#I spent too long on their faces to cover them in masks

[idrawgaystffs]

Vee’s inner-monologue is likely him questioning why he lets this idiot live.

So! @css10987 (I seem to not be able to tag you),

Here’s your gift from me to you as per the TssSecretSanta contract! Some villain Ro and questionably sided Virgil (I imagine he’s a good vigil-ante :) There’s a bit of tag lore for the heck of it vv

Oh and have a nice wintery season!

Tagging @sanderssidesgiftxchange as well, thanks for setting this all up and modding!

[Click for quality and reblogs are appreciated!]

[maruflix]

  — ★ 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇

☆ — “STOP THIS NONSENSE AND MAYBE I’LL LET YOU TAKE ME OUT ON A DATE, HOW ABOUT THAT?”

FROM THIS ASK

SYNOPSIS : Spending all your waking hours surrounded by rowdy boys in the biggest dojo in town, it’s no surprise that you grow up to be a skilled fighter with a fiery personality to match (you suppose it is one of your charms). You are the tempest incarnate, a force to be reckoned with — and Takiishi Chika can’t help but get swallowed up in your storm. FEATURING : Takiishi Chika x f!reader CONTENT : 3.6k words, badass!reader, chika can’t express himself, endo gets beat up (again), enemies to lovers, soft chika ftw, pining, jealous chika, things escalate quickly, slightly suggestive but you know i can’t write smut so i don’t, reader is both physically and mentally badass

“A challenger? What the fuck does that even mean?”

Nights at the dojo are spent by sitting on the floors, doing cooldowns and chatting about whatever interesting gossip circulates around the town. Tonight is no exception— you’re sitting cross legged on the mat that carpets your family dojo with your friends stretching not far away from you.

Sakura Haruka is the first one to answer, his eyes shining in excitement, “So one of our seniors heard that we train at your dojo, and somehow the news got to two real scary seniors! Their names are Takiishi Chika and Endo Yamato.”

“They’re bad news, really. Always out looking for a fight with anyone to scratch a weird fighting itch, I guess? They’re real delinquents.” Those words are harsh, especially when they came from the gentlest, kindest guy you knew, Umemiya Hajiime.

“Anyway, we just heard it from a friend of a friend. It might be a hoax for all we know.” Suo Hayato pipes up from behind you, massaging your tense shoulders with the ease of a seasoned masseur.

Your arched eyebrows have now relaxed thanks to Suo’s expert hands, but a slight annoyance is still visible on your features. “Well damn, I didn’t realize we’re living in the world of Tekken Chinmi. What, are they gonna destroy my place and steal the secret dojo technique if they win?”

“Huh? You have a secret technique?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s joking, Sakura…” At Nirei’s reply, Sakura’s face turned beet red. You laugh boisterously as the poor boy fumbles with his blue belt.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure the old man won’t let me kick their asses if they really do come.” You are unable to mask your disappointment and your friends’ expressions start to turn into worried ones.

“(Y/N)...” Umemiya warns, “Whatever you’re thinking in that head of yours, stop. They’re actually really strong.”

“As strong as you?” Smirking, you take a jab at him, to which he barely dodged. Even though he may not look like it, you’ve experienced first hand how strong Umemiya is in a fight. Belt rankings sometimes don’t mean a thing when it comes to real fighting, and Umemiya is a surprisingly seasoned fighter. (The current record is 11-10, but you’re aiming to get it to a 11-11 at least by the end of this month.)

“One of them is too emotional and reckless, but the other one?” Umemiya trails off, as if thinking about something from long ago, “He’s crazy strong.”

You raise an eyebrow, now thoroughly interested. Umemiya Hajime with his pretty face and eerie calmness is a real pain in the ass to fight during kumite, being one of the only guys in the dojo to actually beat you, who have been training since you were a toddler. So for that kind of guy to say that someone is ‘crazy strong’? It certainly rouses your curiosity.

“Anyway, why are you guys not heading home already?”

Like a cue, the doors are slammed open, the chilly night wind invading the warm dojo air. You shiver involuntarily as the cool breeze tickles the part of your neck that is not covered by your gi. Everyone turns their head to look at the visitor, and they certainly have mixed reactions.

Sakura and Nirei let out a full gasp. Suo stays silent, even though his eyes are bulging out from his skull. Umemiya growls, a displeased scowl on his face. You, on the other hand, are puzzled upon seeing a boy with messy black hair standing at the door. A loose black yukata envelops his muscular body that is covered with tattoos, and his blue eyes are locked on you.

“Hey, can I help you?” You wanted to cuss him out for not immediately closing the door, but your father has always told you to be kind to potential customers. So you roll your eyes, bite back your ‘fuck you’s, and ask him in the most sarcastic tone possible: “And can you close the door, please? It’s literally November.”

The boy’s lips twist up to form a cheshire grin as he studies you, ignoring the four glares that are directed at him. “You’re the owner of this dojo, yeah?”

You roll your eyes again. “Too bad for me, my old man’s still alive and kickin’. And too bad for you, he’s out right now. What business do you have with him?”

He chuckles, a low tone that definitely spells trouble. “Nah, it’s you I have business with. That belt of yours, is it real or is it just for decoration?”

Your eyes glance down at the two-striped black belt that hugs your waist snugly. You have worked your ass off to get to where you are, all the blood, sweat, and tears that carried you from a white belt to an officially recognized nidan— not just a black belt, but a black belt of the second degree. It’s fairly new, too, the excitement that you got from receiving it a week ago is still not completely gone.

“What’s it to you?”

Your friends tense up next to you. They’ve seen you try not to stir up a fight, but with the way the situation is progressing…

“(Y/N), this is one of the seniors we were talking about.” Nirei whispers in a pleading tone, hoping to calm you down. It only riles you up.

“Oh, nothing. I seem to have exhausted all the fighters in town and I remembered that there’s still one place I haven’t gone to. Maybe my opponent won’t disappoint me this time?” The challenge is clear in his voice. With every step he takes, your eyes only narrow even further. You are now standing face to face with him, looking at him squarely in the eye, like two tigers sizing up each other.

“If you’re looking for a fight, I suggest you do it elsewhere. This is no place for your egotistical, frivolous hobby.” Despite the itch in your arms to deliver a blow straight to his smirking face, you still try to honor your father’s wishes not to start petty fights, especially not in the dojo.

“Oooh, you scared? Wanna call daddy? But I bet I’d beat him up too.”

There is a deafening silence. Even with all the playful banter, a normal human being should know that there are some lines that you cannot cross. But the damn idiot took a big stride across the fucking line. Your friends are watching mutely with mouths hanging open as your last strand of patience finally snaps.

Oooh. He is so gonna get it. 

“Is that so? Very well, you started it. Don’t go crying to mommy when you lose.”

He’s visibly pleased to see that he’s successfully angered you. “Endo Yamato, by the way.”

“Boy, you won’t even remember your name by the time I’m done with you.”

And with that, you grab fistfuls of his black yukata and knee him straight in the gut.

Takiishi Chika isn’t sure what to think when Endo Yamato limps to him that afternoon, lip cut and cheeks bruised. He knows that for all the bullshit Endo spews out he would certainly get into real trouble someday, but he has always thought that Endo is not that bad of a fighter. A bad judge of character, yes, but not a bad fighter.

So why is he clutching his right arm and wincing in pain like he’s just got back from war?

“... what happened to you?”

Endo stops in front of him and winces again as he looks down at his arm. It is now sporting a bluish-purple bruise. He can’t even stand straight because his stomach is still pulsing uncomfortably. “That damned girl…”

“Girl?”

“From the damned dojo… the one I told you about yesterday…”

Takiishi hums in acknowledgement, recalling the same dojo Endo has been blabbing excitedly about. ‘Apparently,’ he had said, ‘it’s where the Furin guys go. And get this, get this, they practice with the owner’s daughter! Ha!’ he had snorted, ‘Bet I can beat her up in less than ten seconds, what a joke.’

Warily, Takiishi sweeps his gaze over Endo. The minor cuts on his face are probably from a sharp nail. The bleeding lip, a punch? The bruises are most probably from powerful punches. The way he is limping like that, he definitely got his footing sweeped. He blinks when Endo hunches over more; yup, definitely kneed in the gut. What a joke.

“Stronger than Umemiya?”

“More or less the same… I think.”

Takiishi has guessed as much, with the way Endo is struggling to speak. He doesn’t really care about avenging Endo, the weakling blabbermouth, but this girl he is speaking of is certainly interesting. He can feel his heart thrum in excitement. A girl as strong as Umemiya Hajime? Now that’s someone he should definitely meet.

“Aw, I missed all the fun stuff!” Hiragi Toma groans, holding his head in his hands. Your four friends have made it their life mission to tell the world about the showdown at the dojo yesterday, and now everyone at Furin High knows your name, your dojo, and how you kicked Endo Yamato’s irritating ass.

Kaji Ren offers you a lollipop, and you take it gratefully, unwrapping it before plopping it into your mouth. Your sides still hurt slightly from the harsh kick you received from the asshole, but you’re otherwise fine. You have expected Endo to be crazy strong, but once you one-upped him a bit, he instantly loses all rationality and ends up crumpled up beneath you. Pathetic ass.

“You okay? Does it still hurt? Ugh, how can I face your father now?!” Umemiya groans. You can tell from his face that he’s proud and satisfied of your victory, but also worried sick. It doesn’t help that your dad has made him the person in charge of looking after you. Something about you being a troublemaker who needs a reliable person to take care of you, and blah blah blah. Mostly, Umemiya is your childhood friend and he can be overprotective when he’s not handing you your ass at the dojo.

“Calm down, it’s just a small bruise.” Truth be told, it hurts a lot more than you let on. (As if you’d let your friends know that.)

“You need to take care of yourself more.” Great, now Kaji of all people is lecturing you too. You pout at him, about to make a snide comeback, before you bump into Sakura’s back. Noticing that Sakura and your friends have now stopped walking to look straight ahead, you peek from behind Sakura’s shoulders to see yet another stranger. 

In just one glance, you can tell that this person is a lot stronger than the weirdo who stormed your dojo. Standing just a few centimeters shorter than Umemiya, the golden-eyed boy is openly staring at you. His orange-red hair contrasts the dark attire he wears. Before anyone can say anything, he is already marching to your direction, a murderous aura heavy on the air. Sakura is the first to react, protectively shielding you from the other’s advances.

Your blood runs cold when he gets smacked away. Hard. Sakura stumbles, instantly supported by Suo and Nirei before he falls down. You snap your eyes to the stranger, anger flaring like a wildfire. “You’re the other one, aren’t you?” Halting his movements, he merely grins like a maniac at your question.

This time Umemiya is the one who steps in front of you, eyebrows knitted and lips pursed in a thin line. “Takiishi. What do you think you’re doing?” Kaji and Hiragi quickly move to shield you as well, shoulders squared.

The four guys are now having a staring showdown with neither of them backing down. But what they don’t realize is how furious you are. Sliding from behind Umemiya, you face this ‘Takiishi’. “You wanna get your ass handed to you like your little friend yesterday?” Despite Suo’s pleas to calm down, you press on. “Wait, are you here to avenge him?”

Your mocking laugh doesn’t affect him in the slightest. “He’s weak.” He simply states, and you did a double take at how nonchalant he sounds. “It’s too noisy. I’ll find you when you’re alone.” Without waiting for an answer, Takiishi leaves.

Scrunching up your nose, you merely smirk. “When I’m alone, huh? I’ll be waiting for you.”

By now, all your friends are giving you pleading looks for you to stop, but you’re too annoyed to care. You’ll deal with his cocky ass when the time comes, but right now you’re focused on making sure Sakura’s okay.

Takiishi keeps his promises when he saunters to you on a swelteringly hot afternoon. He still wears the same black jacket from before. Even with the jacket on, you can tell he has a muscular build. The calculated steps he takes are intimidating, too. He wastes no time for words, quickly throwing you a powerful punch.

You’re able to dodge it, but you’re not so lucky with his next strike. A jab to your sides in the same spot that Endo bruised. Grimacing in pain, you take a few steps back, mentally cursing at your carelessness.

This asshole doesn’t pull his punches.

Within a few moments into the fight, you can already tell that he’s much stronger than you. His long hair and long clothes don’t seem to hinder his movements because he keeps launching strike after strike, each one more agile than before. After taking a few too many punches, you’re now racking your brains trying to come up with tactics to destroy this guy. Unlike your stoic father, you’re comfortable with trying every dirty trick in the book if it means guaranteeing your victory. Real life is different from competitions, after all.

“What a waste.” You spit out after taking a few steps back to catch your breath. “Got a pretty face, but your personality is shit.” He’s visibly surprised and you seize the moment to land a powerhouse kick, effectively sending him stumbling. Grinning at your small victory, you continue. “Stop this nonsense and maybe I’ll let you take me out on a date, how about that?” Once again, he stiffens up, and you land another kick.

He seems to have finally learned his lesson, now glaring at you and fixing his stance. You giggle at his little frustration. “Aww, don’t pout like that, sweetheart. Just say you think I’m pretty and move on.”

“You’re pretty.” He nonchalantly says, and it’s your turn to be surprised. He instantly tackles you down, locking you with a death grip.

Words can’t describe how angry you are at being beaten with your own tactic. You manage to struggle free from his death grip, but he is still sitting on top of you. Realizing that his face is a little bit too close, you decide to take a gamble…

… and crash your lips into his.

Oh, he’s definitely surprised now, his posture laxing. You flip him on his back, your positions now reversed. Even when you pull away, he still stares up at you, arms at his sides. You try to gather his arms and pin it so you can pummel his face, but he won’t budge. For a second you debated on kissing him again, seeing how effective it renders him immobile, but he moves quicker.

He loops an arm behind your neck, bringing your face down before capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His long hair splays under his head like a halo, his eyes surprisingly closed. You yelp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, both of you now fighting for dominance under the hot sun.

There’s an indecipherable tension when the two of you pull away. “You’re mine now.” Takiishi unexpectedly says first, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tilt your head in defiance, a smirk on your lips. “Am I?”

Takiishi quickly learns that even though there is an undeniable spark between the two of you, you’re not someone he can tame easily. After kissing him hotly on the mouth, you had kicked him again in the exact same spot as before, grinning and telling him that it was payback. He wakes up the next morning with a purple bruise.

He still doesn’t understand why on earth he ends up chasing you around in the hopes of kissing you again instead of fighting you, but all he knows is that he beat up Endo for talking shit about you and he feels ready to burn the world down when he sees Umemiya sling an arm around you. Or when Suo makes you laugh with his jokes. Or when you take a lollipop from Kaji. Or when you baby the damn brat, Sakura.

For some reason, your friends don’t really care about him showing up anymore. Perhaps you told them that he’s harmless around you now, he doesn’t really care. All he wants is to feel that dizzying feeling again. He watches you go about your day, stirring up trouble and beating up bad guys on the street, laughing and running with your friends. And at nights, after a fun day of hanging out, you stride to him with a ravenous look in your eyes, pulling him by his collar to give him his reward. 

Endo tells him that you’re just using him, but he doesn’t mind.

“You,” Takiishi growls in between kisses, “are mine.” His jacket is thrown away somewhere, leaving him with his turtleneck. Your hand shoots forward to caress his face, and despite the alarm bells ringing in his head, he finds himself leaning into your touch. The moonlight shines down, illuminating your face with an ethereal glow. He watches you breathlessly, admiring his work on your neck. Seeing his bite marks there only fuels his possessiveness as he captures both your wrists and pins them on top of your head.  Even without saying anything, you’re able to rile him up this much… and you look so unaffected. It’s hardly fair. 

He leans down again, hearing you giggle. “Am I?” 

He feels a prick of irritation at your brattiness. He uses his free hand to wrap it around your throat, and you resisted the urge to laugh. He barely squeezes. “Oh, you’re choking me-” Faking a pained moan, your eyes light up in amusement when he immediately loosens his already-loose grip, his eyes widening in shock. Oh, what a cutie.

“Then stop annoying me.”

“Huh? You’re so mean to me, how do you expect me to like you back, huh?” Once again, you used your best sad face. You don’t think you’re a very good actress, but you know what they say: love is blind— and Takiishi Chika is blindly in love.

There’s a conflicted look in Takiishi’s eyes and you giggle again, craning your neck upwards. His hand is still around your throat when you peck his cheek. “Just kidding.”

Oh, you are going to be death of him.

Takiishi knows that you like him too. You had to be, with the way you tease and act around him, the way you instantly go to him the second you finish practice, sometimes still in your gi as he rips it off from you to mark your body again. Takiishi is certain that you like him too, so why..? Why do you insist on making him jealous? 

He watches from a distance, body coiled up like a spring, ready to pounce at Umemiya freaking Hajime who has his arms around your waist, guiding you down to sit. Suo is telling another one of his shitty jokes again, making you laugh like an angel, while Sakura is glued to your side like a baby, blushing everytime your hand grazes his’. He watches each interaction, fuming, with a silent Endo by his side.

He knows he’s being irrational. He’s not even your boyfriend, and you were supposed to be enemies. He thinks. He doesn’t really understand anything anymore. What he knows is how much he wants to beat up your friends, and how much he holds it back because he knows you will hate him for it. He doesn’t want you to hate him. Anything but that.

Umemiya whispers something in your ear, before lifting up his gaze to meet his own mockingly. You follow Umemiya’s gaze and tilt your head at him teasingly, as if the hickey on your neck wasn’t given by him the night before. He feels his breath getting hotter as Endo shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

But he knows how much you hate it when he storms in front of your friends, so he stills himself. He’ll get his reward later. He can wait. He takes out his phone to type a warning to you. Not that you usually care.

You’re mine.

He watches a smirk curl on your lips as you type a short reply.

Am I?

Meanwhile, you shudder in your seat at how intently Takiishi is watching you, his gaze practically boring holes into you. You force yourself to shift your attention to your friends again, who thinks that you managed to beat him up and now he won’t dare to disturb you. They have no idea that Takiishi has been taking special care of you almost every night now. You’re not ready to sort and come to terms with your feelings right now, not when Takiishi himself hasn’t even manned up and asked you out.

So you lean back into Umemiya’s embrace, laughing with Sakura, Suo and Nirei, talking about underrated songs with Kaji and Hiragi, snapping photos with Kiryu. You decide to make the best of the moment, because you know that you won’t be able to walk by the time Takiishi is done with you tonight.

NOTES : It’s here! (aka part 2 of my ‘get more people to join the Takiishi Chika nation’ agenda). Thank you for the ask, anon! You have no idea how excited I am to write a badass reader. The reader is written as a karate practitioner because that’s the only martial art I have experience with. Gosh after rereading this you can tell that this piece of writing holds a special place in my heart. This is written with love y’all. Anyway I have my own headcanon that the Wind Breaker boys must train at a dojo or a center somewhere, because there are only so many bad guys they can beat up, right? How else are they gonna get those EXP?! (Also, if you get that Tekken Chinmi reference, I LOVE YOU FOREVER!!)

[sweetvllain]

The base was quiet at night, the low hum of generators and the occasional distant chatter the only sounds breaking the stillness. Most soldiers were asleep or holed up in their barracks, but not you. You never did well with silence; it gave your mind too much time to think. And thinking wasn’t something you had the luxury of doing.

Tonight, however, you weren’t alone.

You didn’t know his name. Not his real one, at least. Everyone just called him Ghost. The infamous soldier with the skull mask and the piercing stare, the man who seemed more shadow than human. You’d heard stories about him long before you ever arrived at base, stories that bordered on myth. Some of them made him sound like a ghost, able to disappear and reappear at will, while others painted him as nothing short of a monster on the battlefield.

But you had learned early on not to believe every story you heard. Especially not about the man you’d come to know, the one who always seemed to be one step ahead of you, always watching from the edges of the room. You didn’t need to see his face to feel his eyes on you, the way they seemed to strip you down, revealing more than you were comfortable with.

It had started as a challenge. A way to test your skills against his. After all, Ghost had a reputation, and so did you. Both of you were the best at what you did—silent, lethal, ghosts in your own right. But the more time you spent in proximity, the more the lines blurred between professionalism and something else.

Something darker. Something you couldn’t name.

It was like a game—this constant back and forth, the unspoken tension that lingered between the two of you. You didn’t even know what he looked like under that mask. Hell, he didn’t know what you looked like either. You were both enigmas to each other, hiding behind layers of armor and aliases. And somehow, that only made the chase more intoxicating.

You leaned against the wall of the base’s hallway, your arms crossed over your chest as you stared out into the dimly lit corridor. The night shift was always the quietest, the least eventful. But tonight, you had a feeling that was about to change. It always did when Ghost was involved.

Footsteps—soft, deliberate—echoed down the hall. You didn’t move, didn’t flinch. You had been expecting him. The air shifted as he approached, the presence of someone so used to being unnoticed still somehow demanding attention.

“You’re out late,” his voice, low and gravelly, slipped through the quiet like a blade through flesh. He wasn’t standing too close, but you could feel him—his presence always loomed larger than life. The mask, the quiet way he spoke, it all added to the mystery. You’d never seen his face, but you’d imagined it more times than you cared to admit.

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, not turning to look at him just yet. You didn’t need to. You could sense him, the way his eyes tracked you from beneath that skull. “But then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from a ghost.”

A low chuckle followed, humorless and deep. “Seems like you’re always expecting me these days.”

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze—or what little you could see of it. The mask covered nearly everything, except his eyes. Dark, unreadable. You’d never been able to decipher them, no matter how hard you tried. Your eyes trailed over the rest of his tall frame, taking in the way the dark jeans wrapped around his muscular thighs, how the balaclava was still over his face, covered by a dark hood. He scoffed.

“Hard not to when you’re always around,” you said, your tone teasing, though there was an edge to it. This game the two of you played had become routine, yet it never felt old. The stakes were unspoken but ever-present. One of you would eventually break. The question was: who would it be first?

Ghost took a step closer, and you felt the air shift between you, growing thicker, heavier. The tension in the space was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. You could see it in the way he moved, deliberate, almost predatory, as if he were waiting for you to make the first move. It was part of the game—this back-and-forth, where neither of you gave too much away, yet hinted just enough to keep the other on edge.

“You think I don’t notice the way you watch me?” Ghost asked, his voice low but filled with something dark, something challenging. He was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body even through the armor both of you wore, close enough that the scent of gun oil and smoke clung to the air around him.

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down, even though your pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze. “You think I don’t notice how you’re always a step behind me?” You took a small step forward, bringing yourself even closer, almost daring him to close the gap between you. “Or are you afraid you might not be able to keep up?”

Ghost didn’t move, but you could feel the shift in his posture, the subtle tightening of his jaw under the mask. “Afraid?” he repeated, the word laced with disbelief. He leaned down slightly, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto yours. “You don’t know anything about fear. Not yet.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the air felt too thick to breathe. There was something dangerous in his voice, something that sent a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. The game was escalating, and you were ready to see where it would go.

“You talk a big game, Ghost,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I think you’re more afraid of what you might find under that mask than I am.”

That did it. The space between you evaporated in an instant as he closed the distance, his gloved hand reaching out to pin you against the wall behind you. The cold concrete pressed into your back, but it was the intensity in Ghost’s gaze that kept you frozen in place. His body hovered inches from yours, his breath warm and ragged, barely contained.

“Oh, you little..” He groaned, his eyes closing shut. You had never seen this man lose control, but it looked like he was holding on by a thread now. All because of you.

Just as you had opened your mouth to speak, you stumbled backwards. It had been a door that you were pushed up against. The bastard opened it. He held your arm, keeping you from falling. “Careful.” He hummed in that annoyingly husky voice of his, a smirk hiding beneath his face cover.

“Shit.” You huffed, getting your sense of balance back. His arm didn’t let go, though. Not yet. Another hum escaped his lips at the sight of you, in his grasp. A calloused hand of his wrapped around your neck, catching you off guard, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Look at you.” He grinned, his thumb slowly pushing your balaclava above your lips. Cherry red and plump. Fuck. He bets you taste like one, too. Why not find out?

He pulled his own mask up, revealing his mouth. A soft scar painted his top lip, running up his face and disappearing under the rest of his cover. You wanted nothing more than to feel it under your tongue.

His eyes were locked on yours, and for the first time, you saw something there that wasn’t just cold calculation. It was raw, unfiltered, like something inside him had finally slipped out. The air between you was uncomfortably thick.

“‘m gonna kiss you now, dolly.” And he did. He fucking did.

The kiss wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle. It was fierce and desperate, filled with everything you had both been holding back for far too long. His hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips crushing against yours with a need that mirrored your own. It was like you’d been waiting for this for what felt like forever, and now that it was happening, neither of you could hold back.

It was intoxicating—full of heat, raw and demanding. There was nothing hesitant about it, no question of whether this was the right thing to do. In this moment, with the world around you disappearing, it was the only thing that made sense.

You melted into him, your body pressing against his as his other hand found your waist, anchoring you to him. There was no more distance, no more space. It was just him and you, a collision of breath, heat, and want.

“May the gods forgive me for what I wanna do to you tonight.”

reblogs appreciated ^-^

[itstheghostofmypast]

Awake - (Maknae Line)

separate members Ateez x (F)Reader

Summary: You went to sleep after a HUGE (not really) fight, only, when you went to sleep you were alone, not in the comforting arms of your lover.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: None

Word Count: 9.5K

Est.Read Time: 47 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

Hyung Line: Here

A/N: A little update, this took forever- Also I no longer remember how to write a literature review, yet, it is due on Monday (fml) .I'll update my requests soon and upload the next chapter of Meow soon, too! (I AM SORRY SAN'S PART IS EXTREMELY LONG)

Choi San

“I…what?” you paused, looking up from the vacuum-packed pillow in your lap. Sitting at the center of his bed, surrounded by various items, you blinked at the man in the swivel chair.

“I said no, I'm not going to use or put any other pillows on my bed.” The beanie clad man spat back, crossing his arms over his chest, the black shirt clinging onto his form. An eerie silence settled between the two, neither making their next move, nor deciding to back down. 

The evening had started extremely well. Tonight she was going to spend the night at his place, for the first time ever, which is why she was extremely excited and nervous. The two had spent a week planning the various activities for Friday night. He had volunteered to arrange the movies and bring the gaming console to his room, thrilled when she told him she'd bring the skincare products, claiming the two could do facials and wear face masks! It got better when he asked if perhaps they could play board games to which she instantly agreed, adding - “Let's bake too! I'll get the ingredients!” 

Hence, as soon as you had entered his room, you had dumped the contents of your back on his bed, showing him the numerous facemasks, UNO cards, a board game, some hair accessories, makeup and an unhealthy amount of snack (yes, you were planning on doing cutesy couple things)  you had brought, the ingredients for the ‘special Friday night brownie’ on the computer desk beside him.  What you did not expect was for it to all go down hill once you took out the pillows.

“What’s that?” he asked, watching you pull a vacuumed white thing out of your bag, one after another. Placing them on his bed, before taking out two pillow covers. You smiled at him, before ripping off the seal of one of the pillows, pulling the plastic off, and watching as it fluffed up. “Pillows!” you smiled, “You only have one, the poor boy is all worn out, lumpy, and old, so I got two more! You can replace it with them!” looking at him, you pressed the cotton pillow, to show him, “They’re super soft and have memory foam, I got them, especially for your neck and shoulders!” 

You grabbed the second one and placed it on your lap when he spoke, “No.” 

“What?”

“I said no, I'm not going to use or put any other pillows on my bed.”

Blinking at him, you moved the sealed pillow aside and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him, trying not to push any of the multiple things you had brought off the bed. Feet pressing against the floor you looked up at him, hands on your knees, leaning closer, “Sannie…it’s just a pillow-” 

That was perhaps all it took for the mood to go sour, real quick. He had got up from his seat and marched towards her, causing her eyes to widen in surprise, especially when he had stood right above her, hands on his hips, saying something she’d never even imagined, before reaching beside her - though she had flinched when his hand came closer, something he had noticed but chose to ignore- grabbing his pillow and pulling back. He stared at her, not even sparing her a glance as he walked out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind him as he did so, his words still ringing in her ears as she blinked down at her hands, wondering what she had said, if she had done something to offend him, if she really was inconsiderate.

 “I didn’t know you could be so inconsiderate and spoiled- or maybe you’re just selfish.”

Honestly, you had thought of going after him, but you had never seen react like this- this uncharacteristic outburst was extremely new to you, the cold words thrown at you were worse, this wasn’t what you were used to. This wasn’t the same Sannie who would whisper sweet nothings in your ear when you were sad, this wasn’t the same Sannie who once came over when he found out you were sick, only leaving when you were asleep and well fed. This definitely wasn’t the same man who had taken hold of your heart, delicately placing it in his pocket- no, you really didn’t know who that was. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t go after him, at one point, you had thought of packing up and going home, but when you glanced at the clock 01.23 AM was not a very appropriate time to travel back home alone. With that you had neatly packed up everything but the essentials needed for your nightly routine,making sure all you’d have to do was change before leaving as soon as the sun woke up. 

You peaked out the door to find complete darkness, sighing in relief as you took your essentials and walked down the hall towards the washroom, passing by Seonghwa’s room, making sure to be quiet when you noticed the light peaking through from under the door. If you focused, you could make out Seonghwa’s muffled voice, though it was like he was talking to himself, or he was on the phone, but he did not sound pleased at all. Due to which you tried to rush through your routine, making sure to be as quiet as before, slowly closing the door, your breath hitching at the soft click, a hand gripping the door handle, while your palm pressed against the wood, trying to listen to any sounds of movements, luckily there was nothing. 

With a sigh you walked over to the mirror, grimacing at the sight, your new night suit was but a simple but a cute cotton outfit, a lavender camisole with a patching pair of loose fitted shorts, ensuring maximum comfort and well…it was supposed to ensure his liking as well. The mere thought of him squeezed your heart, wanting to go after him and sort it out- but no, you were a big girl and a smart one, no man could just say something so brash and throw a fit before leaving, not even the man who held your heart in his warm palm. 

You had assumed that these thoughts were going to consume and feed off your sleep, but boy, were you wrong, as soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light, off to dreaming about who knows what, but it was a pleasant dream, a very soft, warm and nice dream, maybe it was because of the new pillow, who knows- but it was a very life like dream, where you felt all fuzzy and secure, as if you were in a comforting hug, ones like he’d give you, a bit too…realistic. 

Though she only jerked awake at the feeling of something trailing up her spine, a small gasp breaking the silence, as she tried to move away, only to be pulled closer, a groan from above her head vibrating through her whole being. Oh. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, you tilted your head up, to the best of your ability, forcing the man’s chin off your head as he blinked down at you with droopy eyes, a sheepish pout, ever so visible even in the dim light. The thing trailing up your spine, was in fact, his fingers, his fingertips tracing your spine, in a soothing manner. Your own hand squeezed in between their bodies, trying to push him away but he didn't budge, only his palm pressed against the small of your back, trying to keep you near him.

“You don’t get to be mean, and assume a little skinship is gonna fix that.”

Your words were harsh, and your tone was even more harsh, but you wanted it to be, you wanted it to sting, enough for him to realise this wasn't a joke, he had ruined the entire night and the mood.

His grip loosened at your words, enough for you to slip away from you to move onto the other pillow, sighing at the cold sensation on your cheek, now at the same eye level as the moron who was on the other pillow- internally you wanted to be petty and snatch it from under his head, he didn't deserve it, but the sight of his mochi cheek smashed against the soft pillow had your inner girl squealing at at the sight.

“I…I've had this same pillow since my trainee days.” he mumbled, reaching behind him to pull out the lumpy, beat up, tired pillow and pulling it to his chest, hugging it closer, “I had it when I got picked…I had it when we went to Gangnam…when grandpa…passed and…well…I- did you think I was gonna...hurt you?” He whispered, referring to the way you had flinched, of course the guilt was eating him up, that's why he had gone to Seonghwa to talk about it- maybe he looked to scary for his own good, but hell, an angry Seonghwa was even more frightening, and that's whom he had to deal with.

With a deep breath you reached over and placed your hand on top of his hand, "It was...reflex...I knew you wouldn't...at least not physically," , noticing how his fingers gripped the pillow harder at contact, “Why…didn't you just…say that before?”

His breath hitched at your question, looking everywhere but at your face, the insecurities brewing inside as he chewed on his lower lip, unsure if he should answer you, what would you think about him if he told you? What if you find it weird, what if his insecurities and his past makes you question the worth of this relationshipz- he's not the boy he used to be, he's not sensitive or weak or-

“Sannie…” she whispered, slowly moving closer to him, her face on the same fluffy pillow he was on, the old pillow now squished between the two as she sighed, “You can tell me…” Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking the warm skin, trying fo coax whatever it was out of him. She was still upset, but, she'd never seen him this conflicted. 

“I just…” with a sigh he closed his eyes, thinking of what to say, only to end up blank. He opened his eyes to meet hers, mumbling, “Seonghwa yelled at me for what I said to you…he's right…I shouldn't have said that…I just…you don't really know…I mean I wasn't always…like this…this big or…manly or strong-” his grip on the pillow loosened, instead his arm wrapped around her, pulling her into him in one go, his lips curled into a small smile at her squeak, his pillow between the two, pressed to the max, “And when…you said its just a pillow I- I kind of…I mean its stupid but it scared me how I… if you were to realise I just grew bigger, I'm not that different, I'm still scared of bugs, I still hate vegetables and -”

“You really are a little dumb.” you cut him off, pressing a finger on his lips, to shush him, “I don't care if you're not all buff and big, I don't care if you were lanky and whiney- I just know you were San then and you are San now- as long as that big ol'heart of yours stays the same, I'm all yours.”

You felt his grip tighten around you, pressing your forehead against him as he relaxed against you, letting out a breath of relief. 

“Sure, these big boys add a great amount to your aura points though.” You giggled, patting his muscular arms, “A softie with big guns is all a girl wants~” you smiled at the way his face contorted in confusion, only to quickly press your lips against him, laughing at his surprised squeak. 

“I'll make it up to you…” he whispered,  finally feeling the exhaustion of the entire confession settling in, moving to remove the pillow from between them but she stopped him, surprising him yet again as she smiled at him, one that had his heart beat so loud that's all he could hear.

“I said don't use it as a pillow because your neck will hurt, but I never said throw away a part of yourself- plus its nice…smells like you.” her fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled his arm over the pillow and herself, snuggling closer to him, “You're lucky I was staying over for the whole weekend.”

With your head tucked under his chin, arm wrapped around him, smoothly rubbing his back, his wrapped around your waist, he sighed nuzzling into the new pillows, happy that they carried your scent more than his,  “Lucky to have you in my life.”

Song Mingi

Of course you were mad at him, how could you not be? He was supposed to come home by 6- he was supposed to spend the evening with you, have dinner with you, watch a movie with you, and spend your anniversary together. Well technically, it was your 6 month anniversary,  but hey, half a year meant something to you, and as much as you were mature and ‘a cold-hearted’ b*tch, as claimed by your male coworkers, you were just soft for the giant man child who somehow managed to thaw the glacier you had for a heart.

So, when you had texted him earlier today he had instantly replied with an excited confirmation, what you did not think that after that he wouldn’t respond to you. You tried calling too, but his phone went straight to voicemail, so you waited and waited and waited- until you got a little notification of a certain white haired man doing a live, one that wasn’t scheduled. Were you upset because he was doing his job? No. Were you upset he didn’t tell you? Yes. He should’ve been decent enough to at least text you that he was going to be late, that he had work- you’d never asked him to prioritise you over his work, you knew what you were getting into, and with your workaholic personality, he knew yours, which is why he should have known that you would have understood wherever he was coming from.

Naturally she was furious when he stepped into the apartment, though being Mingi, he had no clue what she was upset about, even after he saw the cold pizza, the melted candles and small gift that lay wrapped in glossy paper. Instead he had walked over to her with a smile, ready to hug her- wrong move.

"I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME!" 

Her voice boomed across the hall, followed by the echo of her slap resonated in the confines of his aching heart, staring down at her with utter shock, a whimper at the tip of his tongue, an apology right after but hey- this was Song Mingi, and using his actual emotional maturity was never his first move.

Hence the platinum blonde gasped, giving her an offended look and mumbling, "Why are you being so pissy? It's literally a pizza, not some homemade meal." He eyed the table before turning to her, though she looked as if she were about to explode- somewhere deep down he was kind of afraid, he’d never seen her this angry, she was often quite calm and composed, extremely reserved. That would explain why her reaction caught him off guard, especially when he tried to talk to her, tried to hold her hand so she’d stop leaving every damn room she walked into.

“Look, I have a job!!” he called out walking after her, into the kitchen, “You of all people should know that, I can’t just leave my fans because you wanna celebrate some made up event!”

“Its not made up Mingi!” you turned around and glared at him, “I- I asked you two days ago about this, I told you it meant something to me and- I just, I can’t believe you didn’t even think of texting me! What’s the difference between you and any other guy from my office if you can’t communicate properly!”

Granted, if he took a minute to process her words, but sometimes she was so complicated. Moreover, he knew what he got into once he began to chase after her for months, he knew what he was getting into when she directly told him about her issues and insecurities, her reserved attitude and persona, one that she often let go off when she was with her giant, lovable dummy. If he kept all those factors in mind, and just took a moment to think, he would have understood the premise of her argument, but he really didn’t want to, or perhaps he just didn’t take it seriously, either way, his next words were the reason for which he was back in his form, wondering why the hell he didn’t think of apologising like a normal person.

“They’re lucky because they don't have a Runik's cube for a girlfriend.”

That was all it took for the bomb to go off;

"GET YOUR FAKE GOJO LOOKIN ASS OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”

“W-what-” his question was cut off when she shoved him away, going to grab the nearest object which happened to be the very present she had spent most of her salary on, swinging it right at his face- screw his job. But the bastard was quick when he ducked and tried to get to her, only to get whacked in the head with a candle, “Babe-”

“I SAID LEAVE!” you yelled, staring at him through bleary eyes, trying to keep the whirlwind of emotions, taking a deep breath as you pointed towards the door, feeling the cold slither up your fingertips, choosing the words that would end it all, whoever said dating was fun, was wrong, you’d rather stay single than feel any similar form of pain, though you did feel like you should have the final say in this. It didnt matter that the tall man in front of you looked like he was fumbling with the pieces of your so called relationship, tripping over his words has he tried to sprout out an apology, “Leave, let me relieve you of this burden.”

For you, the conversation had ended there, especially when he was standing outside, not sparing him a moment as you slammed the door on his face. After that, like any San individual you had cleared up the table, initially thinking of throwing out the pizza, but then it hit you - “I work hard to earn too, its not just him.” So you kept that, threw away the candles and the other decorations (stabbed the balloons-naturally). Honestly, you didn't know where his gift went, probably smashed into pieces after it ‘boinked’ off his stupid, giant head. After that you had washed up (cried in the shower for about an hour or so), stumbled towards your bed and knocked out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The worst kind of ‘black-out’ sleep known to man, is what you endured that night, only to wake up when the fire alarm went off, fighting off the blankets, almost tumbling to your demise several times before entering the kitchen, coughing as the smoke entered your lungs. You opened the nearest window and turned around to bump into a softer form, arms wrapping around your form, before you were dragged out of the apartment and into the balcony, wheezing for your life, taking in as much clean air in one go as possible. 

Mingi rubbed her back in a circular motion, a hand holding onto hers, helping her sit down on one of the stools, pulling one closer and sitting right next to her as he held her hand, thinking of going back inside to get her water, though when he felt her squeeze his hand he face turned to meet hers, blinking at her stoic face. Damn, she’s still mad at him.

As soon as clarity hit, she had realised, this moron was back, not only that, it was still night out, so he had graciously trespassed into her apartment, set something on fire, almost killed her and then dragged her out on the balcony, of all the idiots she could’ve picked from to date, she chose the their leader.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was…trying to make you breakfast.”

“I told you its over-the hell? What time is it?”

She got up only to feel him tug her back down, this time onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist so she couldn’t escape, as she glared down at him, “Let go.”

“No…” shaking his head he buried his face in her neck, “ its 5 something, I…I’m sorry.” he whispered, feeling her stiffen in his hold, he knew a mere apology wouldn’t be enough, but he had to start somewhere, especially when he had gone back to the apartment and narrated the entire incident to his two bros- both thus throwing him back out, San adding an, “And don’t come back until you fix your mess, you ungrateful idiot.” Truthfully, he didn’t need to tell him that he had f*cked up, he was well aware of that fact, he just needed a push- that and he was terrified of her, he’d only seen her get angry at her coworkers when they’d mess up work, or that one time she got mad at a couple of highschoolers who thought kicking a puppy was fun, he’d never been the one at the receiving end of her wrath, until today. Perhaps that’s why he had assumed he was all forgiven, all safe, he had some form of immunity, thus, giving him the privilege of being mean to her- well, that theory was stupid. Wat made him assume he could just be mean to her because he felt like it? Since when was he, someone who knows what it felt like to be neglected, begin to neglect his own loved ones? She never fell in love with a man who was like this- what was he doing?

She was about to push him off, especially after he didn’t bother adding anything after his sorry, no explanation, nothing, only to stop when she felt something damp on her skin, realising that he in fact was not rocking them back and forth, but the man child was crying. 

“Dude…are you…crying?” she asked, gripping her shoulders as she pushed him away, earning a whine, as the bigger man tried to cover his face with his hands, “Song Mingi, what is wrong with you-”

“I’m sorry, okay!” his whimper had her freezing, eying his face, “I- I didn’t mean it! I don’t know why I said it, okay? It wasn’t cool and I-I know tha- I just- you’ve never, I mean- angry- upset because of me-” his words when she squeezed his cheeks, cupping his warm face, glaring down at him, frowning at the wetness.

“The Song Mingi I fell in love with was a softie- not a red flag like Gojo.”

He could only nod at her statement, fingers gripping onto her harder, cherishing the lack of past tense in her statement.

“Am I going to get him back, or is this the new you?”

She moved her hands to let him speak, only he pulled her flush against him, instinctively her arms wrapped around his shoulders, sighing when she felt his hold tighten. Her small squeak echoed in the quiet of the early morning, blending in with the soft symphony of the birds that had woken up before the sun, as he stood up, slowly walking back inside the apartment. With her legs wrapped around his waist, she blinked up at him, catching his little pout, only to sigh, as he carried her to her bedroom, only stopping at the edge of his bed.

“Can I…sleep with you?”

She hummed for a moment, biting her lip to hide her smile, when she noticed him frown at the time she was taking to answer his question, “What if I say no-SONG MINGI!”

He rolled his eyes at your little scream, he didn’t put his entire body weight on you, though, he did roll around until both of you were wrapped in a soft cocoon, with your back pressed against his warm, broad chest, his arm wrapped around you, as he shamelessly draped a heavy leg over yours. For a while, the two of you lay there silently, watching as the golden beams of the warm morning sun, sifted through the slits of the curtains, creating an luminous mosaic across the opposite wall, the song of the world waking up around you was slowly lulling you to sleep, and just when it became just right, he instantly broke the peaceful atmosphere, “Thank you for the ring.”

“Oh.” so it didnt vanish, he had taken it,

“Most welcome…”you whispered, trying to cling onto the strings of tranquility that were wrapped around you, “Did you take it before I threw you out?”

“Mhmm…is it…a couple ring?” he asked, though a moment later he got no response, causing him to peer down at her, and let out a chuckle, she had fallen asleep- she must’ve been tired, especially after all the stupid things he did yesterday, though his smile widened after his hand trailed down her arm, hand clasping hers, almost shivering with joy at the feeling of the cold metal on her finger.

Jung Wooyoung

Wooyoung had a sharp tongue, he knew that, the guys knew that, hell, you knew that too, but did that mean you were prepared for it? No, of course not, you were his little, itty-bitty, cute pookie- don't hate the name, hate the man who had bestowed it upon you. 

He gave you the name when you called him to your apartment for the first time, mind you, it wasn't what Wooyoung was expecting. The first time you had invited him over for the night had him rolling on the ground like a dog, his shy and quiet little girlfriend was willingly fueling his weird side, he couldn't wait to barge into her private space, ask her all sort of questions, learn more about her, tease her, test her limits, take in her reactions, in every sense; physical and psychological.

The moment she had opened the door and his eyes landed on her cotton baby pink shorts, he felt himself shiver with excitement, trying not to howl like a mad dog, scaring her away- though that entire fantasy was short lived when he realised by ‘sleep over’ she literally meant ‘sleep over’, like a …slumber party. So yes, that night they didn't do what he thought they would, but they did; give each other facials, watch a movie while wearing her newly bought sheet masks, paint each other’s nails (well he just made a mess of hers) and do each other's hair, honestly the night ended with him going straight to dreamland once she began to brush his hair, only waking up in the morning to find her snuggled with him, clinging onto him. He liked it, never thought he would, but the moment his eyes noticed the way she was gripping onto his shirt, his heart leaped with joy- it felt nice being loved like this, being needed. Hence, sleepovers like these had become a norm, so much so that sometimes she'd go over to his place unannounced, and surprise him with her little surprise sleepover, one he'd often love it. Instantly attacking her with unlimited smooches, hugging and squeezing her till the air in her lungs would run out. 

Unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights, in fact, when he had walked into his room, the sight of you actually irked him- unsure of why, but your shy smile and gentle eyes just had just made his blood boil. Perhaps it was the stress of the entire day, or the argument he had with San over something stupid, or how Mingi ate his chicken piece, or because Jongho kept on humming a silly tune even on the ride back home. The point is, he was not pleased, and like the love-struck puppy you were, you didn’t register his loud sigh or the way he dropped his bag on the floor, instead, you chose to slide his swivel chair to him, smiling up at him and reaching for his hand, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said before slipping his hand out of yours and going to his cupboard, all the while struggling to take off his sweatshirt and tossing it somewhere once he was done. He could hear the squeak of the wheel as he turned around and looked at you, taking in the way you were pouting at him, somewhere deep down he found you adorable, but on the surface, he really couldn’t deal with you right now- he just wanted to be alone. Moving around you, he went back out of the room, leaving you confused and a bit hurt. It wasn’t like Wooyoung to react like this, to completely leave you hanging. Sure, he had moments where his social battery would run out, when he’d just come to her apartment and lay on her bed, idly scrolling on his phone, just making enough space for her, when she’d come and lay with him, letting her snuggle into his while he continued doing what he was quietly, neither saying a word- but he had never ignored her.

He looked tired…like he was tired of her? Shaking your head at the thought, you instantly thought of ways to make him feel better, considering his flatmates were outside and he was still in the shower (probably), you looked around his room, you could tidy it up, and you did, and once you were done, you picked up his jacket to hang it in his cupboard only to frown at the mess inside; hang clothes, fold them neatly, align the shoes- as long as Youngie Is less stressed and feels better, that was your goal.

By the time you were done, it had already been an hour. You were hanging the last jacket when the man walked back in, staring at you with the same unreadable expression, completely ignoring your cute smile, watching as you closed the cupboard. You were about to ask him what was bothering him when he tossed the wet towel on the chair and walked out of the room again, but this time you trailed after him, asking him all sorts of questions, just to get him to finally say something.

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

He walked into the kitchen, you just followed.

“Did you take a rest between practice?”

“Yeah.”

He opened the fridge to take out last night’s pizza, well, this was it then, he turned around and almost cursed, she was standing there with a plate for him. He took it, mumbling a thanks, before putting it in the microwave. Standing there, arms crossed as he glared at the device to bloody hurry up. 

“How was the photoshoot?”

“Fine. Nothing new.”

“I brought face masks, wanna wear one later?”

“No.”

“Oh,okay …I got my bonus today.”

“Great.”

“Wanna spend it with me on cute things?”

“No.” he mumbled, “Invest it.” he sighed, before opening the microwave, taking the plate and turning around, only to sigh when he saw her holding a chair out for him, pouting when he frowned at her. Truth be told, he’d never reacted like this, she wasn’t sure what to do? He’d often match her energy- or ‘her freak’, as he’d say. Maybe being nice to him would make him feel better? She sat down on the chair beside him, facing him, though he just started to eat quietly, not really saying anything.

“You want some tea?”

“No.”

“Oh…” you mumbled, looking at your lap, taking a moment to think, before looking up at him, again, watching him take a bite, he was chewing quietly when you gently reached over to tuck some of the stray wet strands behind his ear- though he didn’t seem pleased, in fact, he just let out an irritated huff and turned his head to look at you. You quickly recoiled, mumbling an apology, new tactic, stay quiet, maybe just staying by him would make him feel better. Therefore, you watched him go about his business, watching him wash the plate and put it on the rack before going out of the kitchen.

He finally sat down in front of the TV, rubbing his aching neck, waiting for the damn thing to turn on when he felt the sofa dip, feeling her sitting close to him. He side eyed her before putting on a game, whatever, he’d watch the match on repeat. Hunched forward, elbows on his knees, frowning as he stared at the screen. Okay, so she said she wouldn’t touch him, but if he was in pain, maybe she could help out, massage his shoulders or neck? She moved closer to him, enough for her fingers to graze his arm, “Youngie… you need me to massage it?” 

“What I need is for you to not act like an attention deprived clingy girlfriend for a while.”

She froze at his words, slowly watching him get up and walk away mumbling something else about wanting to be left alone, or how he never had a moment of peace- honestly it didn’t matter anymore, his previous sentence had done enough damage. If he wanted to be left alone so be it, she was going to give him exactly what he wanted. Once she heard the door slam shut she sniffled, finally letting the fat tears roll down her flushed cheeks, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, his words kept repeating in her mind, over and over again. Without glancing at the time, she decided to go to the only place she'd be able to cry in peace, without giving him the satisfaction of the hurt of his words- that and she wanted to fulfil his wish,  she was going to give him some peace and quiet.

Slamming the door shut behind him he mumbled something about being smothered by her as he flopped down on the bed, turning to the side to face the wall as he huffed, closing his eyes. Moments passed but sleep was not something he was blessed with, instead he kept on tossing and turning, finally turning to other side, often her side, of the bed, glaring at it. Why wasn't she here? she’s the one who wanted to spend time with him, rudely showing up here unannounced,  interrupting his normal routine, talking away when he was eating, even offering to massage his neck. Was she a masseuse!? 

With a huff he sat up and glared around the room, spotting her pink small suitcase, neatly placed at the corner of the room. His eyes flickered to the desk, organised and clean. On it where a variety of neatly stacked face masks, some nail polishes and her makeup pouch. Sliding off the bed, he walked out of the room, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as he continued grumbling. Granted he was still annoyed but he did need her to sleep and- where was she? 

Confused, he looked around the living room, then walked into the kitchen, wondering if she was making tea. She was nowhere in sight. He made his was down the hall to look for her in the washroom, knocking when the door wouldn't open, “You in there?”

“Yes, now scram.”  

Ignoring Jongho he walked back into his room, perhaps she had gone back into the room- the panic was beginning to settle in as he slammed open the door to be met with a clean room. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Where did she go?! His panic began to morph into guilt once the memories of his behaviour with her began to play at the back of his mind. 

“Cupcake!?” 

Grabbing his phone he went through his contact, tapping on her contact ID 🧚‍♀Bby Gurl🧚‍♀️. He pressed the phone against his ear, chewing on his lower lip as he waited for her to pick up, but when he heard the muffled sound of her ringer coming from her PURSE!? Cue Wooyoung going into full panic mode as he ran to her purse, flipping it over on his desk, staring at the phone. Shit. Where did she go?! It was- oh hell no, it was 2 am. He wracked his brain for what could he have said, it was something mean, but truth be told he didn't remember- a toxic trait, he knows, and he's not proud of it, especially since he used it to hurt her.

Deciding it was time to find her, he opened his cupboard to take out a jacket, only to feel his gut clench…she had organised his cupboard too. What the hell Wooyoung? She wasn't your maid, she was only being nice to you! The image of her small frown flashed before his eyes as he zipped up his jacket. He grimaced at the thought of tone he had used with her, how he had ignored her when she tried to touch him, since when he was against skinship? Pulling the door open he came face to face with none other than-

“Mind telling me why I found her crying in the parking lot?”

“Hongjoong move I- What?” his eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he saw his girl standing there behind Hongjoong, staring at the ground with bloodshot eyes.

“I- HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!?”

You flinched at his tone, whining and hiding behind the man who had spent almost an hour trying to convince you to come back to the apartment. Hongjoong was parking his car when he saw someone sitting there on the concrete ground, next to a very familiar car. You hadn’t said much to him, only that you left your keys upstairs and if he could be kind enough to get them- he wasn’t an idiot, one look at your pink nose and puffy eyes, he knew this had Wooyoung written all over it. Hence, he had to spend an hour trying to convince you to at least come upstairs, it was already too late to go back home.

“Wooyoung.” the older one warned, eying his bandmate who could only sigh and nod, letting him know that his defences were down and he was no longer in the mood for hurting her in any manner, in fact, he wanted nothing more to apologize and beg for her forgiveness. Though, perhaps that’s not how Hongjoong saw it, for he let the girl go into her boyfriend’s room before closing the door so he could have a heart-to-heart talk with this moron.

Once the door closed you walked over to your makeup pouch, taking out your wet wipes and removing the mascara and makeup that had smeared because of all the crying. You quickly changed your clothes, glancing at the door every five seconds in case he was coming in, you were in no mood to talk to him. As soon as you were done you turned off the lights- yeah, you wanted him to trip and land on his stupidly handsome face- and jumped onto the bed, cocooning yourself in his blanket. No, you did not plan on sharing it, though the fact that you were now surrounded by him had a very paradoxical effect; on one hand, you were extremely furious at the man, wanting nothing more than to avoid him for the rest of your life, on the other hand, being surrounded by his being, in his sheets, made you feel safer, made you feel warmer, you liked it- you hated it- you liked it- you hated it- you loved him.

Yet, for some unforsaken reason, he thought shaking you awake from a blissful slumber would be a wonderful idea. As soon as Hongjoong was done with his lecture, he slipped back into the room to talk to her but found her asleep. A part of him wanted her to rest, especially when he removed the blanket from her face, sighing in guilt as he noticed how tired she looked, her brows furrowed even in her sleep- no, he wasn't going be one of those couples that went to bed after a fight. 

Her world shook as she gasped, hand grabbing whatever was shaking her, until she flung the hand off her shoulder and turned to the other side mumbling, “Stop it…I'm tired.”

“And I'm sorry.” 

You had heard him loud and clear, you even her the guilt in his tone, but did you care? No. you weren't going to be a clingy deprived girlfriend, so you did what he wanted, and ignored him as you closed your eyes again. Trying to ignore him when he apologised again, this type pressing his cheek against yours, rubbing it against yours, and throwing his leg over yours, basically laying half on top of you, “I really am sorry.”

With a huff you shoved him off and sat up, back against the headrest as you glared at him with your arms crossed, cheeks puffed out and- 

Oh my god, Wooyoung, she’s pouting. He internally screamed, taking in your droopy eyes, your puffed out rosy cheeks and the way you were pouting- his cutie really was something. He tried to reach for your cheek but you slapped his hand away, causing him to yelp and frown, “I am apologising here.”

“Don’t talk to me, you’re horrible and mean! I just wanna go to sleep, stop pretending you like me!”

Horrible and mean…well, he’s heard worse, so he’d take it. He was mean to you, incredibly mean, and his attitude towards you was horrible. You were right about that, but  you were terribly wrong about the last part. Extremely wrong, if he says so himself. 

He looked at her intently, almost too intently, and he figured out he’d been giving her the ‘I’m a bastard’ stare when her form, faltered, her eyes began to water, as she bit her lip and broke the stare off, instead, dipping her head in shame like she was the one who was at fault here. Man, what was wrong with him today?

Her grip tightened on the cotton, pulling the blanket closer as if it were to bring her some form of comfort, if he wanted to break up with her that was fine, she just never thought her first break-up would be this nasty. She had mentioned a few times to him how this was her first relationship and although he seemed a bit hesitant, he had explained to her how his job made certain normal couple activities difficult for him sometimes, and if she’d want their relationship to flourish, she’d have to accept this fact. And she did, everything was fine, it was all going well, then what could she have possibly done for him to lash out at her like that? Maybe she was never cut out for this-

“That’s not true…” he whispered, placing his hands on hers, slowly unclenching her fists, his grip tightening on her hands when he heard her whimper, frowning at the way she hiccupped an apology again, looking up at him this time, as if she were trying to cling onto something that had slipped through her fingers. “That’s not true…and that’s not right,” with a heavy sigh he pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, manoeuvring them, till he was in her position, and now she was on his lap, arms around his neck, clinging onto him, dampening his shirt as loud sobs wracked through her petite frame, mumbling nonsense that he couldn’t interpret, “And…I’m sorry I made you think like that today.” Gently, he pressed his lips against her head, rubbing her back in a soothing motion, slowly giving her a squeeze every so often, pulling her closer, if possible. By the time she had calmed down, a bit, he slowly pushed her off his chest so he could look at her, but she never met his gaze, causing him to gently grip her chin, making her look up at him, “Hey…don’t look away,” he smiled at her, “Don’t hide that pretty face from me.” His smile faltered when he noticed her lower lip tremble, sighing as he cupped her face with both hands, “I am truly, extremely sorry for what I did and said today,” leaning closer he pressed his lips against her forehead, “Nothing I said or did today was triggered because of you being here- there is no explanation for my behaviour other than the fact that I handled my emotions poorly, and took it all out on that one person,” he paused to give her a smile, especially when he felt her grip tighten on his shirt, “the only person, who is concerned about my wellbeing and livelihood, and wants nothing but my love in return.”

“Woo…” she sniffed, pouting at him as she tugged on his shirt, “What made you so upset today?” 

He could chuckle at the way she was still worried about him, of course, leave it to his little love bug to be more concerned about ‘why’ he did what he did, just as soon as he apologises. Shaking his head in disbelief he booped her nose, shrugging, “Never mind that, do you want something to eat? I’ll whip up something real good, an apology feast for my lovely pookie.” His laugh bounced off the walls of his room once he noticed her visibly cringing at the nickname, “No? Well, how about I make sweet love to you, enough to have you screaming for more-” her hands clasped over his mouth, muffling his stupidity as she sighed in relief, resting her forehead against and closing her eyes to recover from the blush. 

When she felt him tap her waist she moved her hands and sighed, “Just hold me close.”

“Well, don’t need to ask me twice.” Wooyoung declared before pushing her off him cackling when he heard her squeak, wiggling her eyebrows at her, admiring how she almost bounced on his bed, before laying down, pulling her closer. His smile widened when she snuggled into him, gripping onto the back of his shirt, before her lips gently pressed against his skin, admiring the warmth, basking in his presence. He pulled up the blanket, covering them both, before placing his chin on top of her head, sighing in relief, trying to rid of the bad memories of the day. Letting the tranquil love envelope the two, enjoying just being there…that is until a soft whisper broke the silence, followed by another;

“Make it up to me tomorrow.”

“I’ll make it up to you for the rest of your life”

Choi Jongho

Okay, yes, he was a bastard, he was well aware of that, but right now, the charming man had something else on his mind. What you ask, oh its simple, it was the same question almost every guy in the world had, the same dilemma every man in the world suffers through, an event every man self-induces; the, ‘How do I make my girlfriend feel better after I brought up her insecurities’. Now, one may wonder, what did this sweet little lad do? How could he possibly manage to upset his girl, his daisy, his lover, his sweety- well, it all started when he came down with a little cold, and the dictator Kim Hongjoong banned him from the studio and the dorm, which meant there would be no one acting at his every whim, hence, the little lad had to go to the next best thing, go to the only person who made his heart flutter like he just devoured some mentos after chugging a cola- his girlfriend.

It all started fine, with you opening the door, ready to go for a nightly jog when you saw your cute boy standing at the door, with his nose all pink and stuffy and his pout making your heart clench. Next thing he knew he was pulled inside and tucked into your fluffy, soft bed, being taken care of like there was no tomorrow. You were kind and sweet and ever caring, you’d always been like that, even before the two had started dating. 

You were so kind to him that you actually had the poor boy chasing you for almost a year. Now why is that one may wonder, simple, you were older than him- two years to be precise. The two of you had met by complete accident, you were out for your nightly jog and you had somehow managed to trip on the cracked footpath. Honestly you had thought no one was around so you hobbled to the nearest bench, trying to untie your shoe, when you heard someone clear their throat, causing you to freeze. He was big, you could tell and it wasn't just because of that hoodie and cap or mask- no, he looked borderline threatening. With an audible gulp you whispered, “Y-yes?” 

“Do you need help with that?” He asked, lowering his mask a bit and standing up before crouching next to your foot, causing you to flinch and shake your head but he was already slipping it off your foot, trying to not react to your bright yellow, Pikachu themed sock.

“You should be careful” he mumbled, inspecting the damage, “I think you just sprained it, if you want I could take you to an ER near by-”

“No thank you!” You cut him off, he was cute, there was no doubt in that, he looked sweet but hey, he was a guy and he was a guy who looked big enough to kill yo-

“My name's Jongho.” He sighed, and looked around, before sitting next to her, “And you are, strange nighters jogger?”

You blinked at him and sighed out your name, before mumbling, “What's an Ateez member doing out here in the middle of the night?” 

His blood ran cold at the mention of his band, causing him to slowly side eye her, though she looked as composed as ever, like she had just talked about the weather.

“I…uh-”

“Don't worry,” she mumbled, before sitting straight and stretching her, “Okay, I'm gonna go now.”

“Let me help you out.”

Honestly, the words had left him sooner than he could process them, his body had moved on its own, and in a matter of minutes she found herself sitting in an apartment she had never dreamt of before too, pressing an ice pack on her ankle, listening to Jongho and another man, Hongjoong battle it out.

“I’m sorry, but a random stranger?”

“Technically I see her jogging every day- or well at night.”

“So??”

“Technically she’s hurt.”

“Technically, Choi Jongho this isn’t a hospital.”

“Technically, it's rude to discuss someone in front of them, pretending they can’t hear you.”

That had led the older man to apologise and leave  them alone. That very statement had led Jongho to believe that he had found someone who could ‘match his freak’. So, after a year of jogging with her, he had finally managed to woo her. He liked their dynamic, he was the eldest in his home, he was bossy and of course mature, hence, he had assumed he’d prefer someone younger than him, someone more timid and shy, someone who’d be impressed by him- though the only thing she was severely impressed with was his potential to snap several apples in half, which was great, because she loved eating apples and he loved snapping them in half- he loved you.

Then, how come, you were now sitting on the same bench, where you had met the moron, questioning  your entire relationship- oh yeah, because when you forced him to drink his soup so he’d get better quicker, he decided to be a brat and snap at her;

“If I wanted to be coddled, I would’ve gone to my mom, you’re older, but not that old.”

Sure, leave it to Choi Jongho to bring up your insecurities because- well, not really, Jongho was often very sweet and considerate, he was attentive and mindful of both his actions, and his words, so if he had decided to let out something so bitter and rude, it really did mean he was sick. But did that make it any better? Did that mean he could just bring up something they’d discuss in the late hours of the night, alone with one another, surrounded by one another, vulnerable to one another. It was during these hours he had confessed how he was afraid she’d leave him for someone older, smarter, more mature, only for his whispers to turn into a snort when she told him how she was afraid that he’d leave her for someone younger than him, someone sweeter, and cuter, more shy and more timid. The two had slept better that night, snuggled up against each other, she loved how he had held her tighter than night, he had loved how she had let them sleep in the next morning, only to spend a few more minutes together.

So, no, he could not just say whatever he wanted because he was sick-

“You wanna get sick too?”

She flinched at the question, before letting out a small sigh at the familiarity of the voice, though she never turned to look at him, instead decided to leave. 

He turned to glance at you when you had ignored him, only for him to panic when you stood up to leave, instinctively reaching over and gripping your wrist he met your cold glare. For once he felt as if being cute was not going to make the cut, that you were not going to ‘act mature’ or ‘overtly understanding’, for once, he was scared. Though his grip never faltered, instead, you heard a meek, “Please,” so soft that if the world around the two of you was not deathly silent, you would’ve missed it. With a sigh you sat back down, but kept your distance, choosing to stare at the empty park, rather than looking at your lover, who was scooting closer to you. You let him, you let him, till his arm brushed against yours, the two of you staring at the empty park together, both waiting for the other to speak- technically you were waiting for an apology, while he was waiting for you to give him the signal to speak, he was too afraid to say anything else which could be more stupid than his last statement.

So, like a pair of fools, the two of you sat there, out in the cold, silently, for god knows how long. Honestly, you were surprised with his patience sometimes, you were also a bit disappointed he chose not to speak, but then again since when was speaking about your feelings his or your strongest trait- oh shit.You gasped when you felt his head drop on your shoulder, suddenly turning to the man, cupping his cold cheeks, as you shook him, “Jongho? Jong? Jongho wake up, come on, this isn’t funny- shit.”

.

With a groan he turned to his side, snuggling closer to the source of the warmth- oh he was back in his bed. HE WAS BACK IN HIS BED?? Sitting up he looked around in the dimly lit room, noting how the door was slightly open, deciding to go outside to look for her when she walked in holding a tray, eying him before mumbling something about laying back down. Honestly, it was difficult for him to process whatever she was saying next…he remembered fainting, well, actually he felt sleepy so he had just closed his eyes for a moment, and right now, he was more amazed by the sheer physical strength this woman possessed. Lord forgive if she were to smack him, he would’ve needed facial reconstructive surgery.

You placed the tray on the nightstand, and turned to him, helping him sit up against the headboard, before checking his temperature with the back of your hand, “You fainted…I called Hongjoong, who then called San…apparently you’re very difficult to carry.” You mumbled, moving to grab the tray, placing it on his lap, “Chicken soup, will help with the congestion and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be.”

He blinked at her and nodded slowly before looking at the soup and staring at it, a moment had slipped before he chuckled, turning to look at her, admiring how she was now sitting on her side of the bed, facing him, “I thought you carried me here- was so scared if you were actually to smack me, I’d pass away.”

“Is this your way of apologising to me? Maybe I should be looking for guys my age or older” you frowned, only to end up snorting when you saw his eyes widen in fear, taking in the way he had stopped eating, staring at you like he was about to explode. Honestly, you wanted to let it simmer for a while, but when he whispered out your name, the way his voice cracked had you sighing in defeat, moving the tray off him and placing it at a safe distance, before you were tackled by him. His arms tightened around you, face buried in your neck as he mumbled something, which you couldn’t make out, but you presumed it was an apology, considering how your neck felt wet- oh no he was crying- well, didn’t mean to take it that far. Gently patting his head you slid down into the sheets, taking him with you, though he didn’t really do anything but hold you closer, his little sniffles making your heart ache.

“It was a joke…” sighing you kissed the top of his head, “I didn’t mean it…but at least now you know how I felt.” 

He pulled back a little to glare at you, “It’s not funny, you can pull anyone you want, I only managed to date you because you tripped.”

“That’s because I fell for you, baby bear-hey!”

“And the moment is gone.” he mumbled, pushing her away and laying on his back, clearing his throat, “Got more sick after that pick up line,” he felt her snuggle next to him as he smiled with his eyes closed, “Even more gross how I like it.”

“You like being sick?”

“Only if it means spending time with you.”

“Oh good, because my head hurts and I can feel the flu comin’ up.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to treat my lady right.”

Taglist: @edenesth @skteezcursed @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

[sometimesanalice]

Leave a Light On {vol. i}

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all! This will be a 2-part series.)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s. 

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy. 

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.  

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.  

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 2: Roleplay - Ghostface!Steve Harrington

Summary: It had been your idea to dress up for Halloween as characters from Scream but what happens when you forget it’s Steve under the mask.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, consensual non-consent (CNC), roleplay, fear play, mask kink, being chased, discussion of safe words, groping, fingering, edging, hair pulling, rough sex, hand over mouth, creampie

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“I think I'm getting old”, came the frustrated grumble from your tired, fussy boyfriend Steve Harrington. His words weren’t boisterous as he muttered them under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at the costume laid out for him on the bed.

Not reacting to him immediately, you continue applying the eyeshadow to your eyelid, smiling as you peeked at him in the mirror, his hands resting on his hips. Biting your lip to refrain from grinning or laughing, you innocently asked, “Why’s that Stevie?”

“Because I don’t want to go to this stupid party! I just wanna stay in and watch movies”. Steve began running his fingers through his recently washed hair, the ends curling gently over the tips of his shoulders but fluffy in texture as he had yet to style it with spray and gel.

You placed your brush on the dressing table and gave him your full attention in the mirror's reflection. “It's not a stupid party; it’s a Halloween party! There’s a difference”, you say enthusiastically to try and perk up his spirits. Steve continued to look down at the bed, only raising an eyebrow in a half-ass attempt at showing his excitement, so you turned on your stool, facing directly towards him. Sighing forcefully, you stood and approached with long, sweeping steps. “Come on! It’s only this one party, and then we can stay in for the rest of the year!” Trying to use all your manipulative tactics to sweeten him up. Fluttering your eyelashes up at him, your arms circled his waist, lifting his strong arms to settle over your shoulders.

Steve finally managed to tear his gaze away from the costume and towards you, but only so he could dramatically pout out his full bottom lip, his long, thick eyelashes curling up and nearly stroking his eyebrows as you melted into his warm coffee-coloured eyes. He was so handsome, and he didn’t even have to try.

Your nimble fingers slid beneath his shirt to feel the soft skin of his hips as you continued to try and elevate his excitement, “It’ll be fine, Steve, I promise”. Lifting onto your tiptoes, you captured his pouted lips with a brief, sweet kiss.

“It’s just not the same as they used to be. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive us there so it’ll save us some time to get back home again?” Steve asked as his hands smoothed over your bare shoulders, pulling you flush against his body and his warmth seeping into your skin.

You pulled away a step to give him a deadpan look, “It’s only a block away. I’m sure you’ll survive, and anyway, if you hate it, we can leave at any point”.

“Promise?”

“I promise, but we are still going. I’ve spent way too much money on the costumes to let them go to waste”, you explain whilst pulling out of his hold and sitting back in front of the mirror to continue finishing your makeup.

Steve’s attention returned to his costume, picking up the black cloak and white mask and holding it out in front of him. “Ok, I can take a quick guess as to who I’m dressing up as, but who are you supposed to be?”

You were still in your underwear, but to show him who you meant, you quickly flicked on the shoulder-length blonde wig and turned to him. “I’m Casey Becker, you know, Drew Barrymore, the girl that got killed at the start of Scream. I’m her after your Ghostface character kills me”, you explain whilst pointing to the wool cream jumper covered in splotches of deep red fake blood to match the stains on your neck and chest.

“Right”, Steve mutters before chewing on his lip, fingers once more returning to stroke through his hair before he reluctantly moves to the bathroom to continue getting ready, costume in hand.

You smiled triumphantly to yourself and continued getting ready, dressed in the simple jeans and once-cream jumper now decorated with fake stab wounds.

Waiting impatiently for Steve, with your arms crossed and foot tapping on the floor, you gently knocked on the bathroom door, asking, “You ready in there, Ghostface?”

As if he was waiting for you, the door swung open almost immediately, making you jump back on instinct, but the sight before you caused a deep warmth to flush through your body. The white scream mask was resting on the top of his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes so you could still see his face, but seeing Steve in the black cloak was doing something erotic to your body; you knew this outfit would be the right decision. 

Steve's mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but he noticed how you shifted your weight from one foot to another, watching your eyes unfocus as they travelled up the length of his lean body, and he knew that you were becoming aroused. Confidence pumped through his veins as his spine straightened so he could pump his chest out slightly before casually leaning against the door frame, his ankle crossed over the other.

“Let me guess, you’re into this? You little freak”, he trailed off as he visually inspected your costume. Even though it wasn’t revealing anyway, his pupils expanded as he bit his lip hungrily.

Blinking quickly and shaking your head, you tried to snap your attention back to him and not all of the nasty thoughts of him wearing this costume whilst pleasuring you. Glancing away from him, you tried to remain casual and calm, “I don’t know what you mean, Harrington. Come on, let’s go, we’re already late”.

The two of you walked in the moonlight, the streetlights blinking from being faulty, but that didn’t stop the two of you from swinging your clasped hands between your bodies. Steve still had his mask pushed up onto his head so that he could watch his step and still look towards you and his vision not be distorted.

“So what is it that you like? Is it the violence? The costume? The evilness? The murder”, he extended the last word as he dipped his face and knocked his forehead against your cheek as you pushed him away laughing.

You didn’t answer him, but he was sure to have noticed how warm your face was and the unsubtle looks you were giving him from the corner of your eye. To be frank, you were near enough drooling over him in the slash killer costume. You weren’t sure what it was; maybe you were falling into the fantasy, knowing the character was a psycho killer but had your beautiful boyfriend's face, knowing he wouldn’t hurt you but still looked scary and murderous.

Steve continued talking, not phased by your silence, “Maybe I should wear this costume when we get home, especially as it’s getting you so hot and bothered. I haven’t seen you like this since I was in my scoops ahoy sailors outfit”. His sizeable, warm hand squeezed yours to show he was teasing as his shoulder bumped into yours.

“Will you stop it? We’re nearly there, and then you can go and annoy someone else”, you say matter-of-factly.

Steve scoffs, “Why would I want to do that when I seem to be doing such a good job of annoying you?”. Without missing a beat, he released your hand, but only so he could wrap his arms around your waist to spin you around on the spot, causing you to scream out and kick your legs to try and make him put you down.

“Steve, stop!” you laughed despite the harshness of your tone. Thankfully, when he finally placed you back onto your two feet, he kissed your lips, then returned to holding your hand and tugging you along for the rest of the journey towards the party.

Once the two of you had arrived, he kept his mask down, which was where you became even more confused and momentarily forgot that it was Steve and not a random guy. Especially as he kept quietly stalking up next to you, and after a few times of you jumping in freight, he found his new favourite game for the night; the drinking and the dancing were not his priority with his plans for the night.

Steve even managed to sneak into the bathroom as he overheard you saying to Robin that you were about to go and use it. He hid behind the shower curtain, waiting for you to use the toilet before sliding behind your warm body as you washed your hands, his hands caging around you, forcing your hips into the countertop.

You screamed in fright as his mask hovered close to the shell of your ear. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” he asked, trying to use a low voice to copy the movie.

For a second, you forgot it was Steve, the thumping from your heart showing your anxiety until it all returned to you. Glaring at him in the mirror whilst clutching your chest, you chastised him, “Steve! You scared the fucking shit out of me, stop doing that!”

Steve only laughed at your reaction, loosening his hold around you enough that you could turn in his arms and push up his mask to see his hair wet from sweat sticking to his forehead and a broad smile across his handsome face.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you; it’s only me! Anyway, I don’t know why you keep freaking out; you’re the one who wanted me to wear this outfit”.

You were about to continue telling him off when he cut you off with a simple press of his lips against yours, lingering for a second and capturing your breath before pulling away, his lids heavy as he stared at the area where you were both just connected. He always knew how to win you around again, and you instantly found yourself forgiving him for the jump scare.

Gently you shoved his chest before gripping a handful of the black cloak, mumbling, “Asshole, I thought we were supposed to be a team”.

Steve’s gloved fingers tipped your chin so you’re forced to look up at him as he gave you a condescending head tilt. “Aww, you don’t have to be scared of me, Princess. I won’t hurt you. Unless that’s what you want, hmm?” his voice lowered as he pushed his body further against yours, his chest brushing against yours as his face dropped closer. He was so close that you could smell the beer on his breath, and you were entirely ready to fall into whatever he had planned, which, with the look he was giving you, was something naughty.

However, all of your hopes and dreams for having a quick fuck were destroyed as Steve dramatically bellowed, “Maybe I’ll gut you like a fish! Blah”, he began to act out, stabbing your stomach with the retractable plastic knife that was a part of the costume.

A heavy sigh left your mouth as you rolled your eyes, pushing past him as he pretended blood was spurting out of your middle, mimicking actions and being his usual goofy self. Usually, you’d be laughing with him. Still, damn, you were distracted and highly hopeful for the other things you had planned, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t gone through with them, especially as you were only seconds away from sinking to your knees and submitting to him.

The party continued for a few more hours, and Steve was more than ready to leave; having stopped drinking at midnight, he was getting to the end of his social battery. You were, too, so the two of you, thankfully, exited the silent streets hand in hand. You looked significantly different from when you’d arrived; the wig was missing as others had been trying it on, and now, it had disappeared, and the make-up and fake blood had mostly sweated off from your brief stints of dancing.

On the other hand, Steve still looked effortlessly beautiful, with his outfit still looking the same, but you were sure he must have been sweating under the thick, dark material.

Halfway home, your steps were abruptly halted as Steve stopped, patting over his clothes, looking for something, and cursing loudly when he couldn’t find it. “Shit, fuck! I left the keys at the party!”

“What! Steve, I’m not walking back there. Why did you even take them out of your pocket?!” you rub your tired eyes, frustrated and adamant that you wouldn’t walk the small distance back to the party.

Steve gave you an apologetic smile, and his lips pressed together firmly. “I’m sorry, babe, I’ll only be a minute; just wait here.” He turned and began jogging back to the party, around the corner and out of your sight.

Standing in the quiet Halloween night, the chill from the autumnal breeze ran more profound than just your skin as you became instantly unnerved by being on your own as the streetlamp at the end of the street continued to flick on and off. Rubbing your hands up and down your arms to try and keep yourself warm, you quietly whispered to yourself for Steve to hurry up, wanting nothing more than to be in bed with his arms wrapped around you.

“Come on, Stevie”, you pleaded under your breath, the warmth of it fogging in the air in front of your face. Dancing on the spot slightly, you moved your numbing fingers down your sides to slide them into your back pockets to steal some heat, but then they were interrupted by the cool metal of your door keys. “Shit!” you fumed, not remembering that you’d had the keys on you the entire time, and Steve didn’t forget them and had made a wasted trip.

Staring in the direction he’d left again, you internally cursed yourself, knowing that Steve would return pissed off and irritable with you. Deciding that it would probably save some time if you also returned to the party to find Steve, you took a single step back down the street, but a branch crack splintered through the air. Your head twisted toward the noise, but all you could see were twisting, endless shadows that even the occasional flash of the street light couldn’t illuminate.

Taking a deep breath to try and steady the nerves that were tremouring through your body, enough so that you clasped your fingers together to see if that would cease the movements. Maybe you were paranoid, but you could have sworn someone was watching. You wouldn’t even say it was paranoia anymore as you were sure someone was watching because the hairs along your arms and the back of your neck stood on end.

MybMaybe was just some drunken kids from the party or someone in one of the homes that lined the streets looking out of the window to see who was standing on the sidewalk. However, you couldn’t spot any curtains opening or see any drunken person stumbling with their steps.

You weren’t sure what to do; usually, when you felt uncomfortable or frightened, you would be with Steve, and he’d do anything to pull you out of the situation. You could run back to your home, but then you’d be there all by yourself, and then what would happen when Steve left the party to find that you weren’t waiting for him anymore? Maybe you could go back towards the party and meet Steve, but that also meant you’d be walking past the area where the loud noise had come from.

“Is anyone there?!” you shouted in the general direction of the noise, hoping it would draw people's attention or frighten off whoever was there.

“Don’t you watch scary movies? You’re never supposed to shout who’s there”. Out of the shadows creeped Ghostface, his mask down and the plastic knife in his gloved hand at his side.

Thankfully, for once, due to your body being on high alert, you instantly remembered that this was Steve and not a stranger and recognised his voice, which had been challenging to do at the party.

Clutching your chest, you sucked in a greedy breath, “Steve! You fucking scared me. Why the hell would you do that?” Steve didn’t respond. He just casually strolled forward, almost swaggering with his steps, masked head tilted slightly. Trying to calm your pounding heart, you nervously pulled the keys out of your back pocket to show him, I’ve got the keys. I’m sorry, I didn’t even know I had them in my jeans pockets”. You rambled on, the nerves continuing to take over your body as he didn’t say anything, just taking step after step towards you.

The keys in your hand rattled from your shakes, and finally, instinct took over as you took a giant step backwards, away from Steve. Your thoughts were all over the place. This was Steve; you could tell by the height and build, and it had been his voice that had spoken/ However, the way he was walking towards you like he was searching for his prey, his next victim, the thrill of it all gave you the wrong reaction, despite your fear, you were getting turned on by it.

Warmth bloomed in the apples of your cheeks that spread through your chest and deep into your abdomen, nipples pebbling beneath your jumper and rubbing against the inside of your bra. With each step that Steve took forward, you’d take one backwards, a game of cat and mouse ensuring. 

A moment of silence passed, the two of you just staring at one another, until he lifted his fake knife and your eyes were drawn to this as he drawled, “Aren’t you going to run, Princess?”

It was an automatic response, the flight or fight intuition kicking in as you immediately ran. You ran like there was an actual killer after you, adrenaline and fear pulsing through your veins that helped keep your instincts on high alert as you ran toward your home. Even though your home wasn’t far away, it still felt like an eternity of running, the muscles straining and chest burning from sucking cold air desperately as you finally collided with your front door.

You’d been unable to hear Steve close behind you, but you didn’t waste any time, fingers trembling as you pressed the key into the lock and turned, rushing inside, slamming the door closed, and flicking the lock.

You waited, listening and waiting for him to bang on the door, but only silence greeted you from outside and the thumping of your terrified heart and heavy breaths in your ear. Steve didn’t turn up; even as you looked through the door's peephole, he still wasn’t there, so you took a few steps away, frowning in confusion.

Then it dawned on you. The back door. The back door, where Steve knew where the keys were hidden in the plant pot.

Spinning quickly, your sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor as you’d intended to run to the back door to check it was still closed, but a prominent dark figure blocked your route. Once again, you knew it was Steve, even from how he was breathing heavily, the outline of his broader form and the faint smell of his aftershave that you could smell now that he was closer.

You weren’t entirely sure how far he wanted to go with this playing around, but you were not going to ruin the moment and willing to see just what Steve had in mind.

Taking a shaky step backwards away from the figure, you lifted your hands, palms up in defeat. “My boyfriend will be home soon, and he’s big; he’ll kick your ass”, your voice wobbled, which was half put on by you but also a little bit truthful with the anticipation.

Ghostface chuckled lowly, his head tilting, and the dominance and lure of the sight had your insides clenching with need. 

“Oh, your boyfriend won’t be helping you tonight. No one will”, Steve stated confidently and didn’t give you any warning before he bolted forward. The rush caused you to jump and scream, turning and running in the opposite direction, but it was a useless attempt as his arms wrapped around your waist, pushing forward until you were flush against the wall, his chest hard against your back. You struggled and whimpered in his hold, trying to sound as desperate as possible, but Steve held firm but not enough to hurt.

The mark was next to your ear as he growled, “Now, where do you think you’re going, huh? I thought we could have some fun. What do you say?” You struggled against but mostly so you could grind your ass against his hips, showing him you wanted to keep playing.

However, your lack of words had your boyfriend freezing, the tone of his voice softening as he whispered, “Colour?”

Huffing out a laugh at his concern and momentary slip of the roleplay, you whispered against the wall, “Very fucking green”. You found it endearing that he still ensured you were okay and wanted to continue.

That seemed to be the last of the friendly acts, however, as Steve pushed harder against your body until your cheek was firm against the cool wallpapered wall, the plastic of his mask against the back of your neck. His gloved hands shifted lower over the front of your body, over the mounds of your breasts, your jumper-covered navel and past your hips until he was cupping your jean-covered cunt with a deep moan that rumbled against your back.

It was an automatic response to mewl and rolled your hips into the hold, feeling the pressure from your underwear digging into your clit but needing more. Your noises turned back into whimpers as his fingers quickly snapped over the button of your jeans, and his hand disappeared beneath the material until he was cupping you again, but this time directly to your skin. You pulled your hips away this time, but primarily because of the uncomfortable material; his gloves were cheap synthetic material and were rough against your sensitive, throbbing clit as his palm pressed against it.

Steve chuckled, the tips of his index and middle finger close to your entrance, and for a moment, you were worried he was going to finger you with the rough material; you weren’t sure it would feel nice, but this wasn’t what he was laughing at. “You’re such a desperate little thing aren’t you? I can feel how wet you are through the gloves”.

Your entire body warmed in embarrassment. You should have guessed that he would have felt how turned on you are, especially with how you could feel the slick gathered in your underwear, but you hadn’t considered him feeling it through the gloves.

Ghostface, always the one to tease and humiliate, then did something that had your gasps turning into surprise and shock. The pressure of his glove hand disappeared from between your legs, and from your position, you could see it disappear beneath his mask, where a sucking noise could then be heard as he devoured the juices from the fabric gloves.

“S-St-“ his name was on the tip of your tongue, mostly on instinct to submit to him by moaning his name, but you were also cut off by a deep, gravely groan as the man trapping you against the wall showed you just how much he loved your taste. His hips rolled against your lower back first, thrusting his clothed but painfully hard cock into you, then his hand reappeared from beneath the mask, but this time without the glove as he’d pulled it off with his teeth and dropped onto the floor.

“Why is it you always taste so much better when you’re scared?” he continues to taunt, and you knew it wasn’t a normal reaction, but your pussy clenched so hard that Ghostface had to wait a moment before he was able to push his fingers back into your underwear and his middle and ring finger penetrated your eagerly awaiting hole.

You rose onto your tip toes whilst attempting to back into him to rub yourself against him, but he held you firmly against the wall. His fingers did not waste any time either as they gathered the slick to coat the entire length of his two digits and pumped in and out with a slight curl as he pulled out.

Once more, it was on instinct that your hips were rocking to match his movements, pleasuring pounding into your core as your eyes closed, whimpers slipping from your parted lips that you wouldn’t be able to hold back even if you tried to What’s more the position was adding to the thrill, your hands sprayed and pressed against the cool wall, your cheek aching from the pressure of being pushed forward and the warm body surrounding your entire back with the plastic part of his masks against the back of your head as he rested his temple against you, watching and listening to every little noise that he caused you to make. 

Ghostface doesn’t stop pleasuring you, his fingers continuing to pump into you as his palm occasionally pressed firmly against your clit, adding more stimulation. You were a sopping wet mess that could feel that familiar tightening between your legs. Where his fingers curled, and strokes began to harden as your orgasm tingled on the very edge; just one or two more movements and you’d be right there.

But Ghostface knew you were getting to that point, could hear and see how close you were, and he wasn’t having that, not yet anyway, so he swiftly pulled his hand out of your underwear.

“Uh uh, I don’t think so. Did you really think I’d let you cum? Definitely not; where would be the fun in that?” he laughs to emphasise his mocking, making you feel degraded and mind-muddled from needing him to continue pleasuring you but also wanting to push him away so he could stop being so mean.

With your minimal room, you tried to force your elbow into his stomach, but he could already sense your move and began sharply tugging on your hair with his still-wet fingers. His other arm circled your middle, helping with his grip and plan to move you away from the wall. Due to his taller size, he could easily manipulate you to walk in the direction of the kitchen; both of you can only walk without hitting any furniture due to muscle memory and the thin slither of light streaking through the blinds from the blinking street light.

Breath rushed out of you as Ghostface pushed you over your wooden table, your hands and face again pressed against the surface. You were dazed from the fingering, so you didn’t immediately react when he roughly pulled down your jeans and underwear until they were discarded somewhere in the darkness. In actuality, you sighed in relief from having the air breeze over your aching cunt and only responded with your own needs as your hips wiggled enticingly towards the man behind you.

This was rewarded with a sharp smack to your left arse cheek, halting any fuzzy happiness you’d been wrapped in. A leg shifted between your legs, shifting them further apart as the sound of clothes shuffling was heard from behind you as Ghostface began to lift his cloak and bunch it around his hips.

You weren’t able to see him correctly over your shoulder, but your pussy clenched with anticipation, especially as you were only able to see the mask. It still scared you, but knowing it was Steve only made you back up into him until his cock was suddenly being thrust between your arse cheeks.

“Careful now, Princess, don’t want to be stabbed with something now, do we?” Ghostface chuckled right before he slipped his cock, inch after inch, into your pulsing hole. He wasn’t slow; he moved with intent, wanting it to be overwhelming, which is just what you wanted, and automatically, you raised onto your tip toes even whilst leaning over the table.

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyes shutting as all thoughts focused on the fullness you felt between your legs and the desperate need for more.

“Nope, none of that, don’t want the neighbours hearing or your boyfriend, got to keep nice and quiet whilst I fuck whats mines”, Ghostface grunted sharply as the hand that was still gloved now wrapped around your mouth, so you were forced to breathe heavily out of your nose.

On instinct, you gripped his wrist but didn’t pull away and just tried to concentrate on controlling your breaths as his hips began to move in short, quick rotations. In and out, sloppy fast thrusts that had deep warmth radiating from your cunt and down your thighs.

Sweat was gathering over your body from behind, stimulated and so close to Ghostface, who was also like a human radiator with all his clothes layers. You could feel that he had been wearing jeans as they brushed with each thrust against your sensitive thighs, and it only again reminded you that this was Steve as your hips shifted back to meet his.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the pressure increasing again like it had just before you moved away from the hallway wall. You wanted to cum, no, you needed to cum, wanting to soak Ghostface’s jeans with your juices, wanting to be good for the fake murderer and show that you could cum on his cock.

“You wanna cum? I can feel you getting tighter”, Ghostface asked next to your ear, his voice rough and gravely from where he was out of breath.

He momentarily released his cover of your mouth to allow you to speak, “Yes, please!”.

Ghostface wanted to laugh at your polite response, already knowing you were slipping into a submissive headspace from the way you were backing up to meet his thrusts and holding onto his wrist like it was your lifeline. But he wanted to keep the roleplaying going for a little longer, even though he was desperate to hear your sweet orgasmic mewls.

His hand again covered your lips as he tutted, “No, I don’t think so. I’m going to cum first, and then you can cum, but not until I do.”

You cried against his palm, feeling like your breath was stuck in your throat as you tried to control your euphoria, but it was difficult to do that and breathe through your nose.

Dizziness swayed through your mind as you slumped against the table, releasing your hold of his wrist as you needed to try and control yourself. Ghostface noticed the change and would have kissed the back of your head if he didn’t have his mask on, so he finally allowed you some comfort by releasing his hold on your mouth, letting you suck in deep breaths that filled your lungs.

This allowed him to hold onto your hips, holding you still and fucking deeper, his bulbous tip brushing against your cervix and thighs bruising into the edge of the table. Faster and harder, he moved, chasing his orgasm until finally his balls tightened to his body, and his shaft hardened with each spurt of hot seed that began to coat your inner walls.

You could feel it and hear Ghostfaces’ orgasm, and you finally relaxed the mental torture of holding back your orgasm and came with him. Your walls clenched in quick flutters that helped to milk the last drops of Ghostface’s cum before he collapsed over your back, mask resting on your shoulder and hands on either side of your head.

The two of you were breathing heavily, too lost in the moment even to talk before he moved first. Starting with a gasp, Steve pulled off his face, and you could see over your shoulder that his hair was drenched, sticking to his forehead and face gleaming in the small streaks of light.

“Fuck, it was warm in there; they need to make them with a small fan inside or something, holy shit!” Steve sits up slightly but still leaning his hands on either side of your head, and he catches your eye and grins, showing all of his teeth and eyes crinkling in the corners. “As much as I’ve loved this, I’ve missed kissing you” he dipped his face and kissed your cheek, leaving a few drips of his sweat on your skin, but you didn’t care, not when he was looking at you in a way that was making your heart race.

“So that mask, we’re keeping it, right?” you finally speak, voice hoarse as you try to smile over your shoulder at him, feeling his cock softening within you.

“Oh, for sure, you kinky little minx”, he agrees, kissing your cheek again.

[moody-alcoholic]

Dinner date

Still don't have a name for this yet, I'm sure one will come to me. It's kind of cheeky since I had the first two chapter's pretty much ready to go, but the next chapter might take a while.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 3.4k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe. CW: Alcohol, little bit of touching, like I said it's a slow burn, very fluffy, got to get the fluff in before the smut ;)

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

You’re early again standing outside the coffee shop doors. Johnny didn’t give you much warning, asking if you were free that afternoon. You should have said no, rescheduled for another day. You didn’t want to come across as desperate, you didn’t want them to think you had nothing better to do then wait around for Johnny’s text. In truth that’s all you had been doing. You spent the last two days trying to distract yourself, thoroughly cleaning the flat and yourself. The vague talk of sex had you scrubbing and waxing your body within an inch of its life. 

You take a breath and walk into the café, the place was warm and you find yourself taking your coat off as you walk up to the counter, ordering a tea. You pick a spot where you can see the door this time. Flicking through social media on your phone trying to calm yourself, checking the door every time it opens. It didn’t take long before you clock Johnny and Simon walking in. Johnny is standing up on his tiptoes making him almost as tall as Simon. Your heart skips a beat as Johnny spots you walking over to you dragging Simon behind him. He’s not wearing his usual skull balaclava, instead a the bottom half of his face was covered with black mask and he had his hood pulled up. He sat down while Johnny took his jacket off placing it over the back of the chair 

“Need another?” He asked pointing at your cup.

“No, I’m good,” you say gripping the mug. Johnny smiles walking behind Simon pulling his hood down as he makes his way to the counter. You smile eyes fixated on Simon's curly golden locks. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, he meets your gaze and you blush looking away. You take another sip of your tea, your leg bouncing under the table as you wait in silence for Johnny to come back. He places a cup in front of Simon and sits down with his own. 

“How’ve ya been lass?” Johnny asks his infectious smile beaming on his face.

“Good, busy.” You say. “What about you two?” 

“Ah nothing much, enjoying some time off.” Johnny says his hand resting on Simon's thigh. You look at Simon he seems tense his eyes studying your face, he seems like the polar opposite of Johnny. You simile at him anyway taking another sip of your tea. 

“Plan on going anywhere with your leave?” Johnny asks.

“Maybe see a few friends, rest mostly.” You reply sighing.

“You got family?” Johnny asks raising an eyebrow. A lump forms in your throat.

“Yeah but we don’t speak much.” You reply swallowing the lump away.

“Are you a virgin?” Simon ask’s the question catching you so off guard you gasp your mouth hanging open. 

“I think what Simon is trying to ask is have you ever had a boyfriend?” Johnny says squeezing Simon's thigh. You let out a smile at Johnny his presence calming you. 

“Eh, yeah a few, never anything serious though.” You explain without going into too much detail. 

“We must seem quite unusual, but I promise we don’t make a habit of taking pretty girls out for coffee.” Johnny winks. Your cheeks blush. 

“It’s fine-I mean I don’t care-if you take pretty girls out for coffee..” You blurt out trying to act like you’re totally not freaking out with these two sat in front of you. Johnny chuckles taking a sip of his coffee. Simon hasn’t touched his, he’s leaned back in his chair arms folded. 

“How do you do it? The threesomes?” You ask, skipping straight to the point. You’ve had the last two days to imagine the scenarios Johnny and Simon must get themselves into. “If you don’t make a habit of taking girls out for coffee first?” Johnny laughs.

“We’ve only tried it twice, you’d be surprised how many dating apps there are for this stuff.” Johnny looks at Simon who looks back at him, his eyes soften as Johnny strokes his thigh, it seems to calm him down.

“Just hookups, it’s like scratching round an itch, it doesn't feel quite right.” Johnny looks at you. You tried to pick up on what that meant, you’d always been pretty vanilla in the bedroom, not inexperienced but this was new territory. 

“Why ask me?” You say nervously tapping the mug in your hand. Johnny smiles.

“Well for one you’re drop dead gorgeous love, been playing on our minds ever since the day we saw you.” You look down at the table feeling embarrassed tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Normally, when we talk about it it’s cos we have that itch that needs to be scratched. With you it’s like, there’s a full body rash and we desperately need you to itch it.” You see Simon roll his eyes at Johnny metaphor, but you get the point. I guess it’s now or never bite the bullet or turn them away. You look at them both again your eyes flicking between them, taking in a deep breath. 

“So you’re not looking for a hookup?” You ask, your eyes flicking to Simon who hasn’t said a word since his last question, but his eyes have never left you. 

“No, something different…” Johnny trails off, you bring your tea up to take a sip looking back at him.

“A relationship.” Simon blurts out. You swallow your tea hard looking over at Simon. 

“But you two are married,” you say frowning, putting the cup down.    

“Happily, but we both feel like there’s something missing.” Johnny says looking at Simon who looks back at him. You’d heard about this kind of dynamic before, people in 3 way relationships, seen documentaries and YouTube videos that kind of thing. It always seemed to be 2 women and one man though. 

“Isn't it illegal?” You ask quietly. Johnny chuckles.

“Only if you marry multiple people.” 

“Oh,” you don’t know why that disappointed you, they’re all ready married. You sigh looking at them not quite sure what to say next. 

“How about we cook you dinner some time? You can come to our flat, we can chill out no pressure, just getting to know each other. See how the night goes.” Johnny suggests. You find yourself smiling again.

“Sure,” you say nodding. A dinner date, one that might end in sex has your tummy doing flips excitedly, the previous nerves being washed away. 

“How about on Friday? I’ll text you the address?” Johnny asks. You nod sipping the last of your tea and checking your watch.

“Sounds good.” You smile going to get up.

“Haven’t scared you away ‘ave we lass?” Johnny asks.

“No, I just-I want to get home before rush hour and I’m crammed on the tube like a sardine.” You say as you walk round the table. Johnny laughs getting up giving you a hug. You say goodbye to them and make your way home. 

Later that evening after a microwave meal and a few glasses of wine you get a text. 

Thanks for today xx

You smile at the kisses. 

No problem, can’t wait for Friday xx

Your belly is doing flips again, your mind wondering to the meeting today. Johnny and Simon had been on your mind for days now. But you're pretty sure the meeting today was more for Simon than anything else. You remember his eyes never leaving you like he was trying to soak up every inch.

Wear something sexy ;) xx

Holy shit that sent tingles through your body. The wine mulling you out, the thought of a skimpy dress being ripped off your body by Simon and Johnny forced its way into your head making your body shiver. 

Of course ;) xx

There let his imagination go wild.

——————————

Johnny and Simon's flat was in a very affluent part of London a place you had only ever been too once. You double checked the address before pressing the correct buzzer. There are a few seconds before a voice comes through.

“Who is it?” 

“It’s Ashe,” You say. 

“Ah come on up!” Johnny’s energetic voice comes through the speaker. The door buzzes and you make your way to the lift taking it up to the 6th floor. You grip the neck of he bottle of wine you bought, pulling down the bottom of your dress again. It had been at least half a year since you had dressed yourself up like this. Your heels felt especially uncomfortable, but you did promise sexy, you hoped it was enough. You make it to the door ringing the bell. It’s Simon who opens it, it’s the first time you have ever seen him without a mask. His hair freshly groomed, he’s stunning just like johnny, you fight to keep your jaw from dropping. 

“Wine,” you say thrusting it into his hands. He smiles taking it and stepping aside. Holy shit it’s the kind of smile that makes you weak at the knees, it’s maybe even more palpable then Johnny’s. Their flat is nice, big windows, open plan, great view of the city. You start to take your coat off when you feel Simon’s hands on your shoulder’s helping you slip it off. 

“Thanks,” you say turning to him as he hangs it on a hook. He makes his way back over to you lightly pressing his hand on the small of your back leading you down the hall. The touch sends electricity up your spine but you’re quickly distracted by the amazing smells coming out the kitchen. You look to see Johnny pushing something round in a pan, he looks at you, his mouth dips open as he leans back putting one hand on his hip taking you in. 

“Well ain’t you a sight to behold.” A wave of embarrassment falls over you and you look at your feet for a second heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“Wine?” Simon asks his hand leaving your back as he heads to a cupboard to take out glasses. 

“Yes, please,” you say a little too quickly, seeing Johnny chuckle turning his attention back to the food. Simon pours the glasses handing one to you and placing one next to Johnny. He leans up against the sink behind Johnny who turns to see him sipping his wine. He reaches down and picks up his glass. 

“Cheers!” He says holding it up then taking a sip. You follow taking a big gulp. 

“What are you cooking?” You ask moving over to stand next to Johnny looking at the various pots and pans working on the hob. 

“Chicken alfredo,” He says proudly putting the lid on the pan with the chicken in.

“It smells amazing,” you say, it’s true the smell has your mouth watering. 

“It’ll be done soon just need to wait on the pasta.” You nod turning your head to look at Simon still leaning against the sink. His eyes meet yours, and a small smile appears on his lips, you take another sip of your wine feeling your body relax as you smile back at Simon feeling your heart flutter. He seems different more relaxed when he’s in his own home, not like the big scary skull guy you’re used to seeing round the base. His eyes are soft but always alert, flicking between you and Johnny. 

“Need a hand with anything?” You ask, feeling like you need to do something other then standing around gawking at them. 

“Don’t be silly lass you’re a guest,” Johnny says as he scoops out a piece of pasta tasting it.

“Why don’t you go sit down with Simon, the food is pretty much done anyway.” You nod letting Simon lead you to the dining table. You take a seat as Simon sits opposite you. 

“How long you been in the Army?” He asks. 

“4 years,” You say. “What about you?” He lets out a chuckle.

“I stopped keeping count.” He says as Johnny comes over with the first plate placing it in front of you.

“Thank you, it looks great.” You say watching as he places a plate in front of Simon.     

“If there’s one thing Johnny is good at it’s cooking.” Simon says as Johnny walks back into the kitchen smiling. 

“That’s why I married him.” Simon says quieter leaning over to you. You can’t help but chuckle. Johnny comes back sitting with his plate and a bottle of wine. 

“Well dig in,” he says picking up his fork. You smile following his lead twisting the pasta round your fork and almost throwing it in your mouth.

“Holy shit,” you say. “This is amazing.” Johnny laughs looking at Simon. They spend most of the meal chatting, they tell you more about their work. Talking about some people called Gaz and Price. Their banter puts you at ease as you listen to them, the whole thing starting to feel more and more natural. They ask you questions too, about your life, why you joined the army. It’s only when they ask about your family you shy away from giving too much info. By the end of the meal you’re full with a nice buzz going from the wine. Johnny insists on moving to the sofa where it’s more comfortable. You nod first excusing yourself to the bathroom. When you come back out Simon and Johnny are already sprawled out on the couch flicking through the TV channels. You can see a bottle of whisky on the coffee table as you make your way over. As soon as Simon sees you he moves apart from Johnny.  

“It’s okay,” You say waving him back to his spot. “I’ll sit on the end.” 

“Don’t be silly love, come sit.” Johnny says patting the spot between him and Simon. You feel bad for breaking them apart like this but then you remember the reason you’re here in the first place. Simon wouldn’t have moved so eagerly if he didn’t want you to sit between them. You smile walking over and sitting down leaning back on the plush sofa. Johnny extends his arm round the back encouraging you to lean against him, which you do. He smells good, whatever cologne hes using fills your nose, its earthy it suits him. 

“The food was good.” You say breathing out relaxing into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” He says his voice humming in your ear making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You watch as Simon keeps flicking through the TV till he lands on some random police chaser show, and he throws the remote on the coffee table. You watch as he leans back on the sofa. 

“You can put your legs up if you want I don’t mind.” He says looking over at you, it was uncomfortable leaning on Johnny with your feet still on the floor. You reluctantly pull yourself from Johnny’s shoulder bending over and unclasping the strap on your heals pulling them off. You move so they have a bit more room leaning back up against Johnny with your legs on Simon’s knees.

“‘E’s never gonna make it,” Johnny says pointing at the TV as you see a birds eye view of the police chase. 

“I don’t know, he’s got some good distance now.” Simon says. 

“I bet he loses them.” You say, looking at Simon who moves his hand down to rub your leg, you smile at him in approval enjoying the feel of his hands on your body. 

“See you want to avoid the tight residential streets.” Johnny says as a matter of fact.

“Talking from experience there Johnny?” Simon says chuckling. 

“Not experience just common sense.” You chuckle looking up at him, his deep blue eyes looking back at you. 

“You okay?” He asks smiling down at you. You nod as you do his arm rests on your back pulling you closer to him. You let out a breath your arm stretching its way over Johnny’s stomach. 

“Have you done this before? With other women?” You ask. Shit, why did that come out now, it’s a total mood killer. And you were enjoying yourself, your body tenses as you grip Johnny’s shirt. Johnny chuckles of course he does his hand squeezes your arm.

“No lass, we weren’t exactly on the look out for women.” Johnny’s smile put your mind at ease. 

“We knew you were special.” He murmurs, squeezing your arm again. You look over at Simon still stroking your leg. He smiles, reaching over and squeezing Johnny’s hand. You look back over at the TV, they’ve caught the guy. 

——————————

When the show ends Johnny gets up to clear the table, flat out refusing your offers to help insisting you stay on the couch with Simon. You sit up yawning looking down at your watch. Shit, it’s almost 10pm. If you stay any longer you’re going to end up having to walk home instead, you nervously tap your foot at the thought of walking across London at night. 

“You alright?” Simon asks placing his hand on your thigh you stop tapping your foot.  

“Yeah, just I didn’t realise how late is was.” You say smiling. 

“Do you need to get home?” He asks. You look at him, you don’t want to leave this is nice, but it would be rude to stay the night. You find yourself biting your lip trying to think of what the best solution would be. 

“You can stay the night, we have a spare room it’s no bother.” Simon says. 

“You’ve already been so accommodating I couldn’t-”

“It’s not a problem.” He cuts you off, his voice laced with authority, you almost want to bark back yes sir. Instead you nod smiling at him. He moves his hand from your thigh reaching over for the bottle of whisky.

“Want one?” He asks. 

“Sure,” you smile at him as he leans forward pouring the shots. You pick it up trying to remember the last time you had had a whisky neat. 

“To new things.” He says, you clink your glass with his and drink. It burns your throat as it goes down and you can’t help coughing, it’s stronger then you remember, or maybe it’s the fact it’s not mixed with coke. Simon chuckles taking the glass out your and hand placing it on the table. Johnny comes back into the living room with a bottle of wine and a hand full of glasses.

“Breaking out the scotch already?” He says. 

“Tastes like wood,” You cough again the taste coming back. 

“Probably why Si likes it so much,” Johnny winks sitting down next to you and pouring you a glass of wine you gladly accept to get rid of the taste of whisky. 

“She’s gonna be staying the night Johnny.” Simon says as a matter of fact. You look over at Johnny to see his response. 

“No complaints from me.” He beams sipping on his wine. You place your glass back on the table leaning back on the couch. You feel Simon’s arm pull you onto his chest this time, you put your legs on Johnny’s thighs without thinking about it. Feeling his warm hands stroke your leg. Simon plants his chin on the top of your head as you stretch your arm over his stomach. He’s bigger then Johnny, his shoulders broader you relax into him just like you did with Johnny. Okay maybe you could get used to this, Simon’s hand rests on your side rubbing your arm. 

“Can I hold your hand?” He asks after a few seconds. You don’t say anything but move to loop your fingers with his. It feels natural his hand being in yours. You look over at Johnny, he smiles at you squeezing your leg. Then your stomach drops in realisation you squeeze Simon's hand sitting up. 

“I don’t have any pyjamas, or a tooth brush.” You look between, Simon and Johnny, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable your dress was feeling. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, you can borrow one of my tops.” Johnny says laughing. 

“Or mine, and we have a spare toothbrush I’m sure.” Simon says pulling you back onto his chest. You look back at the TV as Simon and Johnny get back to guessing how this police chase is going to end. You find yourself rubbing Simon’s thumb as you relax even more. Okay you could defiantly get used to this. 

Next part

[lale-txt]

what gets their heart pounding... ♡ [partly ns.fw] ↳ w/ Kid, Killer, Law, Mihawk, Shanks, Benn

a/n: look who is clearing out her drafts again while working on a longer fic! i love writing little headcanons, they help me get into a nice writing flow and are just super fun to think about. those here are both fluff and spicy, so be aware. reader is gn!

Kid

seeing you walk around in his shirt when it’s laundry day on the Victoria Punk

the warmth of his hand in yours when you paint his nails for him after he lost his arm, unfazed by his bickering when you’re doing a messy job 

you keeping him company in his workshop when everyone else already went to sleep, studying blueprints while he tries to focus on the thing he’s working on but failing miserably in your presence

the way you look at him when he tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing your lips 

how hungry you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips after his cheeky tongue wracked your whole body with pleasure 

the shiny red shapes of his hand on your ass cheek and your needy mewls for more

whispered confessions with every thrust, your hands cradling his face as he fucks you through your orgasm, melting in lust and adoration

Killer

hearing you humming in the kitchen, cooking a surprise meal for him 

your fingers untangling his hair at night, gently combing out every knot without hurting him 

your laughter when he tries to put on the polka dot shirt that got way too small

the way your gaze softens when he takes off his mask for the first time in front of you 

your lips parting so willingly for him when he leans down to kiss you in a moment of bravery

his lipstick smeared on the inside of your thighs, leading dangerously close to your aching core

the way you twitch around him as you ride him, eyes closed as you chase your high, his fingers digging in the flesh of your thighs

Law

your hands brushing when you hand him a cup of coffee in the morning, knowing he was up all night again 

you falling asleep on the couch when you both study in the library together, admiring how you let down your guard around him

hearing you mumble out his name in your sleep

patching you up after a battle where you fought back to back, just blind trust into each other

thinking back about the heated kiss you two shared when you thought it all was over and you wouldn’t see tomorrow

you straddling him in his chair, asking for permission to do it again in the safety of his arms and realizing those are the lips he wants to kiss for the rest of his life

seeing those lips wrap around his length for the first time, holding hands while you make him see stars and a future so bright in the absence of fear

Mihawk

the faint smell of your perfume when he enters a room you’ve been in before

watching your hands rolling out dough in the kitchen, covered in flour, a vinyl playing in the background, veggies from the garden on the counter

how you handle the knife, not for fighting but for creating something beautiful and heartwarming from scratch with patience and compassion, something he admires deeply

the way your eyes linger on him in a room full of people, making him feel like it’s just the two of you

stolen kisses after glancing at his lips for too long, tasting his wine on them

your delicate wrists in his grip when he pins you down on them above your head, legs spread wide open for him

the way you sigh his name when he enters you in one go, a big smile on your face, your eyes so full of love and lust

Shanks

standing outside the bar and hearing your voice from from the inside as you chat and laugh with his crewmates, Benn nudging him a little with a look

how you yawn and mumble out a ‘good morning’ on your way to the bathroom, in your underwear and sleepdrunk, because you spent all night visiting him in his dreams

the way you tilt your head and smirk when he takes the bottle of wine from your pretty hands and takes a sip, lips touching where yours have been seconds before

you shutting him up with a kiss when he teases you for too long, your hand in a tight grip around his collar

the same hand pulling his hair when he pushes you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, rubbing his clothed cock against your core

feeling how soaked your panties are when he reaches to pull them aside, your needy mewls soon to be muffled with them

Benn

the way you cup his hand to help him light his cigarette, your faces awfully close

how you muster him up and down and your cocky smile when he asks if you like what you see

standing side by side outside and watching the rain fall while the rest of the crew is having a banquet inside, just a quiet moment between you two 

you reaching for his half-smoked cigarette, pleading eyes asking for a kiss 

the same eyes looking at him through long lashes when he unbuckles his belt 

your shaking legs on his shoulders as he makes you count out loud the times he makes you cum with his fingers alone

your broken voice begging him to fill you up, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him from pulling out, nails leaving red trails on his back

[h0rnyauth0r]

just thinking about being pinned between ghost and könig, who can’t get enough of using you :3

THIS PROBABLY ISNT ANY GOOD BUT I GOT HORNY AND WANTED TO WRITE FILTH AGAIN :) thank you for reading!!!!

word count: 1.2k

warnings: double penetration, reader w/ vagina and i think she/her implied, cumming inside, threesome, very very dirty and rushed tbh

you’re not sure how the moment came around where the tension and anger between ghost and könig became resolved after all this time, but you can’t help but be relieved that you can finally spend time with them this afternoon and feel comfortable.

they’ve both spent time doting on you, offering help with different tasks you want to complete and to bring you different things as you may need them. but now? they’re both awfully close to you, faces covered as they practically trap you while talking about what different desires you hold within.

you’re not sure how the topic even got brought up, but needless to say, you mentioned masked men and it seemingly piqued their interest in you after. neither are too good at expressing emotion, but you can sense just how horny every person in this room is right now.

you would be 100% lying if you didn’t say the idea of the two of these large men defiling you makes your pussy run like a river, and you are craving one of them to just do something to make the built up tension finally snap between the three of you.

“you like mystery? anonymity?” ghost’s asking you, and you nod embarrassedly. having the two of them know things about you that you don’t really tell others is overwhelming you in the most filthy way.

“are you okay with being shared?” könig asks you, voice behind you and right in your ear. you quickly nod in hopes of them both taking the hint and finally having their way with you.

you whimper aloud when ghost’s hands grip your thighs intensely, könig gripping onto your ass as the two men fondle your body with their large hands in sync.

they waste no time in stripping your clothes off, ghost working on your top half and könig stripping your bottom half in a teasingly slow manner once you’re left in just some panties.

he plays with your waistband for a moment, slapping the elastic against your skin repeatedly and eventually sliding his fingers in to caress your clit gently. you squeal and squirm when he pinches it just as ghost opts to knead at your tits and play with your nipples, the stimulation overwhelming you and soaking your panties completely.

könig finally helps slide your panties down your body and they slap onto the floor with a soft wet sound, the two men looking at you with almost animalistic eyes knowing just what impact they have on you now.

“that wet already, huh? guess you like being used like a slut.” ghost’s voice is lustful and oh so hot as he opts to get his dick out and ready to go into you.

könig stops him though, fingers teasing at your wet hole and gathering up your wetness before dipping them into your other hole. you moan from the foreign feeling, his fingers slowly making their way into your ass as your pussy clenches around nothing.

your eyes clamp shut as he works you open, ghost opting to play with your clit to you get prepped to take them both. the feeling that both of them are giving you has you wanting more, legs feeling wobbly and unholy noises escaping your throat.

it isn’t long before both of them are satisfied with your drooling cunt and finally line themselves up, ghost entering first. your eyes roll to the back of your head when he’s in all the way, almost screaming out when könig starts to push in as well.

you’ve never felt so full before, tears streaming down your face and you know you’re on the verge of an orgasm already. they both give you a moment to get used to the sensation, ghost whispering into your ear about how good you are and how well you take them.

after a little while, you start to grow impatient with their stillness. “please move.” you whine out head falling back against könig’s broad shoulders.

when they both initially thrust, your mouth falls open and your eyes clench shut tightly. you can’t help the pornographic noises that come out of your mouth as they find their rhythm together, slapping noises echoing off of the walls.

“you’re doing so good- fuck.” ghost’s voice is strained as he attempts to praise you, a low growl escaping his throat as he picks up his pace. his pelvis hits against your clit from his movements, pleasure tingling up your spine from the friction.

könig’s breathy moans and groans really get you going, feeling his hands grip onto your hips tightly as he fucks into your ass with fervor. you feel like you’re about to cum at any moment, body twitching and muscles giving up against their bodies.

when ghost reaches in between your bodies and rubs your clit in fast and tight circles you cum with a loud moan, pussy clamping against him as your orgasm racks through your whole body with an intensity you’ve never felt before.

“such a good pussy.” he mumbles into your ear as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

the man behind you hums in agreement to those words despite being balls deep in your ass, still grunting with each hard thrust he takes. “feels amazing.” is all he can say, words coming out in a groan that you find so very attractive.

it isn’t long before you can tell that they’re both close to cumming, thrusts becoming labored and more desperate. könig cums in you first, a whine coming out of his mouth that makes you flush and you unintentionally clench against ghost as a result. 

as könig pulls out, ghost finally cums inside of you with a shudder. the force behind his thrusts and the feeling of his cum filling your cunt have you crying now, so much pleasure to the point where you feel like you’re broken and your brain can’t work anymore.

when his thumb starts playing with your clit again, you feel like you’re going to implode from how pathetically quick you cum against his fingers as he pulls his dick out of you. cum is leaking out of both holes and does even more so as your orgasm pushes through.

könig plays with your tits as you finally feel some clarity again, going limp against his chest and feeling a tiredness that practically incapacitates you. you can hear ghost move and head into your bathroom, the sound of the sink being turned on, but you can’t open your eyes.

the large austrian behind you holds your weight, a hand gently caressing your hair and massaging your scalp. you feel like you could pass out at any moment as ghost comes out.

the feeling of a warm, wet washcloth gently wiping at your body makes you jump before you relax into it appreciatively. “thank you.” you whisper to him, voice hoarse.

“of course.” he says, gently slapping your ass before you feel könig carry you to your bed and lay you down. they’re both sweet with the way they comfort you and eventually tuck you under your blankets.

you’re out before you can say anything to them, falling asleep to the sound of their hushed voices and hoping that this wasn’t some sort of one time thing that wouldn’t occur ever again.

-

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send me a dm or ask if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

[hellish-sunsets]

You're an Asshole - Pt 2 - First Attempt

Pt 1

Summary: Adam goes to a concert and tries to win reader over.

Warning: swearing

Word Count: 1,302

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

This was fucking bullshit.

He glared at the stupid list in his hand, squinting at the smudged and blurry ink. The room was quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the shelf somewhere above his head. The only light was from the desk lamp, dim and just enough to light the old wooden desk. It wasn’t the grand mahogany desk of his office at work, but the worn pine of the desk shoved in the corner of his bedroom. The corners were covered in dust, telling of how rarely this desk was used. Why would he? There was plenty of better shit to do.

He was supposed to be going to a concert later tonight. That should be a fuckton more fun than agonizing over this bullshit.

Misogynistic, egotistical, sex obsessed, demeaning, condescending (he was almost certain those two were the same thing but whatever), hateful, violent, foul-mouthed all around rude.

He was sure he wasn't always like this, was he? He huffed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He chose not to dwell on that thought.  What mattered right now was proving to that stuck up bitch he wasn't an asshole. Even if… he was starting to think maybe he was. But what did that matter? No one was perfect. Besides, he was the first man himself! He was allowed a few more assholeish mannerisms, right? 

Fuck that stupid bitch! This whole thing was fucking with his head. He would just got to this lame ass concert, prove to that bitch he was the most charming, not assholish person in existence, they would fuck and he could be over with this whole fucking situation.

He smirked at himself, leaning back in the chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. He would be sure this night would be worth it.

‐‐—--------------------

Just as he suspected, the concert itself was lame as fuck, some whiny emo bullshit he just couldn't get behind. He spent most of the time looking around for her. What even was her name again? He couldn't remember, not that it mattered. 

He didn't catch sight of her until the concert was almost over, the chorus of the last song clashing over the audience and drowning out their cheers. She was towards the front, the lights flashing and playing across her skin, lighting up her face and broad white smile, long white hair  and wings reflecting the various colors, mostly blues and purples. She almost looked like she was glowing, but that was corny ass couple shit or something. It was just another chick at a concert, just like all these other bitches. 

He let her enjoy the rest of the song before approaching her, the last clash of the cymbals his signal to swoop in.

“Watch this, Lute.” He said with a smirk, elbow digging into her side and making her scowl and roll her eyes. “I'm gonna have this bitch eating out of my hand.”

“I know, sir, just get going before she runs off.” She said with a huff, fighting off a smirk of her own. He gave her a mock salute and headed towards his latest victim, the picture of innocence as she happily chatted with the few winners around her, unaware of how hard she was about to fall for him. He shoved through the crowd, earning scowls he ignored. 

Just be nice. Don't talk about yourself too much. Pretend you care. He could do this, just for one night.

“Hey, ti- uh, toots!” He said with a cocky grin, sliding in next to her. He mentally congratulated himself for not calling her tits. Most chick's didn't like it. He wasn't wearing his mask tonight, figured it would be easier to win her over if he could use his naturally good looks. That, and maybe she was stupid enough to think he was someone else. 

The group around her seemed tense when he showed up. One of them, another chick, tried to grab her arm and drag her away, but she gently nudged them off and offered them a warm smile.

“Hi, Adam. Gotta say, bit surprised to see you around here. Didn't think you liked this type of music.”

Not stupid then. Good, more fun that way. 

“Ya know, just figured I'd try something new.” He said with a half shrug. 

Her eyes lit up, a sparkling sort of blue. He couldn’t make out the exact shade in the dim lighting of the venue. “Good for you! I love hearing new music, it's so interesting to see all the different ways humans come up with to make songs! I also just really like finding what new instruments they come up with! How did you like it?” 

He could feel the smirk slip from his face as he huffed. He had a lot of words to describe this donkey shit of a concert: whiney, pathetic, shit, stupid, fucking lame. But he couldn’t voice any of that. He had to be polite. Eventually he managed another shrug.

“Yeah, definitely not my thing. Still going metal and rock and roll all the way.” That cocky smirk of his returned to his face and she gave an understanding nod. 

“Yeah, fair enough, but I'm glad you gave it a try! Life’s boring if you never try anything new.” She said with that flashing smile. Her friend's hand was on her arm again, but she still wouldn’t follow their lead, not yet anyways. He smirked to himself. He was reeling her in nicely, he was sure. 

“Yeah? And what music do you find rockin'm?” It was a trick question, of course. He had already heard her music before, but he wasn’t about to let that slip. Don't want to give her a big head or something or give off the impression he was some fan. 

“Ah, I don't usually have a genre preference.” She said with a wave of her hand, feathers ruffling slightly as she thought. “It's more like… I have specific songs I like, but no favorite genre. I don't really have a favorite band either. That's kind of fucking lame though, huh?” She said that last part with a nervous chuckle, wings drooping slightly, finger scratching at her cheek.

“Of fucking course not, don't be fucking stupid.” He said with a frown. It was a rather lame attempt at reassurance, but that was the best he could do. Her eyes widened in surprise and he was sure he had fucked it up, but then she flashed that bright smile of hers. 

“Aw, thanks Adam! I guess you're right. Anyways.” She waved it off and continued. “I'm in a band and we do stick to a specific genre, I guess, but that’s just for image, you know? No one likes a band that's constantly changing genre. It's like… folk… punk? I think that's the best way to describe it.”

“Fuck yeah, sounds badass.” And he might have actually meant it? He wasn’t entirely sure. Probably not. “Anyway, want to take this party on the road or something?”

And for a moment he really did think he had her. She gave him that pretty little smile, her wings fluttering slightly.

“Nah, I can’t.” He could feel his face fall and she giggled at that look. “Awww, come on, don’t look so disappointed! I’ve got work to do before bed, but we can hang out another time, okay?” 

It took every fiber in his being to remind himself to keep his cool, play it off, it wasn’t a no. He could still win her over yet.

“Yeah, alright, no biggie. Catch you next time bitch!” He abruptly turned away and marched off, managing to hide the scowl on his face, at least from her.

Next time, bitch. He would fucking get her next time.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I've let this wolf into my home (I feed it even when it bites)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: fluff ??

warnings: you don't know red robin and timmy are the same person but he sure knows you, he's also so so awkward but he can't help it

a/n: alright alright alright here we go <3

The jingle of the coffee shop door opening startles you, your head snapping up from where you're sitting, slouched over in the corner. It's a 24-hour shop, yes, but who else would really be here at 3am? The barista behind the counter looks just as surprised, blinking rapidly and looking at the person who came in.

You, on the other hand, opt not to, sighing and looking back down at your table, instead. The coffee in your to-go cup is still hot, burning your fingers as you shift them over the label. It's bright, a cartoonish sort of thing that grins up at you like an old friend you should be happier to see. You've been getting this coffee for years. You're never quite as happy as you should be.

The chair opposite you makes a horrible sort of sound as it's pulled out and you look up to see who's sitting across from you. You purse your lips in annoyance while he just looks at you.

"All the other tables have just been cleaned. They're wet," he points out. You let your eyes flit around the cafe, the tabletops shining wetly in the dull glow of the lights, the disinfectant bottle still sitting abandoned on one of them.

"Lucky me," you bite back, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet - too sweet, but not enough to cover the bitterness of the burnt grounds. You always think that if you pile enough sugar into it, it'll mask what's wrong. You're never right.

The man sitting opposite you takes a sip of his own - he left it black, you notice. He grimaces slightly at the taste, but keeps drinking anyway. There's no effort there to pretend it's anything other than what it is - burnt, cheap coffee sold to him in a cafe full of ghosts, in a city that should be sleeping but never really does. It's interesting, you think, as you look out the window and into the dark street. You'd almost managed to convince yourself that you were really alone - that there was no one else in this world except you, until he walked in and broke the reverie of your 3am silence.

For what it's worth, Tim regretted it as soon as he'd walked in. He hadn't meant to stay, really - ending up in a part of Gotham he didn't often find himself in, in his civvies and in desperate need of a hot cup of coffee and a long sleep, he'd stumbled across the flickering, neon sign of a 24-hour coffee shop.

What good luck, he'd thought. Now, sitting across from you, there's a desperate little part of him that thinks maybe it wasn't just that - maybe it was intuition that drew him here. You don't know who he is, of course, all your previous meetings happening in the shadows of your home with his face hidden from you. Tim shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how naked he feels, exposed to your wandering eyes. 

And you do let your eyes wander, narrowing them suspiciously as you take him in. Tim feels a pang of guilt that surprises him when he thinks that this is probably how you've always felt with him - like a lamb with a wolf at your door. As you lean back in your chair, swirling your coffee and letting your gaze trail away from him and towards the window, he feels his shoulders drop in relief. He's not the only wolf in your living room late at night, he realizes. You've got teeth of your own that he'd just never noticed.

You're good at this, Tim thinks with a start - you've got a foot propped up on the window sill next to you, your head resting in your hand as you watch the street outside idly. Or, at least, it's supposed to look like that. He thinks that if he were anyone normal, he would believe it. But Tim has spent enough time as prey to know when someone's pretending to let their guard down.

He looks away from you almost forcefully, staring down at his cup and running his tongue over his teeth as he thinks of the burnt taste of it. He wonders if you were smart enough to put sugar in yours - wise enough to bury the bitterness with something nicer. It's something he always thinks he should do. He can never quite make himself. 

"I'm sure those other tables are dry now." Your voice makes him flinch, a hard, forceful thing that cuts through the silence of the night that's blanketed the two of you. Tim looks around at the dull, streaky tabletops and shrugs. 

"I'm already comfortable here," he offers. You cock your head to the side and look at him, but make no move to fight him on it. He thinks it's probably stupid of him, inviting a lion into his home like this. He wonders if you feel the same way every time he slides in through your balcony door.

There's a silence that, once more, overtakes the two of you as he shifts in his seat. Tim wonders if he should drink faster, if he should pretend to be finished so that he can leave. It's funny, he thinks, how he finally felt like he'd stopped running away when he started running into you. It's funny that, now, he's itching for it, his hands gripping his cup in an attempt to still his heart - his need to escape.

You look back at him just in time to see him squeeze a little too hard, the cheap plastic lid popping off and hot coffee sloshing a bit over his hands. A mild, bemused sort of look crosses your face as you watch him curse and splutter as the coffee burns his hands and spills onto the table. Then, without a word, you stand up and begin to walk away.

Tim, in the meantime, is rubbing his hands against his jeans, his eyes squeezed shut in mortification as he wonders how he ruined it all so quickly. Not for the first time, he wishes he was in the mask - thinks maybe the only way to hold onto you is to make sure that's all you ever see. But then your cup scrapes across the table and he opens his eyes to see you sitting opposite him again, sipping idly and watching. There's a stack of napkins that he swore wasn't there before and - oh.

"Thanks," is all he can make himself say as he grabs them, cleaning up the mess he's made. As he goes to pop the lid back onto his cup, he looks at the dark liquid inside and grimaces, deciding that maybe it's not worth it.

"It's shit coffee," you say, and he slams his hand against the table, crushing the plastic lid in the process. Truly, he's not sure if he's ever acted this nervous before. You pay it no mind. He thinks maybe he could take off his mask, just this once, and reaches up to his face in time to remember that he's already exposed to you. "You're better off finding something else… or just going somewhere else." Tim smiles, then, a charming sort of thing that has you narrowing your eyes.

"I dunno,' he says. "There's something I like about right here." You glance down at your own cup, at the label that you've picked and peeled off until it's unrecognizable, the colours torn and cracked.

"There's nothing good about right here. And things like that don't change." Tim looks at you for a long moment after you speak, letting the words tumble around his head before he stands, taking his cup and squished lid and pile of wet napkins with him. 

"Well, I've never been big on change, anyway," is all he says as he walks away, dumping everything in the bin and letting the bell on the door jingle as he walks out. Looking back down to the table, you notice the card he's left behind - the Wayne Ent. logo flashing behind his name. Flipping it over, his number's been written in a hasty scrawl.

As you thumb a corner of the card, you wonder when he'd slipped it onto the table - when he'd written on it. Mostly, you wonder what kind of person he'd have to be to do it without you noticing. You trace the numbers with your finger and think that something, far in the back of your mind, is telling you that there's a familiarity about it all. 

But what's familiar about seeing someone in a place where you never should? What's normal about that man, appearing like a ghost in the night and disappearing just as fast? As you pull out your phone to add his number to your contacts, there's a part of you that thinks maybe you should run away - that maybe you're not the only thing stalking the streets of Gotham this late.

[frogchiro]

hi me again i know its not eremites but my brain has been HAAAUUNNNNTEEED by omegaverse and COD i just know for a fact Ghost n Price share a role as "leader" of the pack, more Price than Ghost (warrior cat brain: DEPUTY GHOST *WACK*) and yes the entire pack takes care of their sweet omega but they feel the most weight of keeping her happy n healthy :<< Ughehrgrgrgrr Ghost is a silent lover, (this can really apply for annnnnyy au im just barfing my brain out here) brushing your hair out of your face as you sleep, cheek smooshed against your pillow. Oh my god you know that man would invest in silk pillow cases if you mentioned that silk is better for your skin n hair. That one stuffie you can't seem to sleep without, it never seems to get dirty, you don't think much of it. That's cause Ghost brushes it out for you, making sure theres no limp neck syndrome either (basically the fluff gets separated from body n head leaving none for neck) mention that you like a certain snack? or found a childhood snack you had but could never find after a certain point? at least 5 of them in the cupboard, 2 if they come in big packs.

John loves to spend time together with his sweet girl, he doesnt often have the time for it but when he does he loves to savour it. Loves Loves Loves being able to have you on his lap, a cigar in one hand, the other on your waist and a whiskey on the table next to his recliner. Memorizes your routine, if you have somewhere to be that you have to wake up for, he wakes you up, very gently. Kisses against your shoulder, traveling to your face. Kissing your cheek before turning you onto your back, just admires your relaxed face before he whispers your name. ASS!! GRABBER!!! grabs your ass, sure here n there he'll greet you with a gentle spank but he. grabs. ASS. He memorizes your coffee order too!! He may tease you a bit if it something like, 80% cream, 12% sugar and 8% coffee but still. sniffle snorgle so sorry for the long ask snifhghgrngr i love them. and i LOVE your blog, been following for a super long time, found you from pierro tags and just been obsessed. Take care of yourself okay?? MWAH (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS DARLING *MWUAH* I'm really glad you like my humble little blog so much and stick around for such a long time <3

I'm gonna go with omegaverse with these again bc I'm obsessed :<

And yes yes you're right!! Alpha Si is a silent lover but he's so expressive when he wants to be! If you're close enough you'll see all the little things; ticks, micro expressions even with the balaclava and/or mask, the little noises like chuffs or rumbles, everything! It's like a whole new world opens up and that's when makes being mated to Ghost beautiful <3

And he can be surprisingly clingy and touchy too! Definitely not right from the start but give him time and soon you'll have a 6'3 baby clinging onto you. What he may lack in verbal communication he compensates with physical affection and little noises; he will literally purr like an engine and make little chirrups in answer to your own as you nuzzle and preen each other in your nest.

Another thing about him are his surprisingly strong nesting instincts! He never really got to make a nest, or rather felt safe enough to do it. With his past, his father who always mocked him for nesting it never felt right until he got with you. Will take up the whole bed and literally roll in it so it's covered with his scent and pheromones and let out a pleased rumble when he finally deems his den good enough and safe before dumping you in it <3

Alpha!Price on the other hand loves quality time spent with you <3 He's much more verbal with you than Si and is quite touch himself in the privacy of his office or den, will always try and keep a hand on you and never let you out of his sight. He's the oldest of the alphas, much more mature and secure in his position as head alpha but will bellow and growl like crazy if he went out for a second out of the den to check up on something and upon returning he notices that you're not there anymore only for you to return from the bathroom confused what's all the commotion about.

Would never admit it out loud but he loves loves loves scenting you! Especially if you're on base with him. John has a strong masculine smell that screams 'ALPHA' in the most pleasant way; will make you go weak in the knees just from a whiff <3

Likes to rub on you when you're laying in your nest at night, his face shoved right into your scent glands and your delighted giggles bring him immense joy as he tickles you with his beard <3

[shibaraki]

tags: GN reader, migraines and headaches, sensory overload, fluff, mutual feelings, caretaking, implied reader works at tokyo jujutsu high

wc: 1.3k

Satoru can feel it coming.

His focus wanes ever so slightly at first. The energy around him flickers like heat from a flame. Unnatural blips of light dapple his vision, closely followed by a high pitched ringing in his ears. No pain at that point, but his heart hammers awkwardly in his chest because he knows it’s inevitable.

There’s always a generous twenty minute window before his condition takes a hard turn for the worst. Twenty minutes to finish whatever he’s doing—be it fighting, paperwork, training or teaching—and leave with an acceptable excuse.

It’s lucky that Satoru spent years spitting out frivolous, inane things for the sake of antagonism or distraction. People usually waved him off, weary exasperation etched into their brow, never asking questions. Trusting that Gojo Satoru had somewhere important to be. Shoko knew from the start, and that was always one too many.

Then you came along. Too perceptive for your own good. Migraines rarely happened but whenever they did you were all glassy eyed looks and gentle nudges. Satoru, starved for touch and dreading how the pain should soon fill his skull like lead, would feel infinity warp just for the sake of letting your knuckles brush his.

This time he’s lounging in the cold, clinical hallway leading to Shoko’s office waiting for her prognosis on the transfigured corpse he brought back. The cheap luminescence irritates his eyes, and the words he’s reading coalesce into a pulsating blur that won’t readjust no matter how many times he blinks.

Suddenly the magazine on his lap is slapped shut as you lean on the back of the bench, putting the full weight of yourself onto your palm, cursed energy spiking a fraction. “You look peaked,” fingers brush back the loose hairs over his forehead as you softly continue, “Maybe you should go home and rest”.

Not for the first time he is grateful for the mask fastened around his eyes. It does nothing to stave the sensorial discomfort today but at least it conceals his thoughts. “Rude. I was reading my horoscope,” Satoru juts his chin, breathes in steady and huffs through his nose, feigning offense. The forced exhale alone is enough to make him wince.

“See,” you tell him, though not unkindly. Your hand covered his clammy forehead and he tried not to nuzzle into it, already sensing the agonising tip of a spear weedling through his temple. “You’re a little warm, too”.

A door clicks open. Regrettably your hand yanks away and Satoru grits his teeth before he can whine. The atmosphere ripples as infinity seeks to cover him whole. Shoko’s heels echo through the liminal space. Shadows cast across her face under the doorway, highlighting the goading twitch of her mouth. “Am I interrupting?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says at the same time as you reply, “No”.

Shoko scrutinised him a moment longer as Satoru wet his lips and leaned against the heel of his hand in an attempt to discreetly alleviate the pain. While you very notably do not bring up your concerns Shoko realises anyway. “It’ll take a while longer to take this one apart,” she lies smoothly, fiddling with her gloves and snapping them over her coat sleeves. “You might as well go home for now. No point loitering”.

He notices how your cursed energy settles into a relieved simmer, drawn closer when he stands from the bench. “Doesn’t usually take that long,” he commented, purely for show, barely hearing himself over the shriek piercing through his ears.

“Must’ve lost my touch,” Shoko replies dryly. Her gaze slides to you, and gentles. “Can I trouble you in getting him there?”

You nod your assent, “No trouble. I’m heading back that way anyway”.

“Oho? Gonna take me home?” Satoru drapes himself across your back then, pressing his forehead to your warm shoulder. His eyes fall closed and he inhales, the long day mixing into your scent.

You sway under the abrupt weight but you don’t shrug him off. “I’m walking with you, not carrying you,” came your disgruntled voice, betrayed by the contentment visibly spreading through your body. Patting at his hip you tell him, “C’mon, let’s go”.

The journey to the dorms is nothing short of a sensory nightmare. Residual cursed energy clings to every nook and cranny, brighter now and grating to look at. Sweat gathers at his nape as the pain intensifies. You hold his elbow, one palm curved around the pointed edge while the other slips into the crook, giving intermittent squeezes as if to reassure him there’s not long left.

Satoru is both deeply relieved and frustrated to be seen through so easily.

It’s a small mercy that nobody else is around. By the time you’ve guided him into the dorms, Satoru is holding his own head up with his hand. Your murmured incantations tether him until the wooden bed frame knocks the back of his knees and he lowers delicately onto the mattress with a staggered breath.

“How often does this happen?” you ask, reduced to a whisper. While Satoru tries to find it in him to answer, your fingers cradle the back of his neck and recline him onto the pillows, so as not to jostle him further.

This is where he’d interject with a suggestive comment, smile as your pulse quickened, revelling in the effect he has on you even if you don’t intend to act upon it. But the vulnerability renders Satoru useless. He remains in pliant repose, spilling out across his bed like loose yarn, letting you work at the buttons of his shirt.

Soon enough he’s left only in his underwear, chest rising and falling in exertion, and not for any of the reasons he’d like. He hears you tug the curtains shut and pad further into the bathroom. The turning of the tap, the quick running water, all without switching on a light. You return to his side and trail fingertips over his covered brow. “Going to take this off, okay?”

Satoru angles his head in response, allowing you to work at the hook there. His blindfold comes undone, silky ends ghosting over his cheeks, and despite the lack of it he still flinches away from the possibility of light.

The tenderness is overwhelming now. Harsh throbs ricocheting through his skull. He recalls the first time it happened. Back then Satoru had simply attempted to sleep it off. Hours interrupted, restless and nauseous. Angry too. Betrayed by his own body. His bloodline. His technique. Laid trembling in a puddle of his own sweat, the pain carved out a violent loneliness inside of him.

Gojo Satoru does not get to be weak.

“I’ve got you,” your voice ripples through the mire of self loathing, and a cloth saturated in cold water is placed over his eyes, shrouding him in solid darkness once more. The cool sensation seeps into his sockets, and soothes. He shudders.

“There you are,” fingers splayed over his cheek, thumb stroking back and forth over the swell. It’s then that realisation shrikes through him. You’re concealing your residuals. Satoru lolls into your palm and sluggishly thinks of the implications. The words get caught in his throat. Every thought frays and he barely has the strength to grasp a single thread. All but one.

Stay.

“I’m staying over,” you say, as if plucking his plea from the air.

“No dinner first?” Satoru replied. He had meant to be teasing, but his voice cracks at the edges. Consciousness is sand and silt sifting through his fingers. He sighs and paws at your waist as you apply pressure to his temples in lieu of a response and begin a slow, circular motion. The pain ebbs.

“Try to sleep and maybe I’ll let you take me somewhere”.

Satoru’s arms tighten where they’ve coiled around you. He can’t see your expression, nor can he discern your energy. But he hears the promise in your voice, gentle and deliberate.

“Mmn,” he relaxed in small increments, tongue too big for his mouth. Moisture from the cloth trickled down his jaw, behind his ear. The world steadily falls away from him. “…’Kay,” he slurs.

In your capable hands, he sleeps.

[ghvst-ing]

The weak, yet steady beeping of the heart monitor fills your heart with hope, one dulled out over your time spent grieving.

You look like a right mess. Your hair’s disheveled, the whites of your eyes reddish. Dark eye-bags adorn your face, too, cheeks stained with trails of dried tears.

The sharp smell of antiseptic, and chlorine burns your nose. A migraine prods at the back of your brain, and you feel the pounding of your head behind your eyelids.

Light, rhythmic taps of your shoe against the tiles fill the hospital room, and your knee bounces in tandem, unable to keep still.

The body of your lover lays still on the cot. Motionless. Unmoving as you stare. The only sign of life is the gentle rise and fall of his chest, dry lips just barely parted underneath the oxygen mask.

Your clammy hands grasp one of his limp ones, not even the smallest twitch in his rough fingers.

The familiar, calloused skin of his palm reminds you that he is tough, resilient. That he could will survive this. That the bullet that pierced the side of his skull wouldn’t leave him in an indefinite coma — stuck within his own body like a captive, but not quite dead.

Your teary eyes settle on his face. A long-healed scar runs down his chin, almost covered by the light brown stubble that littered his jawline. His head, however, was wrapped in a pristine, white bandage, while his hair was cropped for better access to his wound.

“You better wake up, Johnny..” A bittersweet chuckle tumbled from your downturned lips, your quiet voice cracking at the end, the words escaping the tight knot that formed in your throat. “Don’t think I could live without you, y’know..?”

His job was dangerous, and you knew that.

Many times did he return bruised and battered, yet, luckily, never handed to you in a plain box of his belongings. There had been instances, scares, when you were called to the hospital due to injuries he suffered on the field, but during your entire relationship, it wasn’t ever this bad.

Your fingers trembled as you held his own in your grasp, his hand only lying there limply. Your sleek engagement band brushed against his warm skin as you swallowed thickly.

Your shoulders slumped in exhaustion, hunched forward in the uncomfortable chair beside his hospital bed, and your nose scrunched up with a sniffle.

Feeling your eyes burn with tears, you let them fall closed. You wondered if he could hear you, feel your presence beside him in this comatose state.

You were never religious before this, but you’d turn to any god just for him to wake up, even if just for a mere moment, a passing second, at least.

“Please..”

[hopelessrromantix]

Sending a less intense ask now that I know you didn't disappear. How about Miguel x male reader who's cannon event was losing his husband, his worlds Miguel. (Hurt/Comfort)

Or Miguel, who's afraid to hurt the reader bc his fangs/powers/strength/etc. So reader has to show him that they're stronger than they look. (Angst/Fluff, optional Smut)

Or Miguel and reader having a secret relationship, but it's hard to keep it that way when he's so desperate for your attention all of the time (Smut, cough semi-public cough)

These are just some ideas, but there's no pressure to answer any of them. Have a good day :)

Might write your other ideas too, ngl...

Slightly more angst whoops.... sorry?

The first time you met Miguel had been a very long time ago.

It was a glance at first. Just a random man visiting the doctor's area of your lab. Perfectly normal.

Then it was a conversation. Then a date. Then a proposal, and before long you were married and happy.

You were originally working on a biological project, which was the spider that made you the Spiderman of your world. And though Miguel was nervous, he was supportive nonetheless.

Unfortunately, like all your counterparts, your unavoidable canon had resulted in Miguel's death, something you never got over. No matter how long passed, your heart felt just as heavy thinking about your husband.

You'd tried just about everything to get him back, even if he wasn't the same.

Experiments, A.I., anything that came to mind. But it was never him.

Maybe it had destroyed you a bit.

Maybe you spent too long torturing yourself in your head, trying to cover any sense of loss with the humor so traditional of a spider.

And maybe, just maybe, you missed him more than you could handle.

It wasn't until you swung face first into an anomaly (literally, a wall had basically materialized in front of you) that your life changed again.

Before you could blink, a man in a dark suit had been tackled to the ground. He was forming stone walls around him, attempting to stand back up.

Judging by the large stature of the man behind him, that wasn't happening.

The suit drew your attention first. It looked weirdly like the one Miguel had helped you make years before. Not the same, but close.

Several other people were with him, each one with different but similar outfits.

"Uhhh should I be fighting you guys, or…?" You questioned, looking over the group. You were prepared for a fight, but they seemed too calm to be villains like those you usually fought.

The tall man looked over to you, nodding to a woman next to him, dressed in all red.

"No, but we owe you an explanation."

And they gave you one, explaining that you weren't really as unique as you thought, but in a much more fulfilling way. You were one of many, many universes out there.

They showed you HQ, a place full of slightly different variations of yourself.

And with that, you had one single question.

Is he out there somewhere too?

After that moment the tour was a blur. Your mind was too caught up in running over the ways to ask if you could find your husband. Even just seeing him from a distance. Anything would do.

"Hey, big guy?"

The man in front of you seemed unimpressed, even in the dim light of his workspace.

"What's the rule on going to see people in other universes? Like, you came to my world so shit wouldn't go sideways if I visited someone, would it?"

It wasn't the first time Miguel had been asked that, of course. They all lost someone, of course they'd ask to see them again. The only issue was breaking the fabric of reality. And the fact that Uncles, Aunts, and anyone else really was dead in most worlds.

"No you cannot see dead loved ones."

His mask faded away, a serious look on his face. "We all have canon events…"

He was talking. You knew he was talking.

But his eyes were so tired.

It had been a long time since you'd seen him, but he looked so much less… alive.

But you'd take any version of alive.

You couldn't hear anything he said. You were too busy studying every feature on his face, watching him carefully.

"Miguel?"

He paused. "We know each other on your Earth?"

"We don't on yours?" You asked with a twinge of sadness in your voice, wishing a parallel you could've been happy with him.

"Uh, yeah, hi, I was planning to step in a little sooner but, uh, whoops."

The flash of a woman floating in the air next to Miguel stopped you. Layla, as Spid- Miguel had introduced her earlier.

"Layla I'm in the mid-"

"Shockingly it's more important than whatever you're saying," she huffed. "In Y/n's world he joined the research team that eventually made the spider that bit him, in Miguel's world Y/n had joined a completely different company. You two didn't meet the same way in your worlds."

"Okay?" Miguel questioned, opening his mouth to continue complaining about Layla interrupting.

"Yeah, but on Y/n's Earth-"

"We're married. You… you saved the lives of a family and died in the process."

You could see his heart break for you. For most people, the shift in expression would be nothing. In fact, it was very well hidden. But you knew him.

And he knew loss more than most. And though he didn't know you, he knew what you felt.

Layla flashed away, leaving the two of you in the low light of Miguel's office.

"I'm sorry."

He was so much more broken than you remembered.

"I got to see you, that's all I wanted." You smiled, looking over his features with a sense of calm you hadn't felt since Miguel's death.

"Would you wanna take another walk? Maybe I could show you around my world." You suggested. You'd be happy just seeing him, you really would. But you'd be even happier spending time with him.

"You understand that-"

"It's not like you'd have to go back to my world forever. And I would've stayed alone there anyway, I doubt I would be wrecking some happy future life, Miguel."

His eyes narrowed. "But you-"

"You don't know me, it's okay. I'm not asking you to do anything. Hell even this is enough for me. Just talking to you, for any length of time"

"You aren't hearing m-"

"Losing you was the worst day of my life." He quieted a bit, letting you speak. "We all have canon events right? I'm sure you understand how much it hurt, then."

You took a breath. This was more overwhelming than you expected it to be, which was saying something.

"You don't know me, Miguel,.and technically I don't know you either. But we got along pretty well in my world? At least consider being my friend?" You asked, a hopeful look on your face as you stared at the much more tired version of your husband.

"Please, Miguel?"

He stared at you a minute, his eyes softer than they were a minute before. He glanced down at your hand before looking back up at your face.

"You should leave, Y/n."

Your hand dropped slowly as you tried not to let your heart break again.

And you listened.

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 4

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: angst, hurt AND COMFORT, MWIII spoilers

---

The man with Johnny's face has spent the past six hours fighting for his life in a locked down medical ward at the temporary base of operations for Ghost's solo op.

The complications began during the helo ride when the medics attempted to treat his injuries. The gas hissing through the helmet apparently contains a powerful cocktail of drugs, and the withdrawal kicked in the instant they cut off his vest and removed the helmet. He was almost dead before before they found the compressed vial of liquid in the vest, figured out what was happening, and reintroduced just enough of the drugs via IV to keep him stable. The doctors are currently trying to find something to counter the severe withdrawal symptoms.

Ghost knows all of this because he refuses to leave the man's room. 

He needs sleep, but he can't bare to close his eyes. His world has sped right past fantastical into the outright surreal. He's terrified of getting too attached and having to deal with the devastating loss all over again.

And yet there's no doubt the man in the other bed looks just like Johnny. The curve of his nose, the jut of his scarred chin... Ghost can't seem to rip his gaze away. He would think he's crazy if not for Laswell, who was waiting for them at the air field and immediately took charge. She's the reason they dragged a hospital bed into the room for Ghost instead of arresting and detaining him when he refused to leave. She's the reason the man with Johnny's face isn't hand-cuffed to the bed.

She pats Ghost's arm and sighs, though her gaze remains on the man in the bed. "You know... the chance that it's actually him—"

"Is almost nil," Ghost rasps. "I know. How much longer for the DNA test results?"

"Another few hours. But we don't know if that proves anything."

"What do you mean?"

Laswell shrugs. "We can compare his DNA with what we have on file for John MacTavish, but we cremated any other comparable evidence."

Ghost stills. "You mean from the... the other Johnny?"

"We'd need a blood sample. And even then... we have no idea what Makarov's done. If he's playing with genetic manipulation, even a DNA test might not be conclusive."

Ghost stares at the man who has tried to kill him hundreds of times. And who might also be the love of his life.

He wants to believe so badly, he's willing to do anything. He finally turns to meet Laswell's gaze.

"This is some sci-fi bollocks, but... Johnny's journal was in his tac vest when he was shot. It's covered in his dried blood. Or... the blood of whoever that was in the tunnel with us."

She covers her surprise well, but he catches the flicker of shock all the same. "If you can part with it, I'll see what the techs can do. It might be too late to get anything usable, though."

Ghost turns away to memorize what he can see of the new scars on the man's arms and what's visible of his face around the oxygen mask. Whatever can be said for him — enemy or not — he's not had an easy time under Makarov's thumb. 

The heartbeat line flickers in time with the steady beep. Ghosts hands are shaking. He crosses his arms to hide the evidence.

"I"ll call Price."

---

In the end, the lab techs, supported by Laswell, come back with both the initial DNA results and a drug to help with the withdrawal around the same time. Ghost is on his own drip now, the nurses tsking his dehydration and lack of sleep, and he watches through drooping lids as the nurses slowly introduce the new medication to the man with Johnny's face. A subtle uptick in the man's heart rate is the only result, and based on what Ghost saw when they sedated the man in the helo, he doesn't think it means what the nurses think it means.

As they watch, Laswell's phone buzzes. She reads the message, shakes her head, and blows out a long breath before looking Ghost dead in the eye.

"The DNA for this man is a perfect match with our records for John MacTavish."

Ghost's heart rate kicks up several notches to match with the elevated beeping across the room. He can only stare at her before turning his gaze to—

"Johnny?" he whispers.

Laswell doesn't say anything, but her hand comes to rest on his shoulder. It feels like the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Nothing seems real anymore.

There's still a chance it's not him. Still a chance it's a trick, but...

"This is so fucking twisted," Ghost growls.

"I know," she murmurs. "But we'll get him."

Makarov.

Ghost's mind reels as the news truly settles. All this time, all these years, has his Johnny been right there in front of him? Trying to kill him and the others because of Makarov's sick game? Was Makarov laughing every time he sent Johnny to fight them?

It feels too cruel to be real. And yet when has his life ever been anything but cruel? Johnny was the one bright spot until that, too, was taken away.

But maybe... maybe this is his chance.

The nurses file out of the room, satisfied with the man's... with Johnny's progress. Ghost rolls himself out of his bed, biting back a curse at the strain to his stitches.

"Ghost!" Laswell knows better than to try to hold him back, but she does step in his way. "We don't know—"

"I need this," is Ghost's only answer.

His cracking voice conveys far more than the words themselves. He needs this moment. Needs to say what he never got to say to his Johnny, whether that turns out to be the man who died in a tunnel under the English Channel or the man lying in a hospital bed beside him.

Laswell stares him down, but he returns her gaze with equal determination. Finally, her shoulders slump.

"Just... try to keep in mind we don't know if this is real."

He gives her a curt nod. She sighs... and then helps him shuffle across the room, IV drip in tow, and gingerly settle on the edge of Johnny's bed. Much like Ghost, they've stripped Johnny down to nothing but a hospital gown, exposing a myriad of scars covering his arms and hands.

He's beautiful.

And alive.

For the first time since he thought Johnny died, Ghost's eyes burn with something other than impotent rage.

"I'm sorry, Johnny."

As if waiting to hear Ghost's voice, blue eyes flick wide open. A hiss from the other side of the room tells him Laswell has seen it, too, but the man he wants to believe is Johnny doesn't move to attack or even speak. He just stares. Ghost blows out a breath and pulls off his mask.

"I'm so sorry," he says again. "I shoulda done a better job protecting you. I... I failed you."

Johnny blinks and then narrows his eyes. "I'm the one who failed. I let Makarov take me. Let him turn me into a monster."

His voice rasps through the room, guttural and angry. But Ghost understands. If this is truly his Johnny, the anger could only be directed at himself.

"Don't be stupid. It's not your fault. This is all Makarov."

"Ghost," Laswell warns.

"It's true, isn't it?" he asks over his shoulder. "Even if this man isn't really Johnny, he wouldn't be here without Makarov pulling the strings."

Johnny's gaze doesn't waver, but there's a horrific kind of self-loathing swimming in his eyes. Ghost reaches out, hesitating for just a moment before brushing his shaking fingers over the back of Johnny's hand.

"I..." Ghost swallows around the lump in his throat. The words that finally escape are no more than a whisper. "I want to believe it's you. Promise me... promise me you're really you."

The twist of agony in Johnny's expression cuts through Ghost like a knife. "I don't know, Ghost. I think I am, but... There's so much I don't remember. The man in the tunnels... he thought he was me by the end, too, I think."

Ghost tries to pull himself back together. Tries to keep himself aloof. 

But it's no use. Now that the idea has taken root, he can't dig far or fast enough to uproot it.

"S'alright," he says in a soft voice. "Laswell's on it. We'll get it sorted."

Johnny stares at him and then slowly looks over at where Laswell is standing off to the side. She glances at Ghost, her face a study in stoicism. She shakes her head, and finally her expression melts into a wry smile.

"We're glad to have you back, Soap."

Soap blinks. The agony in his expression transforms into surprise before slowly morphing into the heartbreaking dawning of hope.

The moment stretches. 

And then Johnny surges upward and shoves himself into Ghost's chest. Ghost thinks he should probably fear the sudden movement, but other than a faint uptick in his heart rate, his body barely reacts. Hearing Laswell's admission about the DNA flipped some kind of switch in his brain, and whether he likes it or not, this man is now Johnny in his eyes. 

If that belief turns out to be misplaced, if this man is a... a clone or a trick meant to destroy him, so be it.

"Please," Johnny whispers. "Please, Ghost."

Ghost knows what it's like to come back from torture. He could barely stand anyone touching him after it was all said and done. He was like that for years.

But this is the man who always sought out touch in some way or another. Who probably hasn't experienced physical kindness in literal years. Ghost gives in to his weakest impulses, gently wraps his arms around the broad shoulders he remembers so well, and lets himself sink into the moment. Johnny's arms are trapped between them, his head buried in Ghost's chest and body shaking with increasingly violent tremors, though Ghost feels no tears seeping through his thin hospital gown.

Probably too much in shock to cry.

So Ghost just holds him, his embrace strong but gentle. He holds him through the first round of nurses, who check Johnny's vitals and exclaim over how well he's doing for a man who almost died a few hours ago. He holds him when those same nurses chastise Ghost for getting out of his own bed. He holds him until his eyes droop and his head bobs, exhaustion and the promise of sleep too potent to deny.

He even holds him through the arduous process of lying down in Johnny's bed, careful not rip stitches or get limbs or bodies in the way of either of their various tubes and wires.

If it were up to Ghost he'd never let go of Johnny again.

But Makarov is still out there, and if anything, the revelation of what that monster did to his Johnny makes him all the more eager to put a bullet in the man's brain.

For now, though, he'll stay by Johnny's side... in spite of Laswell's concerned glances.

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