and attempted to open it, unbeknownst to you, it had a child safety lock on it. Now you felt like an idiot for deciding to hitch a ride with him. Though you thought it was the end, the end of you, you heard someone open the door to the house: A child.

“Elizabeth, help me unload the trunk.”

“I won’t help unless you say please,” the little girl said, crossing her arms and turning her head away from her likely brother. He rolled his eyes, scoffing at her, “Please, Eliza?” 

The girl finally complied, going to the back of the truck to help. When you would see them again, Elizabeth would make eye contact with you. She tilted her head with her eyebrow arched up. “Tannie, who is this girl in your truck tryna get out?” 

“Fuck!” the tall man cursed, running to let you out. “You’ll have to forgive me, I have the safety lock on for Douglas.”

“Oh, is Douglas your son?”

“Um, you could say that.” Coincidentally, Elizabeth had opened the door, allowing a big dog to run towards you as you were climbing out of the truck. You nearly screamed when it barked at you. “Dougie, don’t scare our guest like that!” Elizabeth scolded, rubbing her free hand through Douglas’s blue and white fur. Douglas had twirled around and rubbed his wet snout against your hand. He wanted you to pet him. So you did, and were smiling at your action, lying on the floor to allow you to rub his belly. 

“Oh, hi sweetie, it’s nice to meet you–um,”

“That’s Douglas, our Blue Heeler.” 

“Ah, ok, I thought you had kids.” 

“Tanner? Kids? No, he’s too shy around people,” the girl teased, laughing at her brother while he was glaring at her. “Elizabeth, get inside!” The tall man named Tanner said, walking off to tote your bags into his house. You hesitated to follow him inside. Not knowing what your next move was. Would you leave and find someone to take you home? Would you offer to sleep in your car instead of the house?

“Hey, whatcha standing there for? We have to get inside before the coyotes come getcha.” He teased, keeping the door propped open as he closed the garage and left. You had no other option, so your feet started moving, leading you inside the sibling’s house.  

“Tanner, where the hell have you been?” A raspy old man’s voice spoke on your left. You turned around to see who it was. Another tall man who, this time, looks roughly in his mid-fifties, had black hair with silver streaks on the side, a thick moustache, and a jaw that screamed Stan Smith looked you up and down. Tanner set your bags on his side, going up to his father, whispering something to him. You noticed how tall the father was, he was merely a few inches shorter than his son. Elizabeth tapped your shoulders, she told you she would take your items into the guest room. You were relieved when you heard “the guest room”, your stressed-out mind finding some peace. 

When Tanner was done talking to the older man, said man had walked up to you, apologizing, “My apologies my dear, you’ll have to forgive me, my son here often brings his friends over without my knowledge, but I see that you’re a hitchhiker looking for somewhere to stay while your car get fixed?” You nod, “Not much of a speaker, aren’t ya?”

“I’m very sorry, sir, it’s just been a long day, it’s a little scary being alone on the road in the woods.” You respond, taking in his features and trying to size him up a bit.

“I understand, it’s pretty dangerous out here. Hey Tanner, take the rest of this lady’s bags into the guest room.” The older man walked next to you and placed his arm around your upper back, leading you into his kitchen. He directed you into the dining room, where you assumed his wife was in, couponing. “Amelia, we have company.” He says to his wife. Amelia looked at you, a smile across her mouth. 

“Hi there, stranger, nice to meet you!” She said, coming off as teasing. She had stood up, taking you in her embrace. Not wanting to leave her hanging, your arms snake around her back. “What’s your name, dear?” Amelia asks.“It’s Y/n, Y/n L/n.” You heard a gasp behind you. The older adults looked to see who it was, but you didn’t seem to care. 

“Son, while you’re over there gasping, why don’t you direct Y/n to her guest room. My name is Dale, if you need anything, Tanner will be willing to assist you. We’re going to turn in, have a good night’s rest Y/n.” Dale says, leading his wife upstairs. Leaving you with Tanner, who only stood there with his mouth wide open and eyes dilated. 

“Are you *insert Twitch Streamer name*?”

“Yeah, is there something wrong?”

“I love watching your streams!” He spoke, walking next to you.

“It’s an honor to meet you finally. You got me through high school!”

“High school? I just started streaming a year ago. How old are you?” You jokingly ask, but in all seriousness, you genuinely believe he was up there in his twenties. 

“I’m 20!” 

“20?” He nods, taking your hands into his bigger, callous hands. 

“Yes, I’m 20. It may not seem like it, though. Y’know, you’re entertaining to watch.” He says, taking up the space between the two of you, his amusement at finally meeting his favorite Twitch streamer was making you uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry, I think I should lie down. Where’s y’all’s guest room?”

“It’s down the hall, but you don’t have to sleep in that dingy room. You can sleep in my room, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh I don’t think that’s necessary, I can sleep in the-“

“It has termites!” He spoke in a hasty tone, he obviously wanted you to sleep with him.

“No, look, I’ll be fine in the guest room. I will only be staying for one night anyway, then I’ll be out of y’all’s hair.”

“Ok, good night then,”

When you entered the family’s guest room, you surveyed their overly decorated room. It had a cute aesthetic that you felt comfortable with as it reminded you of your Grandmother. From the mahogany vanity with cute family collections, to the family portraits that hung on the ribboned wall. Her house is nicely decorated too. One of the first things you had done was remove your bra and stow it in your suitcase, then, you got undressed by their huge mahogany vanity. It was not rare for you to admire yourself in the mirror while you are bare. In fact, it has become a quiet ritual—those still, in-between moments when the world faded and the only gaze upon you was your own. Sometimes, it felt like a kind of worship, not of vanity, but of presence. Of being. You enjoyed seeing yourself in mirrors—not just to catch a glimpse of your shape or the curve of a shoulder, but to witness yourself as you truly are, unguarded and real. And only your eyes could see the true you, not another person. 

    Until—you noticed a peeping Tom entering your room. Why haven’t you closed the door? 

Douglas entered your room with a tennis ball in his mouth. When you acknowledged him, you immediately shut the door behind him. Maybe it was ok for the dog to see you, it’s only a dog. And…on a second thought—maybe not; you hurriedly rummage through your suitcase for your nightgown. Instantly throwing it on. Douglas hopped on your bed, still chewing on his ball. You sat beside him, running your hand through his coat. Looking back at the vanity mirror, you saw that the door was ajar, seeing a pair of auburn eyes watch you watch him.

“Tanner, what are you doing?”

“I umm—-was looking for Douglas. He ran off from my room. There you go Dougie!” He lied, taking the wet ball from him. Douglas cried, rubbing his wet nose against you, signaling that you tell Tanner to give him his ball. “Hey, why don’t you give your puppy his ball back?” Tanner obliged, but only threw the ball out of the room, the two of you watched Douglas scramble through the door, running as if he was a Scooby Doo character. 

“I hope you know, I’ve been a subscriber since you were at only 100 subscribers.” He spoke with pride on his tongue. You only cringed at his words, but immediately changed your face when he looked at you with those puppy dog eyes. 

“Thank you so much, I appreciate your honesty.” You half fibbed. Cheesing so he wouldn’t see how uncomfortable you were. You really wished at that moment a country bumpkin had picked you up instead of  him. “Could we stay up, I want to learn more about you.” He asks, leaning his shoulder against yours before resting his head against yours. “No, actually, it’s pretty late. Why don’t we continue this tomorrow morning when you’re fixing my car.” Tanner sighs in a disappointed tone. He got off of the bed, walking to the door abruptly. He bid his goodbye and told you to sleep well, you told him the same, peeling the covers to crawl in bed then switching the lights. 

A little over three hours later, Tanner couldn’t sleep. He had stayed up watching your previous streams on his laptop in his boxers. His fingers dangerously close to his groin as he watches you play your most recent game, Class of ‘09. Normally, he’s not a fan of vulgar content. Matter of fact, he despises vulgar, dark content, often watching your more tame content. As a streamer, you always make sure to check on your 200 viewers, making sure they aren't uncomfortable. One time, he had replied to your comment section, after you had asked what everyone was doing. Tanner mentioned that he was milking his cows while watching you. You, not believing him, merely laughed. He didn’t find it funny, though he loved seeing you laugh, even at him. 

    When he watches your streams, he feels as though you and him are the only people in the chat. You’re talking to him and ONLY him. As a fan, he felt prideful of having you at his house, sleeping in his guest room too. And maybe you will warm up to the idea of sleeping in his room. You will have to, he’ll make sure of it. Growing bored, he decided to go downstairs to pop his head in your room. Seeing your body rise and lower as you sleep. He wanted a closer look of you, so he creeped inside, making sure to avoid bumping into anything. As he walked closer, he felt a stir in his boxers. Oh God, not this!

He had instantly turned around, walking back into the light. Unaware of you turning to your side to face him. “Tanner?” you spoke, your morning breath prominent. He turned to look at you, you switched the bedside lamp on. Now you were scared again.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” 

“I-I, I left my…book in here. That’s why.” He lied straight to your face. He picked up his book, a family bible that was older than you and him combined. You were too tired to argue with him, so you switched the lamp off and went back to sleep. Tanner shut the door for you, his mind begging him to go back inside, even though you were so close to calling for Dale or Amelia. So he ignored his greedy mind, taking himself upstairs to go back to sleep. Later on today, he has some work to take care of on your car. 

You for sure saw his pecker.

When you woke up, it was 9:30 am. Your nose could smell hotcakes on the stove. When you turned to the other side, you nearly punched the daylights out of Tanner. “Rise and shine! Mom made some breakfast for you.” You signed, eyes rolling as you sat up in your bed. Your fingers gripped the bridge of your nose, glaring at Tanner as he only smiled at you. Your glare was eating him up.

“I know this is your house, and that you are a big fan of me, but all I ask from you is that you give me some personal space, please, Tanner?” Tanner’s smile faded, his arms crossed as he–pouted at you? Why was he pouting at you?

“Okay, I’m sorry about last night. It wasn’t right for me to bombard your privacy.” 

“Or enter the room unannounced twice,” you mumbled, “All I want from you is to fix my car and let me go home.” 

“Okay, I’ll get onto that after breakfast.” Tanner leaves the guest room, keeping it wide open so everyone could see you. Elizabeth was in the kitchen with her mom, she noticed you exiting the guest room a little peeved. “Good morning, how did you sleep last night?” She asks, giving you a plate of hotcakes and bacon. “I slept fine, I just kept having a few visits at night.” You didn’t tell her who, so she assumed Douglas wanted to sleep with you. 

“Douglas can be a handful. Come and sit with us, darling.” Amelia says, pressing her hand on your back and walking you to the dining room table. There, Tanner and Dale were talking about what work needed to be done on the car. You could tell it was their passion by how they were passionately arguing with each other on what to do to start your car battery. Once you sat down, the argument ended, Tanner had ignored his father while scooting his chair and plate to you. You gulped down your last remaining spit as your mouth was severely dry. Amelia had sent over a pitcher of orange juice for y’all to drink, so you immediately got a glass of that. 

“Oh, good morning Y/n, it’s nice to see you and Tanner have made acquaintances.” Dale assumes. Tanner smiled at you, his big hand taking yours. You hastily removed your hand from his. Though he was visibly embarrassed, he still kept his smile on his face. “When breakfast is over, we will start working on your car. Imma need your keys by the way.” Dale continued. 

“Thank you sir, I really appreciate the hospitality from y’all.” You really did. The family were extremely kind and were at access to your needs.  “Well we appreciate the company. It’s only been a couple of  hours, and you’ve already gotten Tanner out of his shell.” Amelia jokes, causing her family to laugh. You tried to ignore Tanner’s admiring stare at you, but your skin was burning from his stare. What was with this boy?

“Pop the hood, let’s see what we’re working with,” Dale told his son, watching Tanner open your car’s hood. He obliged, propping it open, being welcomed by the car’s problem. The fuse had blown. Not to worry though, the Jeffersons had plenty of unused car parts in their shed. 

“I’ll go grab the thing and my tools, go tell Y/n what the problem is.” Dale responds, leaving his son to go behind his house. Ignorant to what his son was going to do. 

Watching for his father, making sure he was leaving, Tanner had the opportunity to pull your pocket knife out. He stole it while you were asleep. He rubbed his index finger against the blade, making sure it was sharp enough to cut. He looked at his cut skin, seeing the blood threaten to trickle from his finger. He had to hurry, his dad knew where all the car parts were, he’ll be back soon. 

He pulled out a random red wire, cutting it with ease. Before he heard his dad’s boots against the crunched up leaves, he stowed your knife into his pants pocket. Dale returned, unaware of what his son was doing. Tanner was the car mechanic; he knew more than anyone, so Dale assumed his son was analyzing the situation.

“Dad, we’ve got bad news.”

“What is it, son?” 

“There’s a cut wire.”

“Damn, have you told Y/n yet? Or I’ll go tell her?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Tanner ran into his house. When he shut the door lightly, he tried to contain his smile, he was pretty proud of himself. Taking that risk so you could stay with him longer. His dad would assume that the wire was cut by a hooligan, and he’ll have to order a new wire and have another person fix your car. Now you’ll HAVE to stay with him.

*Knock Knock*

You opened your door, rolling your eyes when you saw Tanner again. You’re going to have to get over it soon. “How may I help you?”

“Y/n, bad news: your battery has blown a fuse, and there’s a cut wire. We currently have no spare wires so Dad is going to order one.” 

Damn it, you curse in your brain. Your hopes of leaving this weirdo fan forever squashed by someone who was a bitch enough to cut your wire. You couldn’t help but cry a bit. Like literal tears were streaming from your face. Tanner, obviously consoling you in his muscular arms, rubbing his hand against your hair. 

“I know you want to leave so bad. Leave me—to go back and make videos for us. But I’m sorry.”

You wrapped your arms around his thick torso. He felt as though the wind was knocked out of him because of you. What were you doing to him? He rubs your back, feeling your bare back, you still had no bra on. You still had no bra on! 

He prayed for his body to reject his arousal. Thinking of weird things to get rid of those lewd thoughts. When he felt secured, he let go of you, looking down to make sure it wasn’t there. 

“If it makes you feel any better, would you like to go visit some place with me?”

“Where, Tanner?” 

Tanner had stopped his truck by a log that prevented him from going any further. When he got out of his car, walking in front to let you out, he opened the truck door, letting you out. When your feet were on the ground, he took your hand into his, leading you to the little pond boardwalk. 

“I know you’re pretty tense right now, so I decided to take you to my favorite place to wind down. There’s no one around to bother us.”

“Oh, ok, thank you,” you said, sitting down on the boardwalk. Not aware of Tanner toting foldable chairs for you two. “I've got chairs if you want to sit comfortably.” He says, propping one open, then going for the next one. “You stood up, taking the chair next to him. Tanner leans back, his head hanging from the seat. You watch him, earning a smile on his lips. Something in you started to feel off. His juvenile smile, dusty blond hair, and his hulking build on a childish man. Fanboy behavior fighting his shy demeanor, his admiration towards you. Somehow, you didn’t abhor his admiration, you just wish he were less of a nuisance. 

You weren’t aware, but you were staring at his sleeping body. Watching him breathe lightly as he napped. You didn’t want to stoop to his level of “admiration”, so you pulled your phone out and scrolled through your notifications. You took another look at him, this time scared. 

“Tanner? Hey Tanner, wake up, hon!” Tanner’s eyelids pried open. “Something’s tickling my leg.” He says, disoriented. “I know, there’s a big ass spider on your leg.” Instantly, he jumped up, kicking the spider off his pant leg. You hopped out of your seat as well, your body shaking from the big wolf spider that was still crawling up his leg. The hairs on his body erected as the eight-legged heathen gradually crawled up his calf.  And suddenly, you did the unthinkable, you told him to stay still so the spider would get flicked by your phone. He obliged, not moving a muscle, not breathing while he stood absolutely still. When your phone picked the spider up, it crawled on your screen, and then you flicked it off, causing it to land in the water below. 

Without warning, Tanner wraps his bulky arms around your body and lifts you clean off the boardwalk like you weigh nothing. One second you were steady, the next your feet dangled in the air, heart skipping a beat at the sudden closeness. His scent hits you–clean sweat, his mother’s linen softener, the wooden smell of his cologne, something warm and alive. His grip was firm, a little too tight, but not uncomfortable. Just present—unshakably there. 

Only did he realize that he was holding you in the air like he would to Douglas. Right hand on lower back, left on upper. He puts you down gently, clearing his throat as he is rendered uncomfortable with his actions. “Thanks,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low and rough with adrenaline. “For flicking it off.” 

You acknowledged how rattled he still was. His thick fingers twitch against your back like the ghost of the spider had climbed there, and his breath fans your neck–hot, uneven. “You saved my ass,” he adds, and though it was half a joke, there’s a real edge in it. Like for a second, the spider wasn’t the only thing crawling under his skin. 

“It’s okay, you seem tense, let me drive you home so you can take a bath. That usually calms my nerves.” 

In the guest bathroom, you turned the bath water on. Running your hand under the cold water as it gradually turned hot. Tanner had waited for you on the bathroom’s vanity chair. When you weren’t looking, he locked the bathroom door swiftly. Once the water became hot, you told him to strip off his clothing. You were about to leave the bathroom when he took your hand and gestured for you to sit on his chair. What you were about to see was not something you agreed to. Tanner unbuttons his flannel and removes it, then along came his white t-shirt, and before he could start unbuckling his pants, you stopped him by placing your hand on his. “Honey, let me go so you can undress.” 

“You’re still…coming back right?” You sigh once more, pinching your nose in shame. Do I really want to deal with this right now? 

“Yes, dear, I’ll be back.” 

When you returned, he was already in the bubbly water, waiting for you with that smug look you knew too well. His legs were hanging out of the tub, and the dusty blonde tips of his hair were wet. You rolled your eyes, and he chuckled, arms lounging lazily along the rim of the tub.

You grabbed his washcloth and soap, dipping both into the water until the cloth foamed. He watched you with a smirk as you worked—first lathering his arm, then his chest. When you leaned in closer, he tilted his head toward your ear and whispered, “This is your idea of multitasking? Bathing me and torturing me at the same time?”

His teasing made you sigh and pull your hand away. He groaned dramatically—half-laugh, half-whine—and caught your wrist gently. “Hey,” he said, grinning, guiding your hand back. In the moment of tugging and half-resisting, your fingers slipped somewhere you hadn’t intended.

You both froze, then burst into awkward laughter. “That–I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!” you muttered.

“Maybe it meant to happen,” he replied, eyes glinting, but his voice stayed soft, leaving the moment open—for you to decide where it would go next. When you continued your bathing, he stopped you, taking your hand and gliding it down into the bubbly water. You didn’t retract, only watching his molasses pupils take control of you. While your hand grasped his, y’know, you were shocked at how thick it was. He was a pretty big guy, maybe that’s why. 

Suddenly, the room grew silent—and hot. The hot water that caused his skin to sweat also turned it pink. But that wasn’t the only pink on him. While he had your hand on his shaft, the warm water lapped gently around you both. Tanner’s breath hitched when you started jerking him off, muscles tightening above and beneath your touch. When he had the courage, he leaned closer to your mouth, wetting his lips while you were still touching him. He let his hand maneuver your head to face him, and then, he pressed his thinner, cherub pink lips against yours. 

Tanner allowed his tongue to invade your mouth, teasing your slimy tongue with his. Your lips parted enough for him to play with your mouth with his pink organ. You had slowed your progress on his cock, distracted by the kiss. Tanner noticed right away, cupping your cheeks with his bear hands, “Please, don’t go anymore slower.” He had rested his forehead against yours, “I need you, Y/n, I need you so bad.”

What you were feeling wasn’t annoyance anymore. It was a mixture of multiple conflicting feelings. You were scared of being outed as someone who jerks off fans. And you feared that Tanner would tell people, even show it. But you couldn’t control your urges FUCKING hell you wanted this man and you can’t deny it anymore. From his chivalric behavior the other night to this, if your moral compass wasn’t the way it was, so conservative, so forbidding, you would’ve toppled this guy the night he came into your room. 

It was only day one of you staying over at the Jeffersons, who knows how long you will be staying with this family. But here you are, pleasuring the eldest child. What is wrong with you?

Tanner was almost close; you could sense it. From him tightening his butt to his head thrown back against the tile wall. He had unlocked his jaw to moan, damn he moans like a girl, you thought, causing you to feel a twinged down your south tinseltown. He had you in his clutch, figuratively and literally, his strong hands holding your arms. He nearly cried from his pleasure, his body tensing up. And all of a sudden, you felt warm juices on your fist. Then on your cheek, you saw his cum dribble from his cock, and then came the orgasm thoughts that became words.

“I love you, Y/n, always have!” You pressed your finger against his mouth, realizing that someone had entered the guest room. “Tanner? Ms. Y/n? Where the hell are y’all?” It was Dale. You scurried into the towel closet, hoping Dale wouldn’t persecute you for what you’d done. 

“Son, are you in here? I heard some weird noise, just say something so I can go back to what I was doing, I don’t want to confront you right now.”

“Yes, Dad, it’s me, I’m taking a bath!” Tanner yelled, taking the washcloth and finishing his wash. Dale responds with an ok, leaving the guest room and shutting the door behind him. “Hey, you can exit the towel closet now,” Tanner says, rubbing himself with the soap. You exit the closet, “You do realize that now you have to take another bath?” 

“Yeah, and maybe,” Tanner stood up, he leaned to grab his towel from the towel rack, wrapping it around his torso, “you’ll join me?” You scoffed at his response, opening the door and leaving the room. 

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “distraction ”.

| summary | Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now. | cw | fluff, talkative reader. | a/n | so... is it the same ship or not?

“And you know what else?” you looked at him with raised brows, your eyes glowing with excitement, happiness, and curiosity. “The Ship of Theseus.”

“The Ship of Theseus?” he repeated, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you.

He’d been sitting there on the couch for a while now, elbow resting on the backrest, cheek nestled in the palm of his hand, just listening to you ramble with a kind of captivated patience. In the past hour alone, he’d learned that octopuses have three hearts (each with a different function), that you shouldn’t boil water in the microwave, and that there’s a post office underwater in the Bahamas. That, and a dozen other strange little facts you’d gathered from the corners of the internet or your own imagination.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[roanofarcc]

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing. scott miller (twisters) x fem!reader

summary. what happened between you and scott was supposed to be strictly casual, but when you feelings got too involved, you decided to call it quits. But storms and close calls have a way to bringing out true feelings. 

warnings. allusions to smut but no actual smut, suggestive language, a curse or two, injuries, reader gets hurt, medical descriptions. scott is a little bit of an asshole & a sweetheart (he’s complicated, okay?). idk how I feel about this but I’ve been writing it for what felt like forever & I needed to post it so it stops haunting me.

word count. 3.9k || masterlist

Feelings were messy; they always got in the way of things. You weren’t sure when yours changed or why, but they surely were leading you quickly toward disaster. It was supposed to be a casual thing, a no-strings-attached kind of thing. ‘Sleeping with the enemy’ wasn’t supposed to be anything more than meaningless sex in shitty motels after both of your storm-chasing teams went to sleep. And maybe that was a bit dramatic, but the Wranglers had a flare for dramatics and a hatred for Storm Par. You were caught in the mess you made, unsure of what to do. 

Scott was not the kind of man who wanted a serious relationship. He had a bad attitude and was one-track-minded. But he was just as lonely as you were, and that had quickly become a recipe for a delicious disaster. You two found yourself entangled in a strictly sex-only relationship, unknown to your two teams, enjoyed in the sanctity of midwestern motels. And for a while, the thrill of something so casual with no real stakes was exciting. 

You’d only ever had real relationships, partners you took home to meet your parents, and who bought you dinner. Scott was new territory. He was an asshole, but there was a certain charm that kept you coming back when he called you beautiful while fumbling for the zipper of your jeans or pressing soft kisses to your neck. 

Things between you two were good, but at some point, you couldn’t separate sex from feelings. It started to mean something to you. You tried to ignore it, burying it down deep in your gut, but that only worked for so long. 

Scott never stayed long; he didn’t want anyone to catch him sneaking out of your room. But you hardly ever got the chance to catch your breath before he was searching for his clothes strewn across the floor. You rolled your lips into your mouth, chest still rising and falling heavily, and grabbed your t-shirt from where it had been tossed onto the nightstand. 

“Are you guys following the storms up to Arkansas tomorrow?” he asked, falling back into himself the same way he always did. It was like the moment he stood from the bed, he snapped back into himself, stiff and work focused. 

He was a hard man to understand. You supposed you weren’t really supposed to understand him, that was the nature of your relationship. The less you knew about someone, the easier it was to not care. But you cared too much about everything and everyone. 

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, toying the itchy motel blanket between your fingers. Anxiety twisted in your gut like a storm, bringing unruly waves that flooded your chest and made it tight. “Scott?” 

He hummed in response, tugging on his shoes, not looking at you. It was a band-aid you needed to rip off, but you knew the nasty wound underneath it. You were scoffing it; you couldn’t keep it up. 

“I, um, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” You held your breath after the words fell from your lips. You didn’t want to say it; you didn’t want to mean it, but if you spent another evening with Scott you’d be done for. Feelings for him ached inside your chest, but you had to snuff them out before they grew any more intense and left you heartbroken in the wake. Being heartbroken for someone who didn’t care much for you beyond sleeping together sounded like a nightmare. You wanted to get ahead of it; no hard feelings. 

He paused, standing up right as he put on his second shoe and furrowed his brows. “Do what?” he said, confused. 

You winced. “This,” you said, pointing between the two of you. “Us.” 

“Why?” Scott lingered by the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t a man of many words, curt and to the point you had learned. 

You sighed, casting your gaze onto your lap. You felt small and a little embarrassed that you couldn’t separate sex from feelings. Scott seemed to do it so easily, but they were too intertwined for you. “What we have is good,” you started. “But I think I need something more…real, I guess.” 

“This isn’t real enough for you?” he asked with a raise of his brows. 

“You don’t want a relationship, right?” 

“Right,” he answered, quickly. 

“But I do.” 

Scott was quiet for a moment, his face swarming with emotions you couldn’t pinpoint before they vanished and fell back into his usual, stoic expression. “With me?” 

You smiled sadly, shaking your head even though it felt wrong, even though you were lying, a little. You knew the idea of you and Scott in a real relationship was purely fictional, completely intangible. You were probably the last person on Earth he’d want to date if he ever found himself able to look past his work. But you were soft-hearted and couldn’t help but think about it, even if it was ridiculous. 

“If we keep this up, maybe,” you tried to joke but it fell flat. “But no, I just meant in general. I don’t think I’m really cut out for this.” 

He pursed his lips, looking for a moment like he wanted to say something but decided against it and, instead, nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want.” Scott turned and grabbed the door handle, hesitating before he opened it. You tried to say goodbye, but he slipped out quickly, leaving the words lost in the quietness of your motel room. 

You sighed, falling back against your pillow and bringing your hands up to your face in frustration. You knew you had done the right thing, and it would have hurt even worse if you waited, but it still sucked. You weren’t cut out for casual. 

“Why are you so mopey?” Kate asked, sliding onto the bar stool beside you at the little dinner. You volunteered to grab everyone dinner while they worked on the truck before tomorrow’s storms. Kate followed you, picking up on the sulky attitude you had been trying to hide all day. 

You sighed, tapping the countertop and avoiding her eyes. “It’s nothin’,” you said, trying to add a hint of cheeriness to your tone but it fell flat. 

“If I tell you something, you promise not to get mad at me?” Confused, you glanced over at her. Kate was too sweet for anyone to be mad at her, you were sure of that. Besides, if anyone got mad at Kate, you were sure Tyler would wreak havoc. “Last night, I left my room to grab my phone charger from the truck and I kind of saw…” she looked over her shoulder at the diner’s company before lowering her voice into a whisper. “Scott leaving your room. That’s not why you’re mopey, is it?” 

Your groan answered her. “No one was supposed to find out.” 

She frowned. “I won’t tell, promise.” 

“It doesn’t really matter anymore, I guess.” You shouldn’t have been sad; you were the one who called it off, but it left a little crater in your chest, a stupid feeling. Scott wasn’t someone you brought home to your parents or who would buy you flowers out of the blue. He was a one-night stand kind of guy; he made snarky comments and called you and your team hillbillies. You should have felt good about your decision, but you just couldn’t. 

“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” you said. 

“Why? Did he do something stupid? Because I’ll kick his ass.” 

You smiled at her offer, tempted to take her up on it for your own sake, but it was unreasonable. “I called it off.” 

“Oh,” she said, patting you gently on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t know why I’m upset about it.” You wished you could just cross it out of your head, said and done, and wipe your hands clean of it. He was just a guy, but he was stuck on you. “We were just sleeping together; that was it. But…but I’m pathetic.” 

Kate shook her head. “You’re not pathetic; don’t talk like that. Do you…like him?” She nearly winced when she said it, like it was a painful idea even for her to swallow. Scott wasn’t some supervillain, but he was a sore spot for her best friend, Javi. The two had started Storm Par together until their butting heads finally cracked. Javi left Storm Par and joined the Wranglers along with Kate, and Scott had to pivot to fill the gap Javi left. 

“I was starting too, that’s why I called it off.” 

Kate hummed in understanding just as the waitress placed your bags of food on the counter. She helped you gather the takeout with a smile and said, “Well, we’ll just have to find you someone new. Tyler wanted to take everyone out to this bar he and team always stop at during the season. Between all of us, we’ll find you someone even better than Mr. Storm Par.” 

That didn’t sound so bad. 

Oh, but it was. You’re not sure what happened, but it seemed like every decent, single person was taken or nowhere near Arkansas. Instead, the bar was filled with couples, oddballs, and creeps. You sipped on your drink and sank down in the booth, feeling defeated. 

Kate joined you with a huff. “Sorry this turned out to be a total failure,” she said. “I don’t know what happened to all of the hot, decent, single people.” From across the booth, Tyler made a noise as he swallowed his beer and put his hands out in an ‘excuse me?’ manner. Kate smiled and shook her head. “For her,” she said, pointing to you. 

Tyler nodded in understanding. “Ah, I didn’t know you were looking.” 

You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh, a new endeavor.” Because you’d been so preoccupied with sleeping with Scott for the last couple of months, you hadn’t even thought about seeking someone else out, a real relationship. To your friends, you were simply content in your singleness, but that wasn’t the truth whatsoever. 

“Well, I don’t think you’re gonna find anyone here,” Boone said, scanning the bar. The front door opened and in poured more people. His face twisted. “Unless you wanna shack up with one of Storm Par,” he laughed and his friends around the table echoed it, aside from Kate and yourself. Instead, your eyes widened as you turned your head to follow Boone’s gaze. Into the bar walked Storm Par, still dressed in their uniforms and looking out of place. Your staring caught Scott’s eye. He held your gaze for a moment, same stoic expression until he blinked and turned his attention onto the bar as they approached it. 

On the other side of Kate, Javi hummed. “Hey, maybe they’re loosening up a bit. I don’t remember the last time Scott willing walked into a bar,” he said. 

You laughed fakely along with your friends while Kate comfortingly squeezed your hand under the table. 

You sat and drank with the Wranglers for a while, sneaking subtle glances at Scott every now and then, only to find his attention glued to the shelves of liquor behind the bar or one of his teammates. It wasn’t until the smell of smoke and the taste of beer became a little overwhelming did you slide out of the booth and excused yourself to grab some air outside. 

The nighttime air filled your lungs the second you stepped outside. You leaned against the brick exterior of the bar, gazing out into the quiet street. People passed in and out of the bar, some laughing alongside their friends, others grumbling under their whiskey-tainted breath. You hardly paid them mind, until you felt someone’s eyes on you. For a moment, a slight worry plagued you, until you turned your head and found a familiar face approaching you. 

“Hey,” you greeted Scott with a tight-lipped smile. 

He looked a little uncomfortable, his hair disheveled and uniform wrinkled from the rowdy company of the bar. He let out a breath before he said, “Hi," and joined you against the building. He left a wide gap like you were a little more than strangers but less than anything else. 

“I’m surprised to see you guys here.” 

Scott sighed, somewhere between disgruntled and mocking amusement. “Wasn’t my idea. It’s ruining my reputation as a stick in the mud.” 

You laughed despite yourself, and he met your gaze. “Oh, somebody’s got jokes now?” 

He half smiled, fixing his gaze out on the street. “I’m full of surprises.” A quiet moment passed between you two. In the fresh spring air, there was still a tension that tugged on you. It felt odd, being so close to him without either hurling jabs back and forth in the company of your teammates or kissing him while your hands roamed.

Scott cleared his throat. “You’re sure about, uh, you know, ending this?” The way he asked sounded casual like you weren’t sharing something intimate. 

You nodded until you realized he wasn’t looking at you. “Yeah,” you answered. 

He peeled himself off of the brick wall and turned toward you. A rock settled in your gut; that was why he came outside, to make sure you didn’t have a change of heart. You didn’t know why, exactly, that irritated you. Maybe a stupidly hopeful part of you thought maybe he had changed his mind and was looking for something less casual and more real. But he wasn’t. 

Then he just left, heading back inside and leaving you to blow air from your cheeks. 

The storm had blown in with a vengeance. The town was supposed to be a pit stop on your team’s and other storm chasers' way toward bigger storms developing further east, but it became the hub of a sneaky but violent front. You stumbled out of the truck and into the powerful winds that nearly knocked you up against the door you struggled to shut. 

The Wranglers looked for cover, helping some unprepared stragglers along into the nearby buildings. You made a move to follow them, but you hesitated when you saw one of Storm Par’s trucks parked alongside a sidewalk a little way down the road. One of the newest members rushed in your direction, towards the shelter, but the other person beside the truck didn’t. Scott stood there with his phone at his ear, struggling against the wind to be heard. 

You sucked in a breath before turning around, bee-lining for the building you saw the rest of the Wrangler rush into. But once you reached the doors, pulling them open for a group of people to run inside, you felt the storm grow stronger, the rain running sideways in the wind that was determined to blow over everything in its path. You weren’t sure what exactly compelled you to spare another look over your shoulder at Scott’s truck, but there was a tug on your gut that you couldn’t ignore. And when you did, your heart dropped violently. 

Scott was on the ground, pressed between the sidewalk and a mess of debris. Though it was difficult to see clearly through the rain, you were close enough to notice him struggle as the tornado loomed closer. 

It was out of instinct that you abandoned the safety of the shelter and hurried across the road. Storm chasing had created a bad habit of putting others first in dangerous weather, a need to be helpful in the wake of a disaster. 

You dodged flying debris as you crossed the distance and arrived to find Scott trying to shove a large metal ladder that must’ve come flying off the top of someone’s van. He looked a little dazed, rain in his eyes and hands cut up from where he probably tried to block the blow that came in too quickly. 

You quickly grabbed a rung and started to pull before he groaned in pain. “Shit!” he hissed, blinking away the water from his eyes to clear up his vision enough to notice you. “W-What are you doing?” he yelled above the howl of the wind. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you said quickly, pulling harder despite your slippery hands. The ladder was heavy, and the conditions only made it ten times harder to get it to budge, but between the two of you, you managed to shove it off of Scott. He rolled onto his side, face contorted in pain as he placed a hand on his ribs where the ladder had been pressed against. “Come on, we’ve gotta go!” You pulled him up by the arm, ignoring his groans of protest. 

The second he was standing upright, he stared at you with wide eyes and chest heaving. Your attention fell onto the sky and storm. Not thinking about much other than getting the hell out of the storm’s way, you grabbed Scott by the hand and pulled him toward the building. You moved quickly, despite whatever injuries he possessed, and were almost there when something hurled through the air. Before you could react, duck out of the way, or even attempt to avoid it, the object sliced across your forehead. 

Pain bloomed across your skin, stopping you in your tracks. You brought your hand up to your forehead. For a moment, you thought it was just rain that coated your skin, but when you pulled your hand back, it was red-coated. 

Scott tugged on your hand, his face twisted in a mix of emotions you were too dazed to read. He pulled you the rest of the way to the building. The world was a blur, a mix of colors that blood seeped into, staining your vision and making panic stretch uncomfortably inside your chest. People were gathered near the back wall, far from the windows. Scott pulled you down, his hand pressed firmly against your forehead. 

Glass exploded as the windows shattered. Everyone gasped and pressed themselves impossibly close to the back wall. The pain in your head battled your increasing panic, making it hard to breathe. 

Scott noticed, using his free hand to grip your shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said, voice unsteady. “You’re all right.” But you did feel like it. The world grew blurrier by the minute. You felt your eyes flutter against your will. The cut across your head must’ve been deep. Little black dots spotted your vision, despite your attempt to fight it. Your head dropped, falling into Scott. He kept his hand pressed against your cut and used his other to wrap around you, his own breath panicked as you fell unconscious. 

The lights were too bright when you woke up, groggy and disoriented. With a disgruntled hum, you lulled your head side to side as your eyes fluttered open. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” a voice filled your ears, light and relived. You blinked and Kate stood hovering over you with a small smile on her lips. 

“You gave us a heart attack,” Tyler said. 

“Sorry,” you managed to say, despite the dryness in your throat. “Everyone okay?” 

Kate nodded, patting the top of your hand. “The team’s all right; you were the only one who took a hit.” You wanted to ask about Scott, but Kate must’ve read your mind because she added, “Storm Par was all right too.” 

“Yeah, I think you short-circuited Mr. Robot. I’ve never seen Scott so bend out of shape after you passed out,” Tyler said, making your gut twist oddly. “He said you saved his ass.” 

You tried to sit up, but pain rippled throughout your head, causing you to wince and sink back down. Kate shot Tyler a look as if to say ‘stop talking’ and he listened. “You got a couple of stitches and a concussion. But the doctor said you should be back to feeling like yourself in a week or so.” 

With a sigh, you replied, “Great.” 

A soft knock sounded from the door. Tyler opened it and looked surprised as it swung open to reveal Scott. He looked surprised himself like he wasn’t sure he should be there. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat and offered Tyler a look that was different than his usual scowl. 

“What’d you want?” Tyler asked, but Kate quickly rushed to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him to stand down. 

“Ty, we should go find the doctor.” She turned her head back to you for confirmation that you were okay with Scott visiting, and you nodded. 

Tyler looked confused. “What-” Kate started to drag him out of the room, side-stepping Scott before she gently nudged him inside. She and Tyler disappeared into the hall, leaving you with Scott. He pulled his hand out from behind his back to reveal a small bouquet of flowers. 

“Hi,” you greeted, offering him a small smile. 

He returned it and moved to your bedside. “Hi,” he said. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’ve been hit in the head,” you answered honestly. There was a light throbbing behind your eyes, dulled by the medication the doctor must’ve given you while you were out. “But it’s not too bad. How are you?” 

“Besides a couple bruises, not in too bad of shape.” Scott pressed his lips together in a thin line, hesitating for a moment. “Mostly just been worried…about you.” 

A warmness filled your chest, and you were too groggy to fight it off. He was worried about you, which you should have brushed off; you had passed out on him, so it wasn’t a crazy idea. But it felt big. 

“I’m okay.” You didn’t know what else you were supposed to say. 

He placed the bouquet of flowers on the little table beside the bed. “These are for you.” 

“They’re pretty. Thank you.” 

For a moment, there was a still tension that pulled between you, like it was waiting for someone to make a tug. You felt your better judgment slip, replaced by the urge to say something you’d probably regret, but Scott beat you to it. 

“Uh, I-I know this is bad timing but if I don’t say something now, I probably won’t,” he started, much to your surprise and confusion. “I know you said you wanted to call this thing,” he pointed between the two of you. “Off. But I don’t.” 

You sighed, “But-” 

“I know,” he cut you off. “You want something real. A relationship. And I don’t. Or…I thought I didn’t. But the more I’ve been thinking about it, I like being with you. I don’t want to…not be with you. I want to be with you more, actually, not just us sleeping together. If you still want something real, then so do I.” 

You blinked, stunned by his sudden confession. The heat spread from your chest, up your neck, and to your face. “Really?” 

“Really,” he said, his lips quirking upwards in a smile that made the fluorescent lights look dim. “If I hadn’t screwed it up too much already.” 

With a quick shake of your head, you returned his grin, and his body shifted in relief. “I like being with you too.” 

“When you’re feeling better, let me take you on a real date, somewhere a hell of a lot nicer than those motels.” His hand ghosted over yours and you quickly intertwined your fingers with his before you pulled him down to your level. 

“You are full of surprises, huh?” you joked, your cheeks hurting from smiling. 

He shrugged. “I told ‘ya.” 

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut without plot, rough smut, pussy fingering, doggy style, dirty talk, fem!reader, semi-public sex, unprotected, Bakugo being Bakugo ♥

Synopsis: Bakugo Katsuki was a walking powder keg, his fuse dangerously short. What was yet another tension-filled therapy session quickly spiraled, blurring the line between professionalism and raw desire as he made it clear exactly what kind of emotional release he was truly craving

A/N: this fic was commissioned through my Ko-fi page for Bakugo's birthday!

MY HERO ACADEMIA - 3

You knew from the first session that Katsuki Bakugo was going to be a problem.

The door slammed shut with that all-too-familiar bang, a reverberation that rattled the windows and, somewhere deep inside you, your spine. Katsuki Bakugo never entered quietly — he stormed in, like every session was a battlefield and your office was enemy territory. Today was no exception.

He threw himself into the leather chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, every inch of his frame rigid with seething restraint. His eyes, red and burning like lit fuses, locked on yours. 

“Why the fuck does everyone think I’ve got a problem?" he barked. “I’m so done with that shitty therapy thingy.”

You smiled, calm and clinical, jotting notes as he fumed. “Well, you did punch a wall during a press conference lately, Mr. Bakugo.”

“It was drywall. It broke easily.”

“Well, sir, that’s not the point,” you hummed. "I suppose that’s why your agency’s PR team decided to send you back to me, sir," you added calmly, your voice even and professional as you glanced down at the notes in your lap. "The sessions helped before, didn’t they?"

Bakugo scoffed, low in his throat, his scarred hands tightening into fists against his thighs. He didn’t answer right away, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked in irritation. He hated being here, hated the sterile calm of the room, the way it made him feel dissected, observed.

The first time he’d been forced into therapy, it hadn’t been his choice at all. The first time he’d been forced into therapy, it had been a direct order from the Hero Commission. Not a suggestion. Not a request. A mandate. 

Katsuki Bakugo, explosive hero, was a walking powder keg — and the fuse was dangerously short. He was a top hero, no one questioned that — his captured villains count, his success rate, the way he threw himself into disaster zones without hesitation all spoke for themselves.

But his temper? That was another story.

Everyone in the industry remembered the incident. Two overzealous paparazzi had tailed him, weaving recklessly through traffic just to get a shot of him stepping out of his Porsche, and a glimpse of his home.

He warned them. They didn’t listen. They never did. And then — well, let’s just say they didn’t walk away with anything usable except for bruises and broken equipment.

The press called it Hero Gone Rogue. His agency called it an accident. The Commission called it a formal violation of conduct.

It was a breaking point. The Commission stepped in with an ultimatum sharp as glass: attend anger management therapy or kiss your license goodbye. 

And Bakugo, for all his rage and pride, wasn’t about to give them the damn satisfaction of watching him fall from grace.

So he showed up. He sat through the sessions. He growled, snarled, resisted — and somewhere along the way, he truly calmed. For a while.

So here he was again, sent back to you, one of the most prestigious psychiatrists in the city. And sitting across from you, Katsuki Bakugo was trying to pretend the taste of failure wasn’t bitter on his tongue.

"Fucking PR snakes," he muttered under his breath. "Think I can’t handle my own goddamn temper. Like they know me better than I do." He lifted his red eyes to you. “So. Are you gonna psychoanalyze me today, doc? Or we just gonna pretend I ain't five seconds from losing my shit?”

You didn’t flinch. You never did. Not with him. “That depends,” you answered evenly, pen tapping against your notepad. “Are you planning to let that temper speak for you again, or are you ready to actually work through it?”

He scoffed, a cruel curl of his lips. “Tch. Fuckin’ hell. You think talkin’ fixes what’s wired into my bones?”

He shifted in the seat, legs spread wide, like he owned the goddamn room, and the look in his eyes was anything but professional. It had never been. From the moment he walked into your practice under official recommendation, there was tension. Something dangerous and forbidden humming in the spaces between words.

You knew this would go too far eventually. You just didn’t think it’d be today.

You stared at him, your spine instinctively straightening under the weight of his gaze. There it was again — the heat, the sheer demand in the way Katsuki Bakugo looked at you. This wasn’t the stare of a patient toward their psychiatrist. This was something heavier, something that had no place in this office or between these roles you both were expected to uphold.

But you knew it. Recognized it. You’d seen it before.

There had been a moment — months back, during one of his more difficult sessions. He’d been tighter wound than usual, jaw clenched so hard you thought it might snap, hands balled into fists at his sides. You’d written him a short-term prescription to help curb his aggression. Something to smooth the edges of his anger just enough to allow therapy to do its work.

You’d torn the slip from your notepad, holding it out for him to take — and he had.

But not just that.

His fingers had brushed yours, rough and calloused like sandpaper, dragging over the skin of your palm with a deliberate, lingering stroke that wasn’t necessary — not for the task at hand. And when your eyes had flicked up to meet his, you found yourself ensnared in the molten heat of those crimson irises. They weren’t just looking at you. They were devouring you.

You remembered swallowing hard. You remembered how your skin prickled, the way your pulse jumped — and most of all, how you hadn’t pulled away.

Later, he’d tossed it at you as a casual joke during a particularly tense session: “I show up ‘cause you’re my type.” He’d said it with a smirk that bordered on dangerous, watching your cheeks flush with pinkish hue like it was his personal reward.

You’d laughed it off, dismissed it like any professional should. Pro Hero Dynamight’s just being provocative, you’d told yourself. He does that with everyone.

But now — today — there was something different.

His whole posture screamed challenge, and the weight of the silence between you thickened, saturated with something unspoken and undeniably feral.

“Katsuki-sama—” you began, tone carefully measured, but he cut you off with a snarl.

“Say my fuckin’ name like you mean it.”

“Katsuki,” you repeated finally, breath catching in your throat before you forced it even again. “You’re crossing a line.”

“Am I?” he asked, pushing forward in his seat slightly, predatory, looming. His knees parted wider, thighs straining against the edges of the chair. He looked like a man who wanted to claim something his — and wasn’t planning on asking permission. “Pretty sure I already crossed it a long fuckin’ time ago.”

You stiffened. “Just a friendly reminder you’re my patient, Bakugo-sama.”

He laughed — short, breathy, and cruel. “You think I give a shit about titles? Don’t flatter yourself, doll. You think this is about therapy? I came back ‘cause I couldn’t get you outta my fuckin’ head. I could’ve switched therapists a long fuckin’ time ago — found someone who might’ve ‘understood’ me better or some shit. But I didn’t. I stuck with you. You, with your dumb little belief that you could change me — like I’m some broken project you could fix. And hell, maybe you did get under my skin a little, doll. Maybe you did make me change — just a bit. But that ain’t the only reason I stayed. Nah. I fucking love the way you strut in here in those short-ass skirts and those too-tight shirts that cling to your tits like they were made for my hands.”

There was a beat. Just one. Your breath hitched.

His eyes narrowed in satisfaction, and the smirk tugged higher at one corner of his mouth. “You’re not scared,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “You should be. I’m not soft. I’m a fuckin’ problem with fists and a bad attitude. Ask anyone.”

“I know what you are,” you claimed openly, your voice just above a whisper, but steady.

“Then you already know — I don’t do anything half-assed,” he warned, voice low and deliberate. “When I want something, I take it.” He leaned in, elbows braced on his knees, fingers steepled like he was planning the next move in a war he intended to win. “So if you don’t want me, say it now. Otherwise, we’re done playing fucking doctor and patient.”

Your mouth went dry. Because you remembered. The brush of his fingers against yours that day. The way his gaze burned through you, like he saw straight past your professional veneer and into the part of you that wanted to be seen. The low, sinful murmur when he called you his type.

It had stirred something then — warmth beneath your skin, heat that shouldn’t have been there. You buried it, of course. You were a professional.

But now?

That warmth had reignited. Blazing low in your belly. Crawling up your spine like liquid fire.

Because today, Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t here to be fixed.

He was here to claim.

You raised a brow. “Bakugo-sama.”

His expression darkened, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jump. Then he stood.

One deliberate step, and he was towering over your desk — palms pressed flat against the polished wood, arms braced like a predator poised to strike. He leaned in, close enough that the heat rolling off his body soaked into your skin, igniting goosebumps in his wake. The scent of him hit you hard: burnt caramel laced with smoke and sweat, masculine and raw, an electric storm barely contained within muscle, tension, and rage.

“You have no idea how hard it is sittin’ across from you week after week, watchin’ you hide behind that shrink act,” he growled lowly. “The way you look at me like you don’t wanna fuckin’ break the rules.”

Your pulse surged, thudding traitorously in your ears, but you held your ground, spine straight and voice steady. “Katsuki. Sit back down.”

“The fuck I will,” he growled, his eyes sweeping over you with blistering intensity — raw, hungry, and unmistakably possessive. “You want me to work through my anger? Fine. Here’s the fuckin’ therapy session I know will finally do me some good.”

Before you could react, he came around the desk and pulled you up roughly by the arm. 

You stumbled into him, chest flat against his, heat rolling off his body in waves. 

His calloused hand grabbed your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he forced your eyes to meet his. “Say stop,” he dared. “Now’s your chance. One word, and I’ll back the fuck off.”

But your mouth stayed shut. You hated how much your thighs clenched at the threat in his voice, the iron in his grip, the heat in his breath.

He grinned — sharp, wolfish. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he bent you over the desk.

Your breath left you in a gasp as his hand flattened between your shoulder blades, pinning you down with ease. “You wanna analyze my control issues? Let’s test how much fuckin’ control I really got.”

He pushed your back harder, and you yelped as your tits were squeezed painfully against the counter of your desk.

Katsuki’s hands moved with impatient purpose, your skirt shifting abruptly as barriers of fabric yielded to his insistence. 

You felt the air kiss newly bared skin as he paused, gaze burning a trail down your frame. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat when he found what he sought — the faint tremble of your legs, the unconscious arch of your spine as he slowly dragged your white, lacy panties down your thighs. "Look at ya," Dynamight murmured, voice all rough velvet, calloused fingers grazing your inner thigh. "Pathetic whore.”

His crimson eyes fell on the damp spot in the middle of the fabric of your underwear. "Well, well, looks like you're fucking soaked, and I have barely touched ya," he drawled. He nudged your ankle with a gentle kick, a silent command for you to open your legs up, and you obeyed, stepping out of your panties. He scooped them up, bringing them to his face and inhaling deeply, the look in his eyes animalistic, primal. You're drippin’ every goddamn time we have a session, ain’t ya?" he chuckled, voice low and smug. "You like it when I act like a bastard, huh? That’s what gets you all worked up, doll."

You turned partially, catching the wildfire glint in his eyes as he sniffed your panties. 

His nostrils flared subtly, that arrogant smirk widening as he drank in invisible evidence of your arousal. When his tongue flicked out to taste the moist spot on the fabric, heat flooded your cheeks, and your breath hitched. “Katsuki-sama…”

Dynamight flicked his tongue out, trailing it slowly along the damp spot on the fabric. "Fuck," the man growled gutturally under his breath, his voice low and rough. "Shit, your scent already makes my cock twitch. If I don't put it in that needy cunt of yours, I might blow this place out."

You whimpered, more from anticipation than fear, and he chuckled low in his throat.

“Goddamn,” he uttered, voice husky, “Knew you were a fuckin’ deviant under that professional act.”

You bit your lip, already writhing under his touch. 

He slapped your ass hard, the sound sharp in the room, and you cried out his name, the sting blooming into pure, forbidden pleasure.

“Count it,” he ground the command out.

You barely had time to brace. The second slap landed. “Two,” you gasped.

He did it again. And again. And again.

Your skin burned, your core throbbed, and your breathing turned ragged. You lost count around six. 

Katsuki didn’t. He knew exactly how much you could take — and when your hips started grinding back against him without shame around the tenth spank, he hissed through his teeth. “You love this shit,” he spat, palming the plushy flesh of your ass. “Love being put in your fuckin’ place, don’t ya?”

“Yes,” you moaned before you could stop yourself.

“Say it louder.”

“Yes, Katsuki— fuck!I love it.”

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

His fingers slipped between your folds, dragging through slick heat before pushing two calloused digits deep inside your pussy that opened eagerly for him. 

You cried out again, the sudden stretch making your legs tremble.

He pumped his digits hard, ruthless, curling them just right. “That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it.”

Your nails scraped at the wood of the desk, breath hitching with every movement of his hand. “Katsuki— fuck— it’s too much—”

“Too much? You haven’t seen shit yet.” 

With that being said, Katsuki started finger-fucking your pussy faster, expertly scissoring his fingers inside you to stroke that very spongy spot that made you shiver all over your body. 

Your slick coated his fingers in no time, letting him work them deeper with an almost effortless rhythm. With a low hum of satisfaction, he slipped his other hand around your body, cupping your boobs and fondling them roughly through the thin fabric of your pristine white shirt.

Soon, the hero pulled his fingers out and shoved them straight into your mouth. “Clean them up. Just look at the mess you’ve made. You're nothing but a desperate extra.”

You moaned around his calloused fingers, tongue curling to taste yourself and fulfill his command, eyes fluttering shut at the depravity of the act.

He growled like an animal, yanking your head back by the hair. “I’m gonna ruin you,” he promised. “I’m gonna fucking claim you mine, bitch.”

Then came the sharp clink of his belt being undone. 

His cock, thick and heavy, slapped against your ass with a weight that made you gasp. Katsuki lined himself up with your slick, welcoming entrance, one hand gripping your hip to steady himself, the other braced beside your head. “You ready for this?” he spat the question out, voice tight and low, barely holding back the hunger trembling just beneath the surface.

You nodded frantically, pushing back against him. “Please...”

That was all he needed.

He thrust in hard, no mercy, splitting you open on his cock in one brutal push. 

You moaned his name like a prayer turned sin, your voice breaking as the stretch sent a wave of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure through your being. It was too much yet not enough, delicious in the way it burned and bloomed fast inside your core.

He groaned above you, gripping your hips so tight you’d bruise. “God, you’re tighter than I thought,” he panted. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

He set a vicious pace, fucking you like he meant to break you. Each thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, sending stars dancing behind your eyelids. You were so full, so wrecked already, and he wasn’t slowing down.

“Take it,” he snarled. “Take my fuckin’ cock like a good bitch you are.”

You sobbed, lost in the pleasure. 

His hand came around to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur. “You love this,” he growled in your ear. “Love getting used by the angry fuckin’ case study. Bet you’ll finger yourself to this memory later.”

“Don’t need to,” you gasped. “You’re fucking ruining me.”

He laughed, dark and feral, and slammed in your pussy even harder. “Good. Believe it or not, I'm actually doing what you advised me — trying to let go of the tension that's been making me so damn frustrated all the time, yeah?"

Bakugo wrapped his hand around you and reached between your trembling legs again, rubbing tight circles against your clit, spanking it a few times in the process.

It didn’t take long. You came with a scream, convulsing around him, scratching the desk with your nails as you collapsed on top of it, gasping for air, moaning lazily.

Bakugo groaned as your walls milked him, then pulled his rock-hard cock out and flipped you over with brute strength. His palms gripped your hips as he lifted you onto the desk effortlessly, setting you down with deliberate force.

You barely had time to gasp before he was inside your cunt again, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, fucking you even deeper from this angle. 

Your body was boneless, your brain was fogged with bliss, but the man above you wasn’t done.

“Where do you want my cum?” he hissed. “Mouth or pussy?”

Moaning, you reached out, dazed, and wrapped your hand around one of his wrist. “Mouth.”

He pulled out and pulled you off the desk by leg, forcing you to kneel in front of him. Bakugo’s cock glistened with your juices as he shoved it past your lips without warning. 

You choked at first, then opened your mouth wider, taking him deeper as he fucked your throat with brutal precision.

“Fuck yeah, just like that, bitch,” the blonde growled. “That’s it. Take all of it. You look so fuckin’ pretty on your knees, sucking my dick like a whore.”

You gagged around him, eyes tearing up, but your core clenched again at the sound of his praise. Instinctively, you reached between your thighs to rub your needy pussy, but it wasn’t enough, so you slipped two fingers in your cunt, fingering yourself.

He pulled back with a groan, jerked his dick a few times. “Stick your fuckin’ tongue out.” 

You did as you were told.

Bakugo came with a loud growl, and his semen, hot and thick, landed on your tongue and chin.

You swallowed every drop, and when he finally stepped back, you collapsed against the desk behind you, resting your back against the polished wood, gasping loudly.

He stood there, chest heaving, his shirt half-untucked and disheveled, hair a mess, but his eyes — those damn, fiery eyes — were lit with that familiar blaze. A mix of victory and satisfaction, like he’d won some battle he didn’t even need to fight. “Next week,” he grunted, voice still rough from the intensity, “we’ll have a real fuckin’ conversation about my trust issues.”

He grabbed your panties off the floor, using them to wipe his dick down, the lace crinkling in his hand. A small, devilish smirk played at the corner of his lips as he slid his cock back into his boxers, then his jeans, all while his gaze stayed on your used, tired form. When he was done, he stuffed the panties into the pocket of his pants, like a damn trophy. "Gonna keep these. Guess I’ll need 'em when I’m jerking off, thinking about my damn precious psychiatrist."

With one last look, Bakugo turned, and walked out of your office like he hadn’t just claimed and destroyed you.

And you… 

You already couldn’t wait for the next session with Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

@pixelcafe-network

[berrryparfait]

‎honey sugar you ! ♡‧₊˚

‪‪♥︎‬ featuring: head chef! sylus x pâtissier! fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: a record of the highs and lows of your time as a fresh-faced pâtissier under the renowned chef sylus—two unforgettable years marked by burnt sugar, stolen glances, and the kind of lessons that shape both your craft and your heart.

❝ i can name three things that are sweet: honey, sugar, and you! ❞

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: restaurant au, fluff and mild angst, sylus is kind of a prick at first, kitchen is a battlefield, enemies-to-lovers, airport trope

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: 1.4k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: 好きな人がいること – jy

✧ a/n: inspired by my all-time favorite j-drama, a girl and three sweethearts (suki na hito ga iru koto), which ignited my love for bossy, sulky, tsundere men <3

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS did not welcome you warmly. He scowled at your “incompetence” despite not having tried your signature dessert—a lemon meringue tart with a cinnamon-powdered twist—and deemed you unworthy of his mentorship right off the bat. He’s the most powerful person in the kitchen and is set on making sure everyone remembers it, rarely pausing to say “please” and “thank you” and glaring daggers at anyone who makes so much as a minor mistake. It’s stressful, working under a man like him—as if a bomb defusal is in progress and one wrong snip could be life-threatening.

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS is a bossy, domineering man. His arrogance truly knows no bounds. All the best ingredients, all the best plate arrangements—everything is “his territory”. He’s got the most experience, after all. Why question him? Besides, he’s physically intimidating, too, towering over you at 6’ 2” and watching your every move with those piercing, ruby eyes. He makes you sweat, that’s for sure. “Coffee bavarois,” he stated plainly when asked about this week’s dessert, no room for debate. You tried to tell him it clashes with the main dish, but he refused to give you the time of day. “You’re new here,” he warned, a sinister edge to his deep voice. “So you do as I say.”

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS is always the last person to leave the restaurant. He stays behind to experiment with new flavors and figure out creative ways to improve the menu, sketching and making notes like his life depends on it. One night, just as you’re about to call it a day, you catch him standing by the counter, a quizzical expression on his face. You hide around the corner and watch him in silence as he frowns at the serving of coffee bavarois before him, doubt—for the very first time since you’ve known him—passing like a shadow over his sharp features. He pulls out a slice of your lemon meringue tart from the fridge (your coworkers ask you to bake one every week), and, gingerly, takes a small bite. His face lights up in sweet surprise, but he quickly schools his expression, as if wary of watchful eyes. “God damn it…” he curses under his breath before scribbling something in his book.

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS isn’t used to admitting he was in the wrong. He struggles to hold your gaze as he “suggests” a change in the dessert menu, his perfervid desire for culinary perfection winning out over his pride. You, on the other hand, are trying your hardest to suppress a smug grin of utter satisfaction, the glorious tides of victory flooding your veins. “Yes, chef,” you reply, beaming. Your coworkers watch on nervously as he squints at your tone, the spark of a challenge passing unspoken between the two of you. Just when you think he’s about to lash out, he simply says, brusque as always, “Preheat the oven. Doors are almost open.”

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS has finally begun to acknowledge your level of skill, begrudgingly taking your lead at times and heeding your advice. He rarely questions your decisions anymore; at least when it comes to the dessert menu. Once in a while, though exceedingly rare, you even catch the occasional muttered compliment falling from his lips, and it makes you happier than it should. Part of you wonders if he’s begun to seek your approval just as much as you seek his. Petty competition aside, work has felt a lot lighter, lately. For what might be the first time in an eternity, working in the kitchen feels like working as a team. “That was…not a bad idea,” he says lowly, masking his words with nonchalance. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you— ” you tease, incredibly pleased with yourself.

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS gets surprisingly twitchy when met with skin-to-skin contact. He’d been watching you prepare a tray of macarons the other day when you asked if he wanted to try piping the vanilla buttercream filling. Unexpectedly, he turned out to be a novice—fumbling with the bag and making a small mess on the baking tray. You sighed at his meagre attempts and reached out to guide him, your soft palm gentle yet firm on his knuckles as you filled the remaining macarons together. It worked well at first—both of you focused and in sync—but his grip eventually faltered. After a pause, he quietly shook your hand loose and returned to his own preparations, seemingly a little…flustered?

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS celebrates in silence. You’ve just won your first ever major haute cuisine competition as a chef-pâtissier duo, and rather than celebrating with the rest of the restaurant staff, he grabs a beer from the fridge and retreats to the balcony. You join him after a while, believing he deserves to feel proud too. The cool night air hits your face as you walk up to him—he’s hunched over the railing with a pensive, far-off look on his face. “Not having fun?” he asks sardonically. You rally the question back to him, to which he simply says he prefers celebrating in private. Yet…he doesn’t reject your company. In fact, he seems to find a sort of delicate solace in it. He opens up to you for the first time that night, telling you about the pressure he’s dealt with his entire life to live up to his legendary father's legacy. You tell him he’s enough and place your hand on his. Bright color warms his cheeks.

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS is patient with you; supportive of you. He’s still as broody and reserved as always, yet you find the other chefs smiling more. They laugh freely during work hours and, as a result, customers seem more satisfied, too. You’ve found a home here, and you’re happy. Imagine everyone’s surprise when you’re notified of a French celebrity chef’s interest in your dessert-making—his offer highly generous. He isn’t exactly more renowned than Sylus, but it would still be an excellent opportunity for you to progress in the culinary scene. It’s not something you can simply…pass up.

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS has been distant lately. His mood is easily soured, and he’s regained some of that signature bite when speaking to you. You know he’s just scared. Scared you’ll leave him, scared you’ll forget all about him when you move to Paris, your time together in the kitchen miles away. But he hasn’t discouraged you from going. “Award-winning pâtissiers would kill for an opportunity like this. Take it and go.” he says bluntly, and you’d be lying if you disagreed. So why does the thought of leaving this place behind hurt you so? And why is he acting like this if you’re already on borrowed time?

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS doesn’t bother seeing you off at the airport. You take in a shaky breath as you pull your luggage towards the immigration kiosks, devastated and confused. Did the past two years really mean nothing to him? Just as you step in line, heavy footsteps echo through the departure hall. You turn to see a very breathless, very desperate Sylus—still in his once-pristine chef’s uniform—staring right at you. He ran all the way here to stop you. To get something off his chest… “I’m not here to keep you from leaving,” he breathes, nothing but sincerity in those intense, crimson eyes. “That’d be selfish of me. I’m here to say goodbye. And…” Your heart squeezes as he cups the side of your face and leans in, planting a tender kiss on your lips. Hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks as you tell him you love him, that you’ll never forget him, and that you’ll be back after chasing your dreams.

HEAD CHEF! SYLUS visits you every month, his warm embrace and playful kisses a welcome remedy for the cold, Parisian weather. You’ve barely been in France a year, and you already wish you could go back. Maybe next year, once you’ve finished perfecting this year’s dessert menu. You’ve always believed in expanding your horizons and chasing your dreams, but though they’re always evolving, always growing, in many ways…you already have. Because sometimes, a dream isn’t some far-off future—it’s the life you’re living. And for you, Sylus waits at the end of every chapter.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》